Crossed Lines의 모든 챕터: 챕터 51 - 챕터 60

POV: Damon Clarisse didn’t waste time. By midday, her name appeared on his schedule, slipped neatly between two legitimate appointments, as though she belonged there. Damon let it stand. If she thought she had maneuvered her way in, all the better. She arrived draped in tailored silk, perfume wafting in ahead of her, smile polished to a weapon. “You keep yourself busy, Damon. I appreciate you making time for me.” Damon rose from behind his desk but didn’t extend his hand. Instead, he gestured toward the chair opposite. “You made time for yourself, Clarisse. I only let you keep it.” Her eyes flickered, just for a heartbeat, before she smoothed the reaction into charm. “I like a man who doesn’t waste words.” “You’ll find,” Damon said evenly, lowering himself back into his seat, “that I don’t waste much of anything.” For the next twenty minutes, she danced around business talk, dangling vague promises of “influence” in Duval Holdings, name-dropping contacts who had long since sold

POV: Elara The last of the executives filed out, their chatter fading with the click of the door. Silence expanded in its wake, too heavy, too charged. Elara kept her gaze fixed on the papers before her, though the words blurred into nothing. Stay a moment. The way Damon had said it, calm, casual, but with that undertone she’d come to recognize. Not a request. Never a request. “You’ve made your point,” she said, gathering her notes with deliberate precision. “You don’t need me for whatever comes next.” “Don’t I?” His voice came, sounding closer than she expected. She glanced up and found him standing at the head of the table, watching her with that unflinching gaze. He looked every inch the man in control, suit sharp, expression unreadable but she knew better. She’d seen the cracks, the moments when something more dangerous flickered through. Her fingers tightened around her pen. “You enjoy cornering me like this. Why?” For a beat, he didn’t answer. Then, slowly, he circled th

POV: Elara “You’re not afraid of me”, he'd said. The words pulsed through her like a brand, mocking her attempts at denial. Because the truth wasn’t that simple. She wasn’t afraid of Damon. She was afraid of herself, of the way her pulse betrayed her, of the way her resolve cracked when his eyes caught hers and refused to let go. Her phone buzzed on the table. She almost ignored it, but habit won out. A new message lit the screen. Not from Hailey. Not from anyone she wanted to see. One line. No name attached. ‘You can’t run from the storm forever’. Elara’s breath hitched. No number, no signature, but she knew. Damon. Of course it was him. The phone felt heavier in her hand than it should, and she set it down slowly, as if refusing to give him the satisfaction of a reaction would somehow undo the weight of his presence in her life. But as the silence closed in around her once more, Elara knew the truth she couldn’t admit aloud, Damon wasn’t just crossing lines. He was erasin

POV: Elara The clink of cutlery and low hum of conversation faded as Elara leaned back in her chair, Hailey’s laughter still echoing faintly in her ears. Lunch had been… grounding. Hailey always had that effect, light where Elara carried weight, warmth where she braced herself against the cold. Now, walking alone toward her car, after the parting embrace with Hailey, she tugged her jacket tighter around herself. The city felt sharper somehow, every corner an eye, every shadow a whisper. She knew Damon hadn’t confronted her about ShadowByte yet, but his silence was worse than any accusation. It meant he was playing a long game. And Damon Cross never played unless he knew he’d win. Sliding into the driver’s seat, Elara let her head fall back against the rest. For one wild second, she wanted to peel back every firewall, every mask, and vanish into the digital ether where no one, not even him, could touch her. ShadowByte didn’t flinch at stares across boardrooms. ShadowByte didn’t feel

POV: Elara The first course arrived in silence, artfully plated and impossibly delicate. Elara barely looked at it, her attention fixed on the man across the table. Damon’s posture was relaxed, but nothing about him ever was. He didn’t bother with pleasantries. “Duval’s numbers will stabilize with this collaboration. But that’s not what interests me.” Elara arched her brow, cutting a piece of the dish with deliberate care. “No? Then what does?” “You.” The word was smooth, but his expression didn’t shift. “Your input in the meeting earlier was sharper than most of your board combined. You don’t posture, you don’t hesitate. You cut straight to the problem.” Her fork stilled. Compliments from Damon always felt like traps, velvet-wrapped, laced with some hidden edge. She set it down carefully. “If this is how you negotiate, I’m unimpressed.” A faint curve ghosted at his mouth. “Not negotiation. Observation.” He took a slow sip of wine, eyes never leaving hers. “You see the boardroo