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Chapter 25 — Echoes of the Night
The morning light spilled through the tall windows of Athena's dorm, too bright for the heaviness that sat in her chest. The city was waking; Alderidge University's grounds buzzed faintly with the sound of students and distant laughter. She lay still, eyes open, trying to decide if the night before had been real or some delirious dream carved out of longing and exhaustion.
The scent of Damon's cologne still lingered faintly on her skin, a ghost she couldn't wash away.
She pressed her palms over her eyes. You need to stop thinking about him, Athena.
But the command carried no weight. Every time she tried to shove him out of her mind, fragments of memory crept back—the tremor in his voice when he'd said her name, the way his hands had hesitated on her shoulders as if he were fighting himself. He'd walked away before she could speak, leaving her standing in that vast room wrapped in silence and confusion.
She forced herself out of bed, pulled on a sweater, and walked to the window. Outside, students crossed the green lawns in clusters, some laughing, some rushing with coffee cups and textbooks. The world looked so normal that it almost angered her. How could everything move forward when her own world had been shaken out of alignment?
By the time she reached her first lecture, she'd practiced the expression she wore when she wanted to be unreadable. Clara waved from the back row, but Athena's smile was distant. She sat, took out her notebook, and listened without hearing. Every time the professor mentioned business strategies or corporate mergers, her mind slipped back to him—Damon DeVille, the man who could dismantle an empire before breakfast and still haunt her like a half-remembered melody.
When the class ended, Clara nudged her. "You look like you haven't slept."
"I didn't," Athena admitted, closing her book. "Too much coffee, I guess."
Clara frowned but didn't press. She'd learned that Athena's silences were fortresses, not doors.
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Across the city, inside the mirrored tower that bore the DeVille insignia, Damon stood before his office windows, a file unopened on his desk. The skyline glittered in the distance, sharp and impersonal. His assistant, Lionel, cleared his throat softly.
"Sir, the Tokyo board is waiting for confirmation on the merger call."
Damon didn't answer immediately. He had been staring at a reflection that wasn't there—black hair spilling down a slender back, eyes too bright for innocence. Finally, he said, "Push the meeting by an hour. Tell them unforeseen matters came up."
Lionel hesitated. "Understood, sir."
When the door closed, Damon exhaled, pressing his palms against the cool glass. He'd spent the night convincing himself he'd done the right thing by stopping. He told himself he was protecting her, protecting them from the chaos that would follow if he lost control again. But the memory of her face in the low light, the tremor in her breath when she said his name—it played on a loop.
He had trained his entire life to compartmentalize, to rule every impulse. Yet with Athena, logic evaporated. The more he tried to forget, the more vividly she filled his mind.
At precisely noon, Lionel reappeared. "You also have a delivery scheduled for the university outreach program. Shall I handle it?"
Damon turned slowly. "No. I'll send something myself."
Lionel blinked but didn't question it. "Very well, sir."
When the assistant left, Damon opened a drawer and pulled out a small velvet box—something he'd purchased months ago without knowing why. Inside lay a delicate silver bracelet, a charm shaped like a wing—symbol of freedom, or maybe of flight from danger. He wrote nothing but her name on the envelope. No note, no signature. It wasn't an apology, but it was a beginning, or perhaps an end.
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By mid-afternoon, Athena was sitting beneath the oak trees near the student center, sketching in the corner of her notebook. The quiet soothed her, though not completely. When a shadow fell across her lap, she looked up to see a courier in a crisp black uniform.
"Miss Athena Brown?" he asked.
"Yes?"
"Delivery for you." He handed her the small box, bowed slightly, and walked away before she could ask anything else.
Her heart gave a small, traitorous leap. The wrapping was elegant, unmistakably expensive. For a moment she just stared at it, debating. Then she opened the lid.
The bracelet caught the sunlight—cool silver, a single charm shaped like a wing. No card. No sender. But she knew.
Her throat tightened. It was absurd, really. A simple piece of jewelry shouldn't make her pulse race or her stomach twist with confusion. Yet it did. Because this was exactly the kind of gesture Damon would make: restrained, meaningful, silent.
Clara appeared at her shoulder. "Wow, that's beautiful. Who's it from?"
Athena shut the box quickly. "I don't know."
"Don't know, or don't want to say?"
Athena managed a smile that didn't reach her eyes. "Maybe both."
She packed her books, tucking the small box into her bag as if it were dangerous to let anyone else see it. The rest of the day passed in a blur of half-heard lectures and shallow conversations. But that night, when she finally returned to her dorm, she placed the bracelet on her desk. The charm gleamed faintly in the lamplight, a silent question she didn't know how to answer.
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Across town, Damon stood on the balcony of his penthouse, city lights flickering below. He'd told himself he wouldn't think about whether she'd received it, but the thought persisted anyway. A cool wind brushed against his face, carrying the faint scent of rain.
He took a slow breath and closed his eyes. He could almost feel her presence, the echo of her voice whispering his name. The memory tightened something deep inside him—a mix of regret and want that felt too much like pain.
He turned back toward the glass doors, where the reflection of the city fractured around him. For a moment he thought he saw her silhouette in that reflection—long hair, steady gaze, the quiet strength he could never quite tame. Then the illusion dissolved, leaving only his own image staring back.
Damon set his jaw and reached for his phone. "Lionel," he said when the line connected. "Cancel my evening meetings tomorrow."
"Of course, sir. May I ask the reason?"
"I'll be visiting Alderidge personally," Damon replied, his voice unreadable. "It's time I faced a few things."
When he hung up, he looked once more at the skyline and allowed himself a single, dangerous thought.
Maybe this time, I won't run.
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