Damien Blackwood didn't lose.Not deals. Not arguments. Not wars that other men didn't even know they were fighting. Losing was a concept that belonged to other people, people who hesitated, people who second guessed, people who let emotion sit in the driver's seat.He had cut emotion out of his decisions at twenty two and never once missed it.Or so he had told himself.The truth, the version he kept in the same locked place he kept everything that actually mattered, was that he hadn't cut emotion out at all. He had just learned to compress it. To take everything that hurt and everything that burned and press it down into something hard and dense and purposeful. Something that didn't bleed, but didn't disappear either.Something that waited.He stood at the floor to ceiling window of his office, jacket gone, sleeves rolled to the elbow, a glass of whiskey held loosely in one hand. Forty two floors below the city moved in its small urgent way. Cars. People. Problems that belonged to s
Last Updated : 2026-03-31 Read more