Chapter 8 - Watching Her Fall

Damien’s POV

 I watch her break down in the parking garage through the security feed on my phone. The cameras don't catch audio, but I don't need it. I can see her shoulders shaking, see her hands gripping the steering wheel like it's the only thing keeping her together.

It should satisfy me. This is what I planned. What I orchestrated for months - finding her, arranging her termination from that pathetic marketing firm, having HR contact her at her most vulnerable moment.

But satisfaction isn't what tightens in my chest as I watch her cry. I close the app and set my phone face-down on my desk. "Analyzing the footage again?"

I don't turn at Henry Walsh's voice. My head of security has a habit of appearing without announcement, a skill he perfected in the Marines.

"Routine security review." I keep my tone neutral. "Making sure all employees leave safely."

"Right." Henry moves into my office uninvited, his six-foot frame relaxed but his eyes sharp. "That's why you've pulled up camera twelve - the one covering her parking space”

I finally looked at him. Henry's been my friend since Stanford, one of the few people who knew Emily. Who mourned with me when she died. Who stood beside me through the dark years of rebuilding.He's also the only person who dares question me.

"She's a potential security risk." I turn back to my computer, opening a budget spreadsheet I don't need to review. "Daughter of the man who destroyed my family. I'm being cautious."

"You're being cruel." He says "She's not her father." Henry sits in the chair Aria occupied an hour ago. "She was sixteen when the accident happened. She's innocent."

"There are no innocent Holts." I don't look up from the screen. "That family took everything from me. My sister. My father, my mother's sanity. They deserve to suffer."

"Emily wouldn't want this." Henry says.

My hands are still on the keyboard. Slowly, I raise my eyes to meet Henry's. "Don't." My voice is quietly dangerous. "Don't use my sister to justify your concerns about my business decisions."

"This isn't business." Henry leans forward. "You hired that woman specifically to torment her. Victoria's workload is designed to be impossible. You're systematically breaking her down, and for what? Because her father made a mistake eight years ago?"

"A mistake that killed a sixteen-year-old girl." I stand, moving to the windows. The city sprawls below, lights glittering in the darkness. "A mistake that destroyed everything my family had built over three generations."

"David Holt went to prison. He lost everything too." Henry's reflection appears beside mine in the glass. "At what point is the debt paid, Damien? When she quits? When she breaks completely? When she"

"When I decide it's enough." I cut him off. "Not before."

Henry is quiet for a long moment. Then he sighs, the sound heavy with disappointment."I knew you when you were different." His voice is soft. "Before Emily died. You were kind. You laughed. You cared about people."

"That version of me died in the fire too." I turn to face him. "This is who I am now. The man who rebuilt an empire from nothing. The man who doesn't forgive. The man who doesn't forget."

"The man who's alone." Henry stands. "You've built this glass tower and filled it with employees who fear you, business partners who don't trust you, and now a woman you're destroying for crimes she didn't commit. Is this really what Emily would have wanted for you?"

My jaw clenches. "Get out."

"Damien"

"I said get out." My voice doesn't rise, but the command is clear. "Your job is security, Henry. Not therapy. Do your job or find another one."

The threat is heavy between us. Henry's expression hardens, hurt flashing through his eyes before he masks it.

"Revenge doesn't heal wounds, Damien." He moves to the door, pausing at the threshold. "It just keeps them bleeding. One day you'll realize that. I just hope it's not too late when you do."

He leaves, closing the door with controlled intensity. Alone, I return to my desk. My office is silent except for the hum of the city below, the soft whir of the air conditioning. I should review the quarterly reports waiting in my inbox. Make decisions about the Santiago acquisition. Plan next week's board meeting.

Instead, I unlock my phone and pull up the security feed again. Camera twelve. Her parking space is empty now. She left twenty minutes ago, drove home to that cramped apartment in Koreatown she shares with her friend.

I switch cameras. Find the twenty-second floor. Her cubicle is dark, but I can still see the stack of folders on her desk. Tomorrow's assignments from Victoria. Another impossible workload designed to drown her.

I should feel satisfaction. This is my plan unfolding exactly as designed. She'll work herself to exhaustion trying to meet standards that keep shifting just out of reach. She'll fail repeatedly, publicly. Her coworkers will judge her, avoid her, whisper about her. She'll feel helpless. Trapped and desperate.  Everything I felt eight years ago when I got the call about Emily.

My hand moves before I can stop it, scrolling through the security archive. I found footage from tonight. Aria at her desk at seven PM, surrounded by empty cubicles. At eight PM, still working, her shoulders tense. At nine PM, fingers flying across the keyboard, her expression desperate.

I watched her work for hours after everyone else left. Watch her dedication. Her determination. Her refusal to quit even when defeat was obvious.

She has her father's eyes. David Holt's daughter. The man whose negligence killed my sister.

But when she stood in my office tonight, when her composure cracked just slightly and her voice wavered

I felt something I shouldn't feel. Something dangerous.

Because for just a moment, watching her fight to hold herself together, I didn't see David Holt's daughter. I saw a woman drowning. And I was the one holding her head underwater.

I close the app and set my phone down with more force than necessary. This is revenge. This is justice. This is what the Holt family owes me. So why does it feel like I'm the one bleeding?