Tous les chapitres de : Chapitre 91 - Chapitre 100

Damien’s POVI saw them before I meant to.I was coming out of a call with the East Coast team, still turning over numbers in my head, when I glanced across the open floor and stopped. Sophia was at the far end of the long table near the windows, a stack of documents spread out in front of her. One of the junior analysts—Tom something, solid worker, nothing remarkable about him—was leaning over the table pointing at a page. She said something I couldn’t hear. He laughed. She smiled and shook her head, then laughed too, quiet and real.It lasted maybe three seconds.That was all it took.Something tight and unpleasant slid under my ribs. I stood there longer than I should have, watching the easy way they worked through the papers, the way she didn’t tense up around him the way she still sometimes tensed around me. Nothing about it was wrong. He wasn’t standing too close. He wasn’t touching her. They were just two people sorting through a project, sharing a brief moment of humor over wh

Damien’s POVThe evening started quieter than most.We had dinner at the house outside the city again—the same place I had taken her when I wanted walls and silence instead of an audience. No staff. No schedule. Just the two of us and the kind of stillness that made it harder to hide behind work or public roles. She had been softer since the conversation about jealousy, less guarded in the small ways that mattered. I noticed it in how she sat closer on the drive up, how she didn’t reach for her phone once, how she looked at me across the table like she was actually present instead of bracing for the next complication.After dinner we ended up on the couch near the windows. The lights were low. Rain had started outside, steady against the glass. She had her legs tucked under her, a glass of water in her hands, the temporary ring still on her finger catching the light whenever she moved.I watched her for a while before I spoke.“You’ve been different the last couple of days.”She glanc

Damien’s POVThe articles started appearing before the gala lights had fully gone cold.By morning my phone was full of links. Engagement confirmed. Blackwood makes it official. Who is Sophia and how long has this been happening. Most of it was noise I had expected. The part I hadn’t fully prepared for was the sudden, relentless focus on a date.When is the wedding?The question showed up in headlines, in side columns, in the carefully worded messages that began landing from people who only reached out when they sensed a social advantage. A few board members asked in that light, casual way that still expected an answer. Someone in PR sent over a draft statement with placeholder language for “a celebration in the coming months.” The machine had already started moving, and it assumed we were moving with it.I shut most of it down before noon. No comment on timing. No confirmation of venues or seasons. Any public curiosity could wait until there was something real to say. Still, the pres

Damien’s POVI found her on the terrace outside the smaller conference rooms, the one people rarely used after hours.She was standing at the rail with her arms folded, looking out at the city like it might offer an answer the building couldn’t. The article had been live for most of the day. I had spent the afternoon shutting down the internal chatter and refusing comment, but none of that mattered if the person it was designed to hurt was standing alone absorbing it.I closed the door behind me so the noise from the floor stayed out.“Sophia.”She didn’t turn right away. When she did, her face was carefully composed. No tears. No raised voice. Just that quiet, tired stillness that always worried me more than anger.“I saw the photo,” she said.I waited for the rest. The accusation. The demand for an explanation I hadn’t given fast enough. The comparison between the woman in the old picture and the one standing in front of me now.It didn’t come.She just looked at me, waiting, and th

Damien’s POVI was still carrying the unfinished look on Sophia’s face when the knock came.She was standing near the window of my office, arms tight around herself, the words she had started to say still hanging unfinished between us. Legal had already burned twenty minutes of my attention on Isabella’s latest press move, and all I wanted was to close the door again and let her finish whatever she had come here to tell me. The second knock was sharper than the first.I opened the door.One of the junior staff from records stood there holding a plain manila envelope, the kind we used for internal files that weren’t supposed to travel far. He looked uncomfortable.“This was left for you, sir. Marked urgent. No return name on the slip.”I took it. The envelope was heavier than it looked. No logo. No routing stamp I recognized at first glance. Just my name on the front in clean, unfamiliar handwriting.“That’ll be all,” I said.He left. I shut the door and turned the envelope over once i