Chapter 7: Withdrawal

Chapter 7: Withdrawal

Damien Voss was exhausted.

Not the dull kind of exhaustion coffee could fix. Not the manageable sort that came after long meetings and longer nights.

This was sharper.

More dangerous.

The kind that sat behind his eyes and made every sound in the room feel like pressure against his skull.

The boardroom had gone silent three minutes ago.

No one had spoken since.

Damien sat at the head of the long black table, one hand pressed briefly against his temple while numbers blurred faintly across the presentation screen.

“…Sir?”

His gaze lifted slowly.

The junior executive across from him visibly regretted speaking.

“You were saying?” Damien asked calmly.

The man swallowed. “The Singapore acquisition. We were waiting on your approval.”

Damien looked down at the report again.

The figures were wrong.

Not disastrously wrong.

Just careless.

Sloppy.

Normally he would've caught it in seconds.

Today it took him longer than it should have.

His irritation deepened immediately.

“Redo the projections,” he said flatly, tossing the folder onto the table.

The executive blinked. “Sir, finance already approved—”

“Then finance can redo them too.”

Silence settled again.

Across the room Elias stood near the windows with his tablet in hand, watching quietly.

Observing.

Always observing.

Damien hated that he noticed things.

Especially lately.

“Meeting adjourned,” Damien said.

Chairs shifted almost instantly.

The executives left fast, murmuring nervous apologies on their way out. One of them nearly walked into the glass door in his rush to escape.

The second the room emptied, Damien loosened his tie roughly and leaned back in his chair.

The headache was getting worse.

“You're getting them again.”

Elias's voice cut through the quiet.

Damien didn't open his eyes. “Congratulations on your observational skills.”

“You barely touched your coffee.”

“I wasn't aware you monitored my caffeine intake now.”

“You're irritated.”

That finally made Damien look at him.

Elias met his stare evenly. “Which usually means you didn't sleep properly.”

The words landed too accurately.

Damien's jaw tightened faintly.

Because he had slept.

That was the problem.

He'd fallen asleep faster than usual last night, Liora warm against him, her scent filling the dark space in his chest that had spent years hollow and restless.

And then sometime around three in the morning, she'd shifted in her sleep.

Just once.

A small movement.

Nothing intentional.

Her body had pressed back against his for one brief second, the curve of her ass brushing low against his groin as she tried to get comfortable.

Damien had woken instantly.

Not from panic.

Not from nightmares.

From her.

Heat had hit him hard and immediate, sharp enough to pull him fully awake despite the exhaustion weighing down his body.

Beside him, Liora had settled again without realizing what she'd done.

Meanwhile he'd spent the next two hours staring at the ceiling with his jaw clenched and his body painfully aware of every inch of her pressed against him.

He hadn't slept again after that.

The memory alone made tension pull low in his stomach now.

Annoying.

Dangerous.

Unacceptable.

“She has a late shift tonight.”

Damien looked up sharply.

Elias glanced down at his tablet. “Her coworker called in sick. She'll probably leave the bookstore around nine-thirty.”

Too late.

The thought came immediately.

Automatic.

Possessive.

Damien disliked both.

“She should leave early,” he said.

Elias actually looked startled. “You do realize she has an actual job outside this arrangement, right?”

“She also has a contract.”

“A nighttime contract,” Elias corrected carefully. “Not ownership.”

Something cold flickered behind Damien's eyes.

“Be careful, Elias.”

The warning settled heavily between them.

Elias exhaled slowly and looked away first.

Good.

Damien stood and crossed toward the windows overlooking the city below. Rain streaked across the glass in gray lines, blurring headlights into molten gold.

The skyline looked distorted today.

Or maybe he was simply tired enough to stop caring how beautiful it was supposed to be.

His phone buzzed against the conference table.

Victor Lang.

Damien stared at the screen for a moment before answering.

“What.”

Victor laughed softly. “Still charming as ever.”

“I have limited patience today.”

“That's obvious.” A pause. “You left the office early twice this week.”

Damien's expression darkened slightly.

Victor continued before he could respond.

