Chapter 22

Damon didn’t sleep.

By dawn, the city beyond the penthouse windows had turned pale and cold, washed in a gray light that made everything feel unreal.

He was still sitting in his office.

Still staring at the screen.

Still looking at Matteo Laurent’s name on the financial authorization log like it might change if he blinked long enough.

It didn’t.

The transfer trail remained exactly where he’d found it buried beneath shell accounts, ghost signatures, and legacy executive codes.

Lucius Moreau credentials.

Reactivated.

Used.

And then routed through a private executive approval layer only three people should have been able to touch.

Damon.

Matteo.

And his mother.

His chest tightened.

His father’s code.

His mother’s investigation.

Luca’s arrest.

The fake video.

The board pressure.

Every road kept circling back to the same place.

Matteo.

Damon stood abruptly and paced the office, running a hand through his curls hard enough to sting.

“No,” he muttered.

Then louder:

“No.”

Because if this was true if Matteo had really been behind everything then Damon had done something unforgivable.

He had let the enemy stand beside him.

He had let him into his grief.

Into his home.

Into the private spaces of his life that no one else was ever allowed to touch.

And worst of all

He had almost let Matteo convince him that Luca was the danger.

Damon braced both hands against the edge of the desk and lowered his head.

His breathing went uneven.

Not now.

Not here.

He squeezed his eyes shut.

But it didn’t stop the memory.

He was twenty-two again.

The hallway outside his father’s office smelled like whiskey and old money.

His mother’s voice was raised.

Rare for her.

Sharp. Furious.

“You’re not listening to me, Lucius.”

Then his father’s voice.

Cold.

Dismissive.

“You’re emotional.”

“Don’t patronize me.”

Damon remembered standing in the shadows, not moving.

Not interrupting.

Listening.

Because in the Moreau house, truth was always hidden in what people said when they thought no one was there.

Then his mother had stepped into the hallway.

She saw him.

And her expression changed instantly.

Softened.

“Damon,” she’d said quietly.

His father’s office door stayed half-open behind her.

Inside, Lucius Moreau poured another drink and pretended not to care.

His mother had crossed the hallway and touched Damon’s face.

“There are some things,” she said carefully, “that powerful men think they can bury.”

Damon frowned.

“What things?”

She gave him a sad smile.

“The kind that rot from underneath.”

He didn’t understand then.

But he remembered her next words perfectly.

“If anything ever feels wrong look at the money.”

The memory snapped.

Damon jerked back from the desk like he’d been burned.

His pulse thundered.

Because he had forgotten that.

Forgotten the warning.

Forgotten that his mother had tried to tell him the truth years before she died.

He grabbed his phone and dialed Luca’s number out of instinct before remembering

Luca was in custody.

Damon cursed under his breath and threw the phone onto the desk.

Then picked it back up immediately.

There was one person he needed to see.

Now.

By nine in the morning, Damon was already inside Dr. Seraphine Vale’s office.

The room was warm.

Calm.

Deliberately designed to make people feel safe.

Today it only made Damon feel trapped.

Seraphine sat across from him in a cream-colored chair, watching him with that unnervingly observant expression of hers.

“You look like you haven’t slept.”

“I haven’t.”

She nodded once.

“Luca?”

Damon laughed bitterly.

“That obvious?”

“You only come here looking like this when it’s him.”

Damon didn’t deny it.

Instead he leaned back and stared at the ceiling.

“I think I’ve been manipulated for years.”

Seraphine’s expression sharpened almost imperceptibly.

“By whom?”

Damon looked at her.

And for a second, saying the name felt impossible.

Then he forced it out.

“Matteo.”

She went still.

Not shocked.

Not confused.

Still.

Damon noticed.

His eyes narrowed.

“You knew.”

Seraphine didn’t answer immediately.

Instead she folded her hands in her lap.

“I suspected.”

Damon laughed again.

This time there was no humor in it at all.

“Of course you did.”

“Damon”

“No, I’m serious. Of course you did.”

He stood and began pacing.

“Everyone around me always knows more than I do.”

“That isn’t fair.”

“Isn’t it?”

He turned sharply.

“My father lied to me. My mother tried to protect me without telling me why. Matteo stood beside me while destroying my life. Luca lied to me from the day we met.”

Seraphine stood too now, her voice steady.

“And yet you’re still here.”

Damon frowned.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means,” she said carefully, “you’re not as broken as you think you are.”

Damon looked away.

He hated when she did that.

When she made him feel seen in ways he didn’t ask for.

“Did my mother know?” he asked quietly.

Seraphine’s expression changed.

Softened.

“Know what?”

“That Matteo was involved.”

Seraphine hesitated.

That was answer enough.

Damon’s chest tightened.

“She did.”

“She suspected him,” Seraphine said carefully.

“And she told you.”

Another pause.

Then

“Yes.”

Damon closed his eyes.

A headache pulsed behind them.

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Because your mother made me promise.”

Damon snapped his head up.

“What?”

Seraphine swallowed.

“The night before she died, she came to see me.”

Damon went still.

“She was frightened,” Seraphine continued. “Not for herself. For you.”

His throat tightened.

“She told me if anything happened to her…”

Seraphine’s voice lowered.

