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Chapter 26 — Fractures and Fire
The campus felt different that morning—too alive, too loud, too full of whispers. Athena heard the name first while walking across the central courtyard, the sound carried in excited murmurs from a group of students near the fountain.
"Damon DeVille," one of them said breathlessly. "He's here. In person!"
Athena froze mid-step, her breath catching. It couldn't be. Her mind had to be playing tricks on her. But when she looked up, the banners near the business faculty building confirmed it:
Guest Speaker: Damon DeVille — Leadership in the Modern Age.
Her heart lurched. For a moment, she considered turning around, skipping every lecture, and hiding in her dorm until nightfall. But curiosity—no, something far more dangerous than curiosity—kept her feet rooted. The world around her blurred into white noise.
Eight months ago, she'd loved him with everything she had. Last week, she'd told herself she was finally free of him.
Now, he was walking back into her world as if the universe had never learned the word mercy.
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The auditorium was packed to the edges, a restless sea of students waiting for a glimpse of the country's most powerful man. The buzz in the air was electric. Athena slipped into a seat at the back, telling herself it was only because she didn't want to seem affected. Clara sat beside her, whispering about how every girl in the department was practically glowing in anticipation.
When the doors finally opened, the sound in the hall fell into reverent silence.
He entered like he owned the air itself—black suit, crisp shirt, no tie, that controlled aura of someone accustomed to command. Damon DeVille didn't look like a businessman today; he looked like the embodiment of danger wrapped in refinement.
Athena's fingers tightened around her pen as he ascended the stage. The light caught the angles of his face—the strong jaw, the sharp amber eyes that missed nothing. He glanced briefly over the crowd, expression unreadable, and for one breathless second, their eyes met.
It wasn't an accident.
It was deliberate, searing, and much too long.
Athena's pulse stuttered. She looked away immediately, but it was too late. That single connection sent a rush through her chest like a spark catching on dry wood.
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Damon spoke with the quiet authority that had built empires. His voice was deep, measured, commanding—but she heard something beneath the words, an edge that hadn't been there before. He talked about control, about how emotion could be both a weapon and a weakness. It wasn't until the very end that he let his gaze sweep the audience again and pause—just for a heartbeat—on her.
When the applause erupted, Athena barely clapped. Her chest ached with something she couldn't name.
Clara was talking beside her, something about how magnetic Damon was in person, but Athena barely heard. She slipped out of her seat, moving toward the hallway before anyone else could notice. Her heels clicked softly against the polished floor. She needed air.
She reached the quiet of the west garden, the one behind the auditorium. The autumn breeze brushed her hair, carrying the faint scent of roses from the nearby flowerbeds. She closed her eyes, breathing deeply.
"You're still running away when things get uncomfortable," came that voice—low, unmistakable—from behind her.
Her body went rigid. She turned slowly.
He was there. Damon stood a few steps away, hands in his pockets, eyes locked on her like she was the only person in existence. For a moment, the world shrank to just them.
"I didn't realize speaking at my university meant following me around campus," she said, her tone sharper than she intended.
His mouth twitched, not quite a smile. "It seems I'm the one who can't stay away."
Athena crossed her arms, trying to ignore the way her heartbeat stuttered. "What do you want, Damon?"
He took a slow step closer, then another. The breeze tugged at his hair, softening the edges of his composure. "To talk," he said simply. "Though I'm aware I'm the last person you want to speak to."
"You're not wrong." Her voice was quiet, but the tremor beneath it betrayed her. "You had your chance to talk. Eight months ago."
"I know." He stopped a pace away, close enough that she could see the faint shadows under his eyes. "And I failed it spectacularly."
She looked away. "Don't do that."
"Do what?"
"Act like you care now." The words cracked, just slightly. "You pushed me away, Damon. You made sure I'd never forget how cruel you could be."
His jaw tightened, guilt flickering across his features before he masked it again. "I thought I was protecting you," he said softly. "You were seventeen, Athena. You deserved a chance to live, not to be trapped in the chaos that follows me."
Her laugh was bitter and quiet. "And calling me foolish for loving you—was that protection too?"
He flinched, visibly. For a man who never lost control, the reaction was small but telling. "That was cowardice," he admitted. "I convinced myself it was logic. It wasn't."
The silence between them stretched. Athena's throat burned with a thousand things she wanted to say but couldn't. The soft rustle of leaves filled the space where their words failed.
Finally, she spoke. "You shouldn't have sent the bracelet."
"I knew you'd say that." His voice deepened. "But I also knew you'd keep it."
Her eyes widened slightly. "You—"
"I know you, Athena. Better than I should." His tone was quiet, almost reverent. "You'd hate it, call it meaningless, and then you'd tuck it somewhere safe because you couldn't throw it away."
Her composure faltered. She wanted to deny it, to claim indifference—but he wasn't wrong. The bracelet still sat on her desk, gleaming like a secret.
"Stop doing this," she whispered. "Stop making it hard to hate you."
He stepped closer, his presence filling the space between them. "What if I don't want you to hate me?"
Her heart stumbled. "Then what do you want?"
Damon hesitated—only for a moment—but it was enough to see the conflict raging behind his eyes. Control against desire. Logic against something far more dangerous.
Finally, he said quietly, "I told myself I could live without you, Athena." His gaze softened, voice dropping to a low confession. "I was wrong."
The words struck like a pulse through the air, leaving her frozen. He wasn't smiling, wasn't trying to charm her; he looked raw, exposed in a way she'd never seen. For a man who built his life on control, it was the closest thing to vulnerability she'd ever witnessed.
Athena swallowed hard, searching for words that didn't come. The wind whispered through the trees, scattering a few golden leaves between them.
"Don't," she managed finally, though her voice trembled. "Don't say things like that if you don't mean them."
"I mean every word," Damon said simply. "But I also know you have every right not to believe me."
He took one slow step back, giving her space again. The distance hurt more than it should have.
"I'll be around for a few days," he said, tone measured but eyes still warm with something dangerous. "There's a meeting with the university board about a scholarship program. But if you'd rather I stayed away—say it, and I will."
Athena opened her mouth, but no sound came out. He waited for her to speak, then, when she didn't, gave a faint, rueful nod—as if that silence said everything.
"Take care of yourself, Athena," he murmured. Then he turned and walked away, his figure dissolving slowly into the blur of sunlight and shadow.
She stood there long after he was gone, her heart pounding so loud she could barely hear the wind. When she finally looked down, she realized her hands were trembling.
And despite everything—despite anger, confusion, pride—she whispered to the empty garden,
"I never stopped."
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