Buried secret.

Lyra's Pov

I turned to Damien, trying to find something to say. "So... that was awkward."

"Are you alright?" He was studying my face with an intensity that made me want to squirm.

"Fine. I'm totally fine." I rubbed my wrist where Killian had grabbed it. "Just another Tuesday morning, you know? Ex-boyfriends showing up to cause scenes, the usual."

"Lyra." He narrowed his eyes at me.

"What? I'm handling it with grace and sarcasm, as is my way." I could feel my hands shaking and shoved them in my pockets. "Really building that fan club you mentioned. Should probably start charging admission."

"He hurt you." It wasn't a question.

"He grabbed my arm. It's fine. I've had worse." Way to sound defensive, Lyra. Real smooth.

Damien's jaw tightened. "That's not an answer to my question."

"Well, it's the only one you're getting." I started toward the elevators again, suddenly desperate to escape the curious stares of everyone in the lobby. "Can we please just... not do this here?"

He caught up to me in two strides, his hand hovering near my elbow without actually touching. "My office. Now."

"Is that a request or a demand?"

"Does it matter?"

"Not really, but I like to know where I stand." I stepped into the elevator he'd summoned. "Control freak."

"Impossible woman," he muttered, but there was something softer in his voice. Something that almost sounded like concern.

We rode up in silence, the tension between us different than usual. Less adversarial, more... something else. Something I didn't want to examine too closely because it made my chest feel tight and my thoughts get all tangled.

His office was ridiculous—floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the city, furniture that probably cost more than my car, that sterile corporate aesthetic that screamed 'rich and powerful.' He gestured to the leather couch near the windows.

"Sit."

"Still with the orders." But I sat anyway, suddenly exhausted. The adrenaline from the confrontation was wearing off, leaving me shaky and vulnerable in a way I hated.

Damien moved to his desk, pulled out a first aid kit. Because of course he had a first aid kit in his office. He probably had emergency supplies for every possible scenario, color-coded and alphabetized.

"Let me see your wrist."

"It's fine—"

"Lyra." He knelt in front of me, and the sight of Damien Blackthorne on his knees was so unexpected I forgot to protest when he took my hand. His fingers were gentle as he examined where Killian had grabbed me. "It's already bruising."

"I heal fast." My voice came out quieter than I intended. "Comes with the whole werewolf package. Well, when my wolf isn't bound and useless."

He applied some kind of cream that smelled medicinal, his touch careful, precise. "He shouldn't have touched you."

"Yeah, well, Killian never was great with boundaries." I watched him work, trying to ignore the way my skin tingled where his fingers brushed. "That was kind of his whole problem."

"How long were you together?"

"Five years. Long enough to be stupid about him." I laughed, but it sounded bitter even to my own ears. "Long enough to think he'd changed every time he promised he would. Long enough to let him destroy my self-respect piece by piece."

Damien looked up, his dark eyes meeting mine. "You're not stupid."

"Could've fooled me. I mean, I stayed with a cheating asshole for five years, then married another asshole for money and revenge. Not exactly screaming 'intelligent life choices.'"

"I'm not a cheater," he said quietly.

"No, you're just emotionally unavailable, controlling, and occasionally terrifying." I pulled my hand back, suddenly too aware of how close he was. "But hey, at least you're honest about being an asshole. That's something."

He stood, creating distance between us. "Is that what you think of me?"

"I don't know what I think of you." The honest answer surprised me. "You're my husband, but also kind of my boss. You're cold and demanding, but you also just defended me from my ex without hesitation. You bought me a house and don't seem to expect anything in return. So yeah, I'm confused as hell about what I think of you."

Something flickered across his face—surprise? Pleasure?—before his usual mask slid back into place. "For what it's worth, you're nothing like I expected either."

"Is that a compliment or an insult?"

"I haven't decided yet." He moved to the windows, staring out at the city. "Your ex is going to be a problem."

"Probably. Killian doesn't handle rejection well. Or consequences. Or basic human decency." I joined him at the window, keeping a safe distance. "But I can handle him."

"You shouldn't have to." His reflection in the glass looked troubled. "He's family. Technically which complicates things."

"Everything about this situation is complicated." I studied his profile, the sharp lines of his face, the tension in his shoulders. "But I'm not backing down. I'm not letting him intimidate me or make me feel guilty for moving on."

"Good." He glanced at me, something almost like approval in his expression. "Though next time he shows up, call security immediately. Don't engage."

"Yes, sir, Mr. Blackthorne, sir." I mock-saluted. "Any other orders?"

"Several, but you'd probably ignore them anyway."

"You're learning." I smiled despite myself. "Look at us, actually having a conversation that doesn't end in an argument. Personal growth."

"Don't get used to it." But there was the ghost of a smile on his lips. "I'm still annoyed you're constantly late to meetings."

"And I'm still annoyed you exist before nine AM. Nobody should be that functional before coffee.

We stood there in comfortable silence for a moment, watching the city move below us. It was weird—this thing between us. Not friendship exactly, but not pure antagonism either.

Something in between, something undefined and probably dangerous.

"Thank you," I said finally. "For earlier. The whole white knight thing. It was... unexpected."

"I protect what's mine." The possessive edge in his voice sent a shiver down my spine that I absolutely did not want to analyze. "Contract or not, you're my wife. No one gets to hurt you."

"Except you?" The question slipped out before I could stop it.

His jaw tightened. "I'm trying not to."

Which wasn't a denial, but also wasn't the cold dismissal I'd expected. Progress, maybe. Or just more confusion to add to the pile.

My phone buzzed in my pocket. I pulled it out, expecting work emails or maybe my friend checking in.

Instead, it was a text from an unknown number: "Cute reunion with the ex. But he's not your only secret, is he? Tick tock, Lyra."

My blood turned to ice. The phone nearly slipped from my shaking hands.

"Lyra?" Damien's voice seemed to come from far away. "What's wrong?"

But I couldn't answer. Could only stare at the message and wonder who the hell was watching me, and what they planned to do with the secrets I'd buried.