“…I was to protect you until I was sure the danger had passed.”

Damon stared at her.

“And did it?”

“No.”

Silence pressed into the room.

Damon sank back into the chair slowly.

Because suddenly his mother’s death didn’t feel like a distant tragedy anymore.

It felt immediate.

Intentional.

Alive.

“She knew,” he whispered.

“She knew she was in danger.”

“Yes.”

“And she still didn’t tell me.”

Seraphine’s eyes softened.

“She loved you.”

“That’s not an explanation.”

“It is when love makes people choose silence over fear.”

Damon looked away sharply.

Because he hated that she might be right.

His mother had always believed she could carry the burden alone.

That was the thing about Morettis.

They inherited loneliness like blood.

Damon rubbed a hand over his mouth.

Then he said the thing that had been clawing at him since dawn.

“I think Luca was telling the truth.”

Seraphine didn’t look surprised.

“No,” she said quietly. “I think you know he was.”

Damon’s jaw tightened.

“He lied to me.”

“Yes.”

“He disappeared.”

“Yes.”

“He left me alone to deal with this.”

Seraphine tilted her head slightly.

“Did he leave you alone?”

Damon frowned.

“What?”

“Or did he leave because he thought it was the only way to keep you alive?”

Damon opened his mouth

Then stopped.

Because that sounded too much like Luca.

Too much like the infuriating, reckless, self-sacrificing thing he would absolutely do.

Damon sat very still.

And that was when the panic finally came.

Not loud.

Not dramatic.

Just a crushing weight in his chest that made the room feel suddenly too small.

Too hot.

Too close.

Seraphine moved instantly.

“Damon.”

He couldn’t answer.

His breathing went shallow.

His hands started to shake.

Not now.

Please, not now.

“Look at me.”

He tried.

The room blurred.

“Damon.”

He focused on her voice.

“Name five things you can see.”

He shut his eyes.

“Don’t do that. Open them.”

He did.

Slowly.

The office came back in fragments.

The bookshelf.

The brass lamp.

The window.

Her silver ring.

The framed diploma on the wall.

He swallowed hard.

“Good,” Seraphine said softly. “Again.”

By the time the panic eased, Damon felt wrung out.

Exhausted.

Ashamed.

Seraphine handed him a glass of water.

He took it without speaking.

Then finally asked,

“How bad is it?”

She didn’t pretend not to understand.

“Your trauma?”

“Yes.”

Seraphine sat opposite him again.

“It’s worsening.”

He gave a humorless laugh.

“Wonderful.”

“But that doesn’t mean you’re losing your mind.”

Damon looked at her over the rim of the glass.

“Feels like it.”

She shook her head.

“No. It means your body has reached the point where it can’t keep carrying this much unprocessed grief.”

Damon stared into the water.

“My mother. My father. Luca. The company.”

He swallowed.

“It’s too much.”

Seraphine nodded.

“Yes.”

Then, gently:

“So stop carrying it alone.”

Damon almost laughed.

Instead he asked,

“If I go after Matteo… and I’m wrong…”

Seraphine’s expression hardened for the first time that morning.

“You’re not wrong.”

That got his attention.

She held his gaze.

“I’ve spent years watching men like Matteo survive because everyone around them is too afraid to name what they are.”

Damon’s pulse quickened.

“And what is he?”

Seraphine answered without hesitation.

“A man who confuses possession with love.”

Damon went still.

Because that

That sounded dangerous.

And deeply personal.

He looked at her carefully.

“You know more than you’re saying.”

Seraphine’s jaw tightened.

“I know enough to tell you this.”

She leaned forward.

“If you’re going to move against Matteo, do it quickly.”

“Why?”

Her voice dropped.

“Because if Luca is in custody, Matteo has already won half the war.”

Damon’s eyes darkened.

“Then I’ll take him out of the game.”

Seraphine looked at him for a long moment.

Then asked quietly,

“Are you doing this because you love Luca?”

Damon didn’t answer.

Because that question was too dangerous.

Too raw.

Too close to the truth.

Seraphine nodded once, like silence was answer enough.

Then she said the one thing Damon didn’t expect.

“If you’re going to save him…”

She reached into her desk drawer and pulled out a slim flash drive.

“…you’ll need this.”

Damon stared at it.

“What is it?”

Seraphine placed it in his palm.

“Your mother’s insurance policy.”

His breath caught.

“What?”

“She gave it to me three days before she died.”

Damon’s hand tightened around the drive.

“And what’s on it?”

Seraphine held his gaze.

“The proof Matteo has spent five years trying to bury.”

Damon returned to the penthouse just after sunset.

Hands unsteady.

Mind racing.

He inserted the flash drive into his laptop.

A single encrypted folder opened.

EVELYN – IF ANYTHING HAPPENS TO ME

Damon clicked it.

Inside were financial files.

Photos.

Meeting logs.

Private emails.

And one vide

o file.

Recorded the night before Evelyn Moretti was shot.

Damon opened it.

His mother appeared on screen.

Tired.

Elegant.

And more frightened than he had ever seen her.

She looked straight into the camera.

Then said quietly

“If you’re watching this, Damon…”

She took a shaky breath.

“…it means Matteo finally made his move.”