DAMIEN'S GUILT

Damian’s POV

There are moments when I wonder why I don’t just let it all burn.

Adrian. His scandals. His messes. His endless trail of chaos that somehow always ends up at my feet.

But then I remember the last name we share. Cole. And that name means something. At least, it’s supposed to.

Tonight though… watching Ariana Blake storm out of that lounge with tears in her eyes, carrying a baby my brother created and discarded?

Something twists in my chest I don’t have a name for.

Guilt. Responsibility. Rage.

Maybe all three.

Adrian slouches back in his seat, pouring another glass of whiskey like none of this matters. “Well, that was fun,” he says, smirking. “I give her credit, a fiery little thing. You sure you don’t want her? She might spice up that cold life of yours.”

I want to break the glass in his hand. “She’s carrying your child, Adrian. And you laughed in her face.”

He shrugs. “Better she learns now than later. I’m not father material.”

“You’re not human material.” My voice is low, sharp.

“Careful, brother.” He grins, but there’s no humor in it. “You’re starting to sound like Dad. And we both know how much fun he was.”

My jaw tightens. He knows exactly where to stab. “This isn’t about our father. This is about you. You’ve destroyed lives before, but this—this is different. There’s a baby involved.”

Adrian rolls his eyes. “And you’ll swoop in, right? Play the savior. You always do.”

My fists curl. “Someone has to.”

For a second, his smirk slips. Just a second. Then it’s back, wide and sharp. “Good luck, brother. She hates you almost as much as she hates me.”

I leave before I do something I can’t take back.

My penthouse feels colder than usual when I walk in. The city skyline glows outside the glass walls, but it doesn’t impress me tonight. Nothing does.

I loosen my tie, drop my jacket, pour myself a drink, and sit in silence.

Ariana’s voice won’t leave my head.

“You think this is about your reputation? I care about my baby.”

She’s right.

But I can’t let her see that.

Because if I start caring, if I let that wall crack, then I’m trapped. And I can’t afford to be trapped , not by her fire, not by her tears, not by a child that isn’t mine.

I take a long swallow of whiskey. It doesn’t help.

I see her again, standing in that exam room, glaring at me with eyes full of fury and fear. Telling me to stay away. Pulling her hand out of mine like my touch burned her.

And yet…

I couldn’t stop myself.

I told her she wasn’t alone. I told her Adrian would destroy her.

Because it’s true.

And because the thought of her fighting this battle by herself makes something in my chest ache in a way I can’t explain.

The next morning, my assistant barges into my office with a tablet in her hand. “Sir… you need to see this.”

I glance up from the contracts on my desk. “What now?”

She slides the tablet toward me.

There it is.

Video from the restaurant. Ariana storming in. Slapping me. Shouting that she’s pregnant. Vanessa storming out. The entire scene captured from three angles, already viral.

“Half the city’s talking about it,” my assistant says carefully. “The board wants answers. And…” She hesitates. “So does the press.”

I close my eyes briefly, fighting the urge to slam my fist into the desk.

Of course. I knew this was coming. Ariana warned me.

But seeing it—seeing myself splashed across headlines as the cheating billionaire, the scandalized lover, the man who knocked up a stranger—makes my blood boil.

“Get PR on it,” I say tightly. “Damage control, now. And keep Vanessa quiet. She’ll try to milk this if we don’t shut her down.”

“Yes, sir.” My assistant hesitates again. “What about… the woman?”

My jaw tightens. The woman. Ariana.

“She’s off-limits to the press,” I say finally. “If anyone comes near her, I’ll bury them.”

My assistant nods quickly and leaves.

I lean back in my chair, rubbing a hand over my face.

Why do I care?

She humiliated me in public. She screamed accusations that weren’t even true. She threw my life into chaos.

And yet…

I can’t stop thinking about her.

Her fire. Her stubbornness. The way she looked when she pressed her hand protectively over her stomach, even as she stood toe-to-toe with me.

She doesn’t want my help. She made that clear.

But whether she likes it or not, she’s in my orbit now.

And Adrian sure as hell isn’t going to lift a finger.

Which leaves me.

Always me.

That night, I pour another drink, staring out over the glittering city.

I should hate her.

But all I feel is guilt.

For my brother. For my family name. For a baby that isn’t mine but is still somehow my responsibility.

And maybe, just maybe, for the way she makes me feel something I’ve spent years burying.

The phone buzzes.

It’s a message from an unknown number.

Stay away from Ariana Blake if you know what’s good for you.

I stare at the screen, fury sparking low in my chest.

Adrian.

Of course.

I toss the phone down and grab my jacket.

Because no matter how much she hates me, no matter how much I try to stay detached…

I can’t let her fight this alone.

Not when I know exactly how dangerous Adrian can be.