Chapter 13: Duet of Damage

DANTE

At the office, I wrestled with too many conflicting responsibilities.

The moment I stepped out of the elevator, everything went still. The hush blanketed the corridor like a fog, whispers thickening the air. Cupped hands, sidelong glances, none of them subtle.

Fragments slipped through anyway.

Karaoke. Defiance. Tori.

The words slithered into my ears, feeding the fire already crawling beneath my skin.

"She hasn't been seen since that night."

"You think he really—"

"Come on, it's Kincade. No one crosses him and walks away."

"She publicly humiliated him."

"And now she's probably gone... for good."

My name wove through the murmurs, cold and sharp, steeped in fear. Rumor spread like wildfire, passed from one trembling hand to another. Dante Kincade doesn't forgive. Dante Kincade makes people disappear.

No one ever said it directly. They didn't have to.

Marisol. Not Tori. Not anymore. They didn't know the truth, and I wasn't about to hand it to them. Let them choke on their own fear.

My jaw clenched. They dared to gossip. To treat what happened like some office scandal. My vision tunneled, narrowed by rage. Eyes swept over the clustered employees.

Their expressions turned more anxious with each step I took. A chill edged into the space, seeping under my skin.

My voice cut the silence, brutal and sharp.

"Get back to work. Now."

The sound cracked through the corridor, and the reaction was immediate. Papers fluttered. Coffee sloshed. A few gasps escaped. Faces paled. Eyes went wide and glassy. They scrambled to their desks like prey catching the scent of blood.

Fear thickened the air.

No one looked at me.

Chairs squeaked. Keyboards clacked in a syncopated, jittery rhythm.

But the whispers didn't die. They just changed form. Burrowed deeper. Silent. Deafening.

They weren't just afraid of what I might do. They were afraid of what I might've already done.

Marisol's desk sat empty. A hollow space in the room. In me. No one knew if she'd left... or if I'd made her disappear. No one asked. No one wanted to hear the answer.

Back in my office, I gripped my phone so hard my fingers ached.

"Get Matt and Lisa in here," I said, my voice low, clipped.

A few minutes later, the door creaked open.

Matt walked in first. The usual cocky smirk? Gone. Sweat glistened at his temple. Lisa trailed behind, her gaze skittish, already looking for exits.

They stopped in front of my desk, squirming under the weight of my silence.

I let it stretch. Made them stew in it.

When I spoke, my words were steel.

"You two are a disgrace to this company."

Matt swallowed hard. Lisa's fists trembled, clenched white at her sides.

"There is zero tolerance for workplace bullying." I didn't raise my voice, didn't need to. Each word landed sharply. "What you did to Tori wasn't just unprofessional. It was disgusting."

I leaned forward, locking eyes.

"You're both fired. Effective immediately."

Lisa's mouth parted. No sound.

Matt opened his. "Mr. Kincade, please—"

I lifted a hand, flat.

"Spare me your excuses." My tone cracked against the walls.

"You're finished here. And if you think you'll land at another company, think again."

I let the threat hang in the air, heavy.

"I'll see to it you're blacklisted in this industry," I said, calm and cold. "No one will hire you. Not in this city. Not in this field. You won't even get a foot in the door."

I didn't care how cruel it sounded. They deserved worse. If they hadn't thrown Marisol into that karaoke slot, none of this would've happened.

She wouldn't have stood on that stage, wouldn't have humiliated me in front of everyone. I wouldn't be here, sifting through the fallout, trying to figure out what the hell to do with her now.

Lisa's legs buckled slightly. Matt's breath came shallow, rapid. The realization hit them like a building collapsing.

They said nothing else. Just turned and walked out, steps clumsy and broken.

The door clicked shut behind them. Final. Like the lid of a coffin.

But relief didn't follow. The tension stayed locked in my shoulders. Satisfaction faded fast, leaving something colder behind.

I turned back to my desk and picked up the phone again.

"Start scrubbing the internal records," I told my assistant. "Any trace of what happened at the company event, videos, chat logs, internal reports, I want them gone. Every last byte."

She didn't ask questions. She never did. That's why she still worked for me.

I clicked through to HR's network access logs. Matt had already tried to cover his tracks. Weak passwords. Sloppy attempts at deletion. Lisa hadn't even bothered.

Idiots.

I flagged their profiles for legal review. Just in case they got bold enough to file wrongful termination suits. Not that they'd make it past my lawyers.

This wasn't about revenge anymore. It was about sealing the breach.

I couldn't risk this festering into something bigger. Not with Marisol at the center. If this leaked, if anyone in the press traced her disappearance back to that night... it wouldn't just ruin reputations. It could spark investigations I couldn't afford.

Another call. This one to legal.

"Draft NDAs for the entire staff. Standard form. Full confidentiality."

"And if they ask why?"

"They won't. But if they do, tell them it's compliance protocol. Office-wide refresh."

I hung up and leaned back, tension still coiled in my gut. The office had been purged. The damage, contained.

But the echo of Marisol's absence still filled the room like smoke.

Lingering. Clinging.

Only then did I let myself look for her.

I leaned back in my chair, exhaling through clenched teeth. Stillness settled in around me.

Too quiet. Too sharp.

Her face surfaced again. Not the firebrand version who defied me, who wouldn't back down.

No, this was the Marisol from that night, when I told her she was going back to her family. When she realized no amount of pleading would change my mind.

The fight had drained out of her eyes.

She hadn't yelled. Hadn't fought. She'd gone still.

I didn't mean it. I'd said it to punish her. To gut her. I wanted her terrified. Powerless.

But that moment? It wouldn't let go.

Check on her.

The thought hit hard, uninvited.

I needed to see her.

Now.

I tapped through the screens. Entry logs. Motion sensors. Guest-house feed.

There she was.

Guitar in hand. Fingers moving, slow and steady.

A rough, haunting strum filtered through the speakers.

I'd wired it for sound too. I needed to hear her.

The music drifted in. Soft and aching. It wound through the room, into me, low and unrelenting.

Her sadness clung to every note.

She's safe. That's all that matters.

I can protect her. I have to.

Still, I wouldn't leave it to chance.

I flagged the blind spots. Felix would be on the perimeter in fifteen. I'd double the rotations. Seal every crack.

But even as I sorted the schedules, my hands shook.

Every protocol I set felt like a chain I wrapped around her. The same control I lashed out with in that corridor. In that office.

I paused on the logs.

Her name in plain text. Here. Under my watch.

And with it came the tension.

How far was too far to keep her safe?

Where's the line between protection and obsession?

And when did I cross it?