CHAPTER TWO - DAMIEN

The city hadn’t fully woken yet. From my office window, it looked peaceful—an illusion I didn’t buy. Down below, the streets were slowly coming alive, the skyline reflected in the glass like a second, quieter world.

“Those numbers don’t add up,” I said into the phone. “You’re telling me there’s no variance?”

A nervous voice crackled through the line. “Sir, I—I think it’s just a misalign—”

“Fix it.” I hung up.

Excuses. I hated excuses.

Control was oxygen. Precision, my religion. Both had abandoned me tonight. I’d spent eight hours dissecting reports that refused to make sense. The figures were off—in a way i couldn't explain. I’d recalculated everything myself and still found nothing. Every trail looped back into silence.

And silence always hid something.

The team kept insisting it was formatting, an oversight, a simple mistake. I didn’t believe in simple mistakes. Someone was either sloppy, stupid, or hiding something, and I couldn’t decide which was worse.

Not in my company. Not under my name.

I exhaled hard, temples throbbing. Two clients threatened to pull contracts, my head of finance was on leave, one senior manager thought “fiscal oversight” meant double-checking Excel formulas, and the last intern somehow sent an unsigned statement to the auditors—something he shouldn’t even have touched.

Idiots. All of them.

The only sound was the hum of the air conditioning. People wondered why I preferred silence. This was why.

Lockewood Heights had been my father’s creation, but I was the one who rebuilt it into what it was today. Every inch of success had been earned. Every inch of order maintained by discipline. So the discrepancies felt… personal.

The office was immaculate. Black marble floors, glass partitions, gold accents, and LH engraved everywhere—glass, folders, even the corner of my desk. A reminder of what I protected.

I’d showered an hour ago in the adjoining suite and changed into a fresh shirt and emergency suit—black, of course. I kept extras in the office for nights like this, when the building slept but I didn’t.

The clock ticked toward 6:15 a.m. Staff wouldn’t arrive for three more hours. Cleaning staff came at 6:30—quiet, quick, gone before my day began. The last three cleaners hadn’t lasted a week. One cried. One misaligned my desk folders—unforgivable. The last couldn’t stop “accidentally” bumping into me.

I scheduled my mornings purposefully. No small talk. No interruptions. No one in my space unless necessary.

I turned back to the window, trying to shove the numbers out of my mind. They wouldn’t leave. My pulse throbbed at my temples.

“I need coffee,” I muttered. “Or maybe a week without stupid people. Actually… just people.”

A faint creak broke the silence.

I turned sharply.

A woman had stepped into my office.

Most people knew better. Yet there she stood, mop in hand, fifteen minutes early, uniform crisp, stunned the moment she realized she’d entered the wrong kind of danger.

She froze when we made eye contact. Long black hair pulled back, doe-like eyes, soft features—completely out of place in a world built of steel and glass.

HR had mentioned a new hire yesterday. I’d barely listened.

“You’re in my way,” I said evenly.

She swallowed. “Uhmm, I’m Tanya. The new clean—”

“Great.” I reached for my jacket. “Then clean. And next time, knock before entering my wing.”

“I… didn’t know you were going to be—”

“Now you do.”

Color rushed into her cheeks. I shouldn’t have noticed. But I did.

I slipped on my jacket, the familiar motion grounding me. Still, something about the way she looked at me—startled but not weak—lingered longer than it should have.

I walked past her without another word. No glance back. No apology. Just the faint scent of lavender threading through my cologne.

Somewhere between the elevator and my next breath, I told myself she was nothing. Just another interruption.

By the time I reached the elevator, I’d decided coffee was the only addiction I could justify.

Outside, the morning air was cool, the light too bright for someone running on three hours of sleep. My black Porsche Cayenne waited at the curb, engine humming.

James—my driver and occasional source of misplaced optimism—stepped forward.

“Good morning, sir.”

“Morning.” I slid into the back seat. “Coffee.”

He nodded and we pulled away from Lockewood Heights. The streets were already filling with people chasing things that probably didn’t matter.

James parked in front of the small café down the street.

“The usual, sir?”

I nodded. “You’re on the clock.”

He returned two minutes later with my coffee—black, strong, no sugar. I let the bitter scent fill the car. For a moment, it quieted the static in my head.

My phone buzzed. Anna’s name appeared, and despite everything, I felt the corner of my mouth lift.

“Anna,” I answered. “You’re up early.”

Her voice was chirpy. Typical. “You say that like you’re surprised. I wanted to check on you—and remind you about dinner tonight.”

“Can’t,” I said, taking a sip. “Meetings.”

“You said that last time,” she protested gently. “It’s just one dinner, Damien. You barely make time for me anymore.”

“You know I’m busy.”

“I know,” she said softly. “You always are.”

The silence that followed pressed something heavy in my chest—guilt. The emotion I despised most. I sighed.

“Fine. I’ll be there. And when did you perfect emotional blackmail?”

Her laughter burst through the speakers. “You’re so easy to guilt-trip.”

“Emotional blackmail only works because I let it,” I muttered, but she was already celebrating.

“I’ll hold you to it. Love you!”

The line went dead, and despite myself, I smiled faintly. I’d sit through hell for her—family dinners included.

The problem with family dinners was the chaos: fake smiles, nosy questions, uncles who couldn’t mind their business, and Diane’s yearly lectures on punctuality and presentation.

Chaos. Every time.

But Anna would be there.

She was the only reason I ever showed up to anything resembling family.

I took another sip of coffee. It burned my tongue, but I didn’t mind.

Pain was still better than uncertainty.