Chapter 2: A Tough Decision

Late Night, Carrington Penthouse

The city skyline stretched endlessly before Damien’s floor-to-ceiling windows. He sat at a massive mahogany desk, the soft hum of a late-night jazz record playing in the background. Across the polished surface lay the folder he’d quietly compiled over the past days—news clippings, photos, social media profiles—all pointing toward the little girl Natalia never mentioned.

His daughter.

The irony wasn’t lost on him. Here he was, a man who built an empire brick by brick, and the one thing he never saw coming was a secret growing inside someone else.

He tapped a pen against the desk, his mind racing. Should he confront Natalia now? Demand answers? Or should he dig deeper, protect himself until he knew more?

“Damn it, Natalia,” he muttered, rising and pacing the room. “Why didn’t you tell me? Why did you hide this?”

His voice was rough with regret, but beneath it simmered a harder emotion—betrayal. Not just from Natalia, but from the child who represented everything he’d lost.

A chime from his phone broke the silence. He swiped it open. A secure message from his private investigator:

“Subject: Camila Cruz.

Identity: Daughter of Natalia Cruz.

Resides with Natalia’s Mother, Teresa Cruz in Queens. Attends St. Michael’s Elementary.”

Damien’s jaw clenched. The details were correct. The dates lined up. He sank back into his chair, eyes fixed on the city lights. If this truth surfaced, it could ruin everything—the company, his reputation, the carefully constructed life he’d built since losing Natalia.

But beneath the fear was something else; it was a fragile hope, buried deep: maybe there was still a chance. A chance to reclaim what he’d lost. To be the father he’d never been.

The door to his home office slid open quietly. His personal assistant, Clara, appeared, concern flickering across her face.

“Mr. Carrington, you’ve been at this for hours. Maybe you should rest—”

He shook his head. “Not tonight, Clara. There’s something I need to do first.”

Her eyes searched his, then she asked, “Can I help?”

He hesitated. For the first time in years, he let down his guard. “Find out everything about this girl,” he said quietly, handing her the picture of a little girl. “But keep it off the record. No leaks. No paper trail.”

Clara nodded, understanding the gravity. “Understood.”

As she left, Damien stared back out at the city. The war between Natalia and him wasn’t just about business anymore.

It was about something more deeper.

——-

The Following Morning, Carrington Global Headquarters:

The morning sunlight cut through the sleek glass walls of Carrington Global’s towering headquarters, but Damien’s office felt colder than ever. His reflection stared back at him from the windowpane—sharp suit, impeccably styled hair, but eyes shadowed with something unfamiliar. Doubt. Regret. Fear.

He sat at his desk, scrolling through a folder Clara had delivered moments before. It contained more than just facts about Camila Cruz—it had photos, school records, even a video clip of the girl performing in a school play. She was radiant, full of life—everything he wished he’d known.

A sudden knock broke his reverie. It was Marcus, his chief of security, a loyal man who’d known Damien since his early days.

“Morning, sir. Anything I can assist with?” Marcus asked, sensing the tension.

Damien gestured toward the folder. “I want you to discreetly increase surveillance on Teresa Cruz’s residence. No alarms, no alerts—just keep eyes and ears open.”

Marcus nodded. “Understood. You want me to bring this to legal as well?”

Damien shook his head. “Not yet. This stays between us.”

As Marcus left, Damien’s phone buzzed again. A message from his head of legal affairs: “The Cruz case is gaining traction. Opposition is strong. Natalia is formidable.”

The sharp buzz of his phone faded into the stillness of the room, but Damien’s mind remained in turmoil. His thoughts tangled between corporate warfare and the little girl’s face beaming from the school play photograph. He could still hear the echo of Camila’s laughter from the video clip—so clear, so innocent.

“Could she really be mine?” He thought to himself.

A sudden, firm knock on the door shattered his thoughts. His pulse quickened, instinct tightening every muscle. Without a word, he snapped the folder shut, the glossy photos and confidential reports slipping neatly back inside. He quickly slid the file into the bottom drawer of his sleek mahogany desk. Then with a quiet click, he locked it.

