Chapter 3

On Wednesday night, the Northwestern Alumni Foundation held a gala at the Art Institute of Chicago.

I hadn’t planned to attend, but the executive overseeing the Paris project would be there. It was also my last chance to meet with the American team before taking over overseas.

Moretti Holdings was the evening’s biggest sponsor.

Damian stood in the center of the main hall, surrounded by bankers, elected officials, and a handful of men I’d seen before but had never been formally introduced to. In public, he was the polished chairman of Moretti Holdings and a generous philanthropist. The deals in South Chicago that required his approval, however, didn’t always appear on a corporate ledger.

Sofia had her arm looped through his.

She wore a silver gown with a foundation badge pinned at the neckline. When the photographer asked them to move closer, she rose on her toes and kissed Damian’s cheek.

He’d already seen me before the shutter clicked.

He could’ve stepped away. Instead, his hand paused in midair before dropping casually to his side.

He was waiting for me to march over and make a scene.

For six years, whenever another woman crossed a line, I’d demanded that Damian draw one. He would freeze me out until I apologized for being jealous, then reward me with an embrace as if his affection were a favor I’d earned.

Tonight, he was waiting for the same routine.

“Elena, are you and Damian still together?” My old classmate Claire followed my gaze. “I always assumed he kept you out of the press for security reasons, but Miss DeLuca doesn’t exactly look like an employee.”

I lifted my champagne without drinking it. “I’m single.”

Claire blinked.

Damian heard me from several feet away. The pleasant smile vanished from his face.

A few minutes later, I stepped into a side corridor and felt a hand close around my elbow. Damian pulled me into an empty gallery and shut the door behind us.

“What did you just say?” His voice was dangerously quiet.

“I said I’m single.”

“You’re allowed to be angry, but don’t make a joke out of our relationship.”

“Funny how our relationship only matters to you when I deny it exists.”

He stared at me like something he owned had suddenly learned to talk back. “I keep you out of the press because my name puts a target on people.”

“But Sofia can hang on your arm in front of every camera in Chicago?”

“Her father died in front of me. I promised I’d look after her.”

“Looking after her doesn’t include letting her kiss you.”

His gaze hardened. “Here we go again.”

I almost laughed. Those four words used to work like a trigger. I’d immediately start proving I wasn’t jealous, unreasonable, or suspicious.

This time, nothing happened.

“Don’t worry.” I opened the door. “There won’t be an again.”

Damian’s Cadillac was waiting at the museum steps when the gala ended. Nico opened the back door for me and looked apologetic. “Miss Grant, Mr. Moretti would like you to ride with him.”

I didn’t want to give the society pages a scene, so I got in.

The car turned onto Michigan Avenue. Damian said nothing, clearly expecting me to explain my claim that I was single. I opened a budget sheet from the Paris team instead.

Ten minutes later, he raised the privacy screen and closed my tablet. “Look at me.”

“I’m working.”

“Elena, I gave you the entire evening to cool off.”

He leaned over and cupped the back of my neck. This was how our arguments always ended. Damian used a kiss in place of an apology, treating intimacy as both comfort and the reward I received once I stopped fighting him.

When his mouth was inches from mine, I caught an unfamiliar cedar scent.

It was the cologne Sofia had given him as a welcome-to-the-company gift. She’d shown off the bottle on Instagram that morning.

My body recoiled before my mind caught up. “Don’t touch me.”

Damian’s hand froze.

As I looked at him, the truth landed with startling clarity. I wasn’t trying to punish him, and I wasn’t waiting for him to win me back.

I don’t want him to touch me anymore.

“Damian, we’re done.”

“Enough.” He cut me off without hesitation. “We’ll talk when you’ve calmed down.”

“I’m calm.”

“Then you should know six years don’t end because you say they do.”

In Damian’s world, he decided how territory was divided, who was allowed to leave Chicago, and whether a person deserved a reward or a punishment.

Now he thought he could veto my breakup too.

When the car stopped outside the penthouse, I got out without another word.

Half an hour later, Damian posted a picture of himself and Sofia at the gala.

The caption was one line.

[Some people understand what trust means.]