All Chapters of After Midnight With Him : Chapter 51 - Chapter 60

Damien’s POVThe elevator doors slid open on the twentieth floor of Blackwood Enterprises just after eleven. I stepped out still rolling my sleeves, the urgent call from earlier still ringing in my ears—client crisis, contract on the edge, the kind of mess that needed me in the room yesterday. My phone buzzed again. I silenced it without looking.The open-plan floor hummed with the usual mid-morning energy: keyboards clacking, phones ringing, the low murmur of creative meetings. I headed straight for the glass-walled conference room where the Meridian team waited. Halfway there, the main glass doors to reception swung open hard enough to make the hinges protest.A woman strode in.Tall. Blonde. Red dress that clung like it had been painted on, heels clicking sharp against the polished concrete. Diamond studs flashed at her ears. A structured black bag swung from one manicured hand. Every head in the immediate vicinity turned. Conversations stalled. Someone’s coffee cup paused halfway

Sophia’s PovI didn’t wait for the elevator.The moment the glass door of Damien’s office closed on the blonde in the red dress, I turned on my heel. Papers from the dropped folder still fluttered at my feet. I left them. My bag sat under my desk. I crossed the open floor in twelve hard steps, ignored Jenna’s wide-eyed stare, and yanked the drawer open.Laptop. Charger. The small framed photo of Eleanor and the twins. Two pens. The spare lipstick I kept for late meetings. Everything else stayed. I shoved the items into my bag with both hands, zipper rasping loud in the sudden quiet that followed me.A designer near the windows whispered something. I didn’t look up.I walked straight to HR on the eighteenth floor. The stairwell door slammed behind me. My heels echoed on concrete. Two flights down. Push the door. Bright fluorescent lights. The receptionist glanced up.“I need to see Patricia. Now.”Patricia’s office door stood open. She looked up from her screen, glasses halfway down he

Damien’s POVI hit the twentieth floor at a run.The elevator doors hadn’t fully opened before I shoved through them. Jacket gone. Tie gone. Phone still in my fist from the last unanswered call. The open floor went quiet the second people saw my face.Sophia’s desk sat three rows in.I stopped in front of it.Chair pushed in. Monitor dark. Keyboard clean. The little ceramic mug Eleanor had given her still sat in the exact center of the desk like someone had staged it. No laptop. No bag. No sweater on the chair back. Drawer open and empty except for two paper clips and a single black pen.I yanked the drawer all the way out. Nothing. I slammed it shut hard enough that the monitor shook.Jenna from marketing hovered three desks away, eyes wide.“Where is she?”“She left,” Jenna said. “Right after… the woman in red. She packed her things and went downstairs.”I was already moving.Stairwell door. Two flights down. HR floor. I didn’t knock. Patricia’s door was open. I walked in and shut i

Damien’s POVI walked into the conference room on the twenty-second floor at 8:03 a.m. with the cream envelope still in my jacket pocket.Three lawyers already sat at the long table. Laptops open. Files stacked. The firm’s senior partner, Marcus Hale, stood when I entered. He didn’t smile.“Sit down, Damien.”I stayed standing.Marcus slid a thick folder across the table. “We verified the signatures overnight. Your father’s is genuine. The Voss family counsel confirmed their copy matches. The agreement is binding under the original terms.”I opened the folder. Pages flipped under my fingers. Dates. Clauses. Penalty structure highlighted in yellow.“Forty percent of current valuation if the marriage doesn’t happen within ninety days,” Marcus said. “That’s the number. No easy exit. Mutual consent required to cancel, and Isabella Voss has already stated in writing she will not consent.”I closed the folder hard.“Find a way out.”“We’re looking. Undue influence, lack of disclosure to the

Damien’s POVThe charity gala was already in full swing when I arrived.Crystal lights. Black-tie crowd. Cameras clustered near the entrance of the hotel ballroom. I stepped out of the car alone, adjusted my cuff links, and walked the short red carpet with my head down. Flashes still popped. I ignored them and kept moving.Inside, the ballroom hummed with conversation and the low thrum of a string quartet. I headed straight for the bar, ordered a whiskey neat, and turned—only to find Isabella already there.She wore black this time. Floor-length. Diamonds at her throat. She closed the distance before I could step away and slid her hand through the crook of my arm like it belonged there.“Smile,” she said under her breath. “Three photographers just turned this way.”I kept my face neutral. “Take your hand off me.”She didn’t. Instead she angled us toward the nearest cluster of cameras and raised her champagne glass in a practiced toast. Flashes fired. Someone called my name. Isabella l