“And according to several unfortunate employees, you've stopped tearing people's heads off during meetings.” Amusement threaded through his voice. “Frankly, Damien, it's concerning.”

“You called to discuss my temperament?”

“No.” Victor's voice sharpened subtly. “I called because sudden improvements always interest me.”

There it was.

Damien went still.

Victor Lang noticed weakness the way sharks noticed blood.

Years ago, when Damien's insomnia first started destroying him publicly, Victor had circled relentlessly—business pressure, media whispers, strategic acquisitions timed perfectly around Damien's worst periods.

The man collected vulnerabilities like trophies.

“You sound tired again,” Victor said smoothly. “I'd hate for you to relapse.”

The headache behind Damien's eyes pulsed harder.

“Careful,” he said quietly.

Victor laughed again. “Touchy. Whatever you've found lately, I hope for your sake it lasts.”

The line disconnected.

Silence settled heavily through the room afterward.

Elias looked uneasy now. “Problem?”

Damien set the phone down carefully.

“Victor knows something changed.”

“That fast?”

“He pays people to notice things.”

And people had noticed.

Of course they had.

Damien wasn't stupid enough to think his improved behavior had gone unseen.

The drinking had stopped.

The overnight office stays had stopped.

The insomnia-fueled rage had lessened.

Because every night at exactly 10:45PM, Liora Kane walked back into his life carrying lavender, strawberry, warmth, and sleep with her.

His fingers curled slowly against the edge of the table.

Dependency.

That was the word lingering beneath all of this.

Not attraction.

Not comfort.

Dependency.

And Damien Voss had spent his entire life learning never to need anything.

“She shouldn't leave work alone anymore,” he said suddenly.

Elias frowned. “What?”

“Starting tonight.”

“Damien—”

“Victor doesn't make idle comments.”

Elias looked conflicted now. “You think he'd go after her?”

“I think men like Victor test pressure points.”

And Liora had quietly become one.

That realization sat badly in his chest.

Very badly.

Before Elias could respond, Damien added coldly:

“Keep this arrangement out of the office.”

Elias blinked once.

“No one speaks about her. No rumors. No speculation.”

His assistant studied him carefully. “People are already starting to notice.”

“Then shut it down.”

“And if I can't?”

Damien's expression turned glacial.

“You can.”

The room fell silent again.

Elias rubbed a hand over his face slowly before nodding once. “I'll handle it.”

Damien checked the time unconsciously.

6:17PM.

Still hours left.

The realization irritated him more than it should have.

Because lately his days had started dividing themselves strangely in his head.

Before she arrived.

After she arrived.

The nights felt manageable now.

The days were becoming the problem.

“You should go home,” Elias said carefully.

Damien's eyes lifted.

“You're not focusing anyway.”

Annoyingly accurate.

Again.

Damien grabbed his coat without answering.

By 8:30PM he was back at the penthouse.

The silence greeted him immediately.

Cold.

Expensive.

Empty.

It had felt normal once.

Now it just felt absent.

Damien loosened his cuffs slowly as he walked toward the living room. The city lights stretched endlessly beyond the windows, glowing gold against the rain-dark skyline.

Three years he'd lived like this.

Three years of sleepless nights and whiskey burning down his throat while the city moved on without him.

And now all it took was one girl with lavender-strawberry lotion to unravel the careful numbness he'd built around himself.

Pathetic.

He poured himself a drink anyway.

The glass stopped halfway to his mouth.

The scent of whiskey suddenly felt wrong.

Too sharp.

Too bitter.

He stared at it for a long moment before setting it back down untouched.

Interesting.

The elevator dinged softly at exactly 10:38PM.

His body reacted before his mind did.

The tension behind his eyes eased first.

Then his shoulders.

Then something deeper.

Damien stood very still as footsteps approached down the hallway.

And when Liora stepped into the penthouse a few seconds later, damp from the rain outside and looking exhausted beneath the bookstore sweater hanging off one shoulder, he realized something deeply unsettling.

For the first time in years—

Home no longer felt empty when she was in it.