Damian's Pov
The next morning felt heavier than usual. It was not because of the meetings stacked on my schedule, or the board breathing down my neck about the charity gala but because of last night.
Emma's face, red-eyed and trembling, kept replaying in my head. The way she broke down in my arms. The way I almost forgot myself when she leaned into me.
I shouldn't have let that happen.
I'd told myself she was just my therapist and nothing more but somewhere between the sessions and the silences, something had shifted.
And now Clara was standing in front of my desk, arms crossed, looking like she was about to remind me exactly who I was supposed to be.
"Damian," she began, voice clipped. "We need to talk."
"That sounds dangerous," I muttered, not looking up from my laptop.
"Not as dangerous as what I saw last night."
That got my attention. I looked up slowly. "You mean Emma."
"Yes, Emma," she said sharply. "The woman who cried in your living room while you stood there looking like a bodyguard about to commit murder. What the hell was that?"
I leaned back in my chair. "She had a rough night. She needed someone."
"And apparently, that someone had to be you?" Clara raised an eyebrow. "You do realize how that looks, right?"
I sighed, rubbing the back of my neck. "You're reading too much into it."
"Oh, am I?" she snapped. "Because from where I was standing, it looked like you were about five seconds away from crossing a line."
I met her gaze, calm but firm. "She's my therapist, Clara. You're the one who hired her, remember?"
Clara exhaled sharply, pacing across the room. "Don't throw that at me. I brought her in because you needed help, not because I wanted you two to start, whatever that was last night."
"It wasn't anything," I said flatly.
"Damian." She stopped pacing and looked at me hard. "I've worked with you for six years. I've seen you cold, ruthless, detached but I've never seen you look at anyone the way you looked at her."
I clenched my jaw. "You're imagining things."
She smirked, but there was no humor in it. "I wish I was because if I'm not, then you're setting yourself up for trouble. Professional, emotional, and very public trouble."
"Public?" I frowned. "She's not a PR risk."
"Everything is a PR risk when it's you," Clara said. "You're in the middle of an expansion deal. The last thing you need is rumors about a therapist-client relationship turning into something else."
I leaned forward, elbows on the desk. "You think I'd be that careless?"
"I think you're human," she replied. "Which is worse, because you don't realize it when it's happening."
I laughed once, quietly. "That's rich, coming from you."
"Don't deflect," she warned. "I know you, Damian. You build walls for a reason. Don't tear them down for someone who's supposed to help you maintain them."
For a moment, neither of us spoke. The only sound was the faint ticking of the clock behind her.
Finally, I said, "She came to me because she had nowhere else to go. Ethan, her boyfriend, cheated on her with her best friend. She was falling apart. What was I supposed to do? Tell her to leave?"
Clara's expression softened slightly. "You could've called someone. Anyone else."
"She didn't want anyone else."
"Exactly my point," she said. "You've become the person she runs to. That's not therapy anymore, that's dependency."
I exhaled slowly. "I didn't ask for that."
"No," she said, "but you didn't stop it either."
Her words hit harder than I wanted to admit.
I looked away, staring at the city skyline through the window. The morning sun reflected off the glass towers, cold and brilliant. It reminded me too much of myself, everything that looked strong from a distance but was hollow inside.
Clara spoke again, softer this time. "Damian, I'm not saying she doesn't deserve comfort. I'm saying you're not the one who should give it."
"She trusts me," I said quietly.
"That's the problem."
I turned back to her. "You think I'm going to take advantage of her?"
"No," Clara said immediately. "That's not who you are. But feelings have a way of blurring the lines even for people like you."
I smiled faintly. "People like me?"
"Men who pretend they don't feel anything until it's too late."
Her voice carried more concern than accusation. It caught me off guard.
"Clara," I said finally, "I know what I'm doing."
She gave a small, skeptical laugh. "You always say that right before proving you don't."
I shook my head. "You're overreacting. Emma is just a client. You're reading too much into one moment."
"One moment?" she repeated. "Damian, she's been in your life for months. You talk about her more than you realize. You listen when she speaks. You actually….." She stopped herself, then sighed. "You care."
I didn't answer because she was right.
"Look," she said, softening again. "I'm not the enemy here. I just don't want to see you do something stupid and ruin the progress you've made. You've been… better lately."
"That's because of her," I admitted quietly.
Clara's eyes flickered with something like surprise and worry. "Then all the more reason to be careful. She's vulnerable right now. You both are."
I leaned back, closing my laptop. "You're done?"
"Not quite." She hesitated, then added, "You might think you're protecting her, but if this keeps going, one of you is going to get hurt. And my bet's on her."
The words lingered in the air, sharp and heavy.
Clara gathered her folder and turned to leave, but paused at the door. "Just… don't let your guilt or your loneliness make decisions for you, Damian. You're smarter than that."
I didn't answer.
When the door shut behind her, I sat there in silence, fingers drumming on the desk.
She's just my therapist, I told myself again.
But as the memory of Emma's trembling voice echoed in my head, I knew Clara was right about one thing, some lines were already blurred.
And I wasn't sure I wanted to redraw them.