Only when the evidence of his private turmoil was hidden did he glance toward the door.

“Come in,” Damien called, his voice steady, his expression schooled into its usual cool detachment.

The door eased open with a soft whisper, and in stepped Thomas Reed, the head of Carrington Global’s legal affairs. He was a tall, lean man in a navy suit. His expression was tight, grim, and there was a certain urgency in his measured steps.

“Ah, Thomas,” Damien said, gesturing to the chair opposite his desk. “Have a seat.”

Thomas obeyed, sinking into the chair and crossing one leg over the other. His leather portfolio settled on his lap, unopened. As he settled in, crossing one leg over the other, the leather of the chair creaked softly under his weight. He leaned forward slightly, hands clasped together.

“I’m here to discuss the Cruz case,” he said quietly. “Frankly, we’re not in a strong position. Natalia’s strategy is aggressive and precise. She’s leveraging public sentiment against the company, citing unethical practices, and she’s backed by a formidable team. If this continues unchecked, we might actually lose.”

Damien’s jaw tightened, but his expression remained cool. “I expected as much,” he said, though the weight of those words hung heavier than he let on.

Thomas hesitated before continuing. “With all due respect, sir, we need to decide how far we’re willing to go. Natalia Cruz isn’t just any lawyer. She knows this case inside out, and she’s hitting hard. If we don’t counter with something stronger, we risk a major loss—financially and publicly.”

For a moment, Damien stared at the polished surface of his desk. The quiet ticking of the clock on the wall marked the growing weight of his thoughts.

“She’s fighting for more than a case,” Damien said quietly, his voice almost lost in the silence. “This isn’t just business for her.”

Thomas’s brow furrowed, but he held his tongue.

After a long pause, Damien’s gaze lifted, sharp and resolute. “Prepare a counterstrategy. Use every legal angle we can find—but quietly. No public escalations, no media leaks. I’ll handle the other part.”

Thomas’s eyes narrowed slightly, curious. “The other part?”

Damien leaned back, his expression unreadable. “Just focus on the case, Thomas. Let me worry about Natalia Cruz.”

A heavy silence fell between them, but the message was clear.

Thomas nodded slowly. “Understood, sir.”

As the door clicked shut behind Thomas, Damien remained by the window for a moment longer, his thoughts churning. Then, with a swift, almost decisive movement, he reached for his phone. He scrolled through his secure contacts until he landed on the one he needed: his private investigator.

He pressed the call button, the line connecting with a faint click.

“Mr. Carrington,” came the crisp voice on the other end.

“Is Camila Cruz at home with her grandmother, Teresa Cruz?” Damien’s voice was low but urgent, betraying the weight of his emotions beneath his composed exterior.

The investigator’s response was immediate. “Yes, sir. They’re at their residence in Queens. Camila hasn’t left the premises since last night. Teresa has been with her all morning.”

Damien exhaled softly, a mix of relief and frustration threading through the breath. “And Natalia?”

There was a brief rustling of papers, then the investigator replied, “She left for work early this morning, around 7:30. She’s been at her law firm ever since. No sign of her returning home yet.”

Damien closed his eyes for a heartbeat, absorbing the information. Then, his voice was quiet but resolute. “Keep watching them. If Natalia returns, let me know immediately. But for now, stand down. I’ll handle this personally.”

“Understood, sir.”

He ended the call with a final tap and lowered the phone onto his desk. For a long moment, he stood in silence, staring out at the city’s maze of streets and towering glass buildings as his hands flexed at his sides.

Then, with a sharp inhale, he straightened his jacket and strode around the desk. He didn’t need anyone’s permission. Not Clara’s. Not Thomas’s. And certainly not Natalia’s.

This was his daughter.

Even if Teresa slammed the door in his face, even if Natalia herself accused him of trespassing, Damien had to see Camila with his own eyes. He needed to hear her voice, to confirm for himself what the photos and files had only hinted at.

With quick, purposeful steps, he exited his office, already dialing for his driver.

It was time to meet his daughter.