Emma's POV
By the time I reached Damian's house, my hands were still trembling.
The city lights blurred behind the car window, rain threatening to fall again. I didn't even remember telling the driver where to go. My body just moved, my mind spinning between rage and heartbreak. Ethan's voice still echoed in my head.
You're not thinking clearly.
That one sentence kept replaying until it burned.
The car stopped in front of Damian's gate. I exhaled shakily, trying to pull myself together. The guards recognized me immediately and opened the gates without question. It was quiet. Damian's place was always like that, so I was not bothered, it was clean, cold, and composed.
A reflection of the man himself.
I pushed open the door and stepped inside.
The scent of cedar and rain hit me first, then the silence. For a moment, I stood in the entryway, staring at the marble floor like it might give me strength. My reflection looked back at me, my eyes red, makeup smeared, hair tangled. I looked like a wreck.
"Emma?" The voice startled me.
I turned to see a tall woman coming down the hallway. She wore a sleek black dress, sharp heels, and perfect posture. She was holding a folder and an iPad, her expression polite but guarded. Her presence filled the space before her words did.
"I'm sorry," she said, adjusting the strap of her bag. "You must be Dr. Lawson."
"Yes," I said softly, swallowing the lump in my throat. "You are?"
"Clara Vale," she replied. "I'm a PR manager. I work with Damian."
Of course. I'd heard about her briefly, she handled his media appearances and brand image. From what I knew, she was sharp, efficient, and didn't miss a thing. She looked at me now with a kind of assessing curiosity, like she already knew more about me than I did.
"Damian's not home," she said, moving past me toward the living room. "He had to attend an event downtown. He should be back soon."
"Oh." I tried to sound casual, but my voice came out hollow. "I just… needed to talk to him."
Her gaze softened, almost imperceptibly. "Rough day?"
I laughed under my breath. "You could say that."
Clara set her folder on the coffee table. "You look like you've been through a war."
"I feel like it," I admitted, sitting down on the edge of the couch. The leather was cold against my palms.
For a moment, she said nothing, just watched me like she was deciding whether to ask. Finally, she did. "Was it him?"
The question hit harder than I expected. "Ethan," I said quietly. "Yes."
Clara nodded once, unsurprised. "He called earlier."
My head snapped up. "He what?"
She hesitated. "Said you might come here and wanted to know if Damian was around."
Anger flared instantly. "He's unbelievable."
"I didn't tell him anything," she added quickly. "You're safe here, if that's what you're worried about."
"Safe." I let the word roll off my tongue, almost laughing. "I don't even know what that feels like anymore."
Clara crossed her arms, studying me. "He cheated."
It wasn't a question, but I nodded anyway, blinking back the fresh sting of tears. "With my best friend."
"Damn," she muttered. "That's… low. Even for men like him."
I looked up at her. "Men like him?"
She gave a knowing smile. "The kind who charms everyone in the room but leaves chaos behind when they walk out. Believe me, I've met plenty."
Her tone wasn't condescending, it was strangely comforting.
I pressed my hands together, staring at the floor. "I keep thinking maybe I overreacted, maybe I….."
"Don't," Clara interrupted gently. "That's exactly what he wants. You're not crazy for feeling hurt."
Her words cut straight through the noise in my head. I hadn't realized how much I needed someone to say that. "Thank you," I whispered.
She nodded, then sat down across from me, crossing one leg over the other. "You and Damian are close?"
"I don't know," I admitted. "We've been… working together, mostly the therapy sessions, mostly but he's been kind."
"That sounds like him," she said, smiling faintly. "He doesn't waste time pretending."
There was something in her tone, it was respect, but also familiarity. She knew him well.
"Can I ask you something?" I said after a moment.
"Of course."
"What's he like… really? When the cameras aren't watching."
Clara tilted her head, thoughtful. "Depends on who's asking."
"Someone who doesn't know if she can trust him," I said honestly.
She smiled faintly at that. "Then I'll tell you this, well, Damian has his flaws. He is guarded, sometimes ruthless but he doesn't play games with people he cares about. If he's let you into his space, that means something."
Her words warmed something fragile in me. "I don't even know why I came here," I said, rubbing my temples. "I just ran. I didn't think."
"You didn't need to think," she said. "You needed to breathe."
I looked at her, surprised again by how understanding she was. "Do you always sound this wise, or is it just part of the PR charm?"
She chuckled softly. "A little of both."
A beat of silence passed between us. Then she stood, moving toward the kitchen. "Let me make you something to drink. Tea? Coffee? Or maybe something stronger?"
"Tea's fine," I said, smiling faintly.
While she was gone, I sat back and let the quiet settle. The house was large but not lonely. There were small traces of Damian everywhere, his books stacked neatly on the shelves, his jacket thrown carelessly over the armrest, a glass half-full on the counter. He wasn't the kind of man who tried to impress. He simply existed to control.
The sound of footsteps drew me back. Clara returned with two mugs, steam curling from the surface. She handed me one and sat down again.
"Thanks," I murmured, wrapping my hands around the warmth.
"So," she said, leaning back. "What's the plan now?"
"I don't know," I admitted. "Everything feels like it just… collapsed. My relationship, my trust, my sense of judgment. I thought I knew him."
"You did," she said. "You just didn't know who he became."
I stared into my tea. "It hurts."
"It should," Clara said quietly. "That's how you know you still care about yourself."
Her words lingered. No one had ever put it that way before.
Before I could respond, I heard the front door open. A deep voice followed, low and familiar. "Clara, I thought you left...…"
He stopped mid-sentence.
I turned. Damian stood in the doorway, looking utterly out of place in his own home. He was tall, composed, wearing a dark suit that looked like sin and power stitched together. His expression softened the moment his eyes met mine.
"Emma," he said quietly, stepping closer. "What happened?"
My throat tightened. "Can we not do this right now?"
He frowned, his gaze flicking between me and Clara. "Did something happen at the house?"
Clara stood, sensing the tension. "I'll give you two a moment." She squeezed my shoulder gently before slipping out of the room.
Once she was gone, the silence stretched.
Damian came closer, stopping a few feet away. His eyes scanned my face, catching on the redness around my eyes. "You've been crying."
I looked away. "You notice everything, don't you?"
"Only when it's you." His voice was softer now. "Tell me what happened."
The words tumbled out before I could stop them. "I walked in on him, Ethan with Jessy."
He froze. "Jessy....."
I nodded, swallowing hard. "Yeah. That one."
For a moment, he said nothing. Then his jaw tightened, his hands curling into fists at his sides. "Did he hurt you?"
"Not physically," I said, my voice breaking. "But he...he tried to make it my fault. He said I was distant, and said I was imagining things."
Damian's eyes darkened, that dangerous edge flickering beneath his calm. "He tried to gaslight you."
"He's been doing that for months," I whispered. "And I kept believing him."
He took a step forward, closing the space between us. "Look at me."
I did.
"You are not crazy," he said firmly. "He lied because he was weak, it's easier to break someone strong than to face their own guilt."
Something inside me cracked. The tears I'd been holding back spilled over, and before I could stop myself, I pressed a hand against my mouth, trying to breathe.
He moved closer, hesitated for just a second, then reached out, slowly, carefully, and touched my arm. His hand was warm, steady. "You don't have to hold it in," he said quietly.
That was all it took.
The sob broke out of me before I could swallow it. I turned slightly, covering my face, and Damian stood there, not saying anything, just being there. It t pity in his eyes—it was something stronger. Anger for me, not at me.