Damian's Pov
The silence after Emma left felt heavier than the wreckage around me.
For a long moment, I just stood there, hand throbbing, whiskey dripping from the corner of the desk, the air thick with the smell of adrenaline and regret.
She'd walked in like she always did, steady, calm, unshakable and everything inside me that had been spiraling just… stopped. I hated that she could do that. I hated that no one else could.
I sank into my chair, the leather creaking beneath me, and stared at the mess. The glass decanter lay in pieces, its reflection fractured like my thoughts. The merger papers the ones that started this whole breakdown, were scattered across the floor. I picked one up, my signature nowhere to be found, and felt that familiar twist of betrayal crawl up my spine.
They'd gone behind my back. My board. My own people.
And Clara, she'd tried to justify it. Said it was "strategic." Said I was "too emotional" lately to make objective decisions.
Maybe she was right.
But that didn't make the sting any less brutal.
The door opened quietly, and Mia peeked in. "Mr. Cross?"
I didn't look up. "What is it?"
"Security wanted to know if you're okay. They said to check if you needed medical attention."
I flexed my hand. Blood had dried in thin streaks down my knuckles. "No. Tell them to stand down."
She hesitated. "And Ms. Hale?"
"Clara?" I muttered. "She's gone. For now."
Mia nodded and slipped out again, closing the door gently behind her.
The quiet returned, it was thick, suffocating.
I leaned back, closing my eyes, and saw Emma again standing in front of me, fearless even when I was falling apart. Her voice echoing in my head:
No one can erase you. Not unless you hand them the pen.
It shouldn't have meant as much as it did, but it did.
She'd said it like she believed in me more than I did myself.
I remembered the way her hand had trembled slightly when she pressed the tissue against mine, pretending to be composed even when her eyes said otherwise. Emma Lawson, always calm in my storm. Always the one I shouldn't need but somehow did.
I laughed bitterly under my breath. "You shouldn't always come when I call," I'd told her. But part of me hoped she always would.
I stood and walked to the window, looking out over the city. The skyline shimmered against the glass, cold and distant. Somewhere down there, she was probably already convincing herself that what just happened didn't mean anything that she'd only come because she had to.
But I knew better.
The way she looked at me the way her voice softened when she said my name, there was still something there.
And that terrified me more than losing the company ever could.
A knock at the door broke my thoughts. Sharp, deliberate.
"Come in," I said.
Clara stepped back inside, face tight with restrained fury. "You really humiliated me in front of your staff."
I sighed. "Clara, not now."
"Oh, yes, now," she snapped, slamming the door behind her. "You think I'll just stand by while she walks in here and takes over? Again?"
"She didn't take over," I said flatly. "She helped."
"She manipulated you," Clara shot back. "She always does."
"She calmed me down."
"Exactly!" she barked. "That's what she does, Damian. She makes you feel like you need her so you'll never let her go completely. You don't see it, but everyone else does."
I turned away, jaw tight. "You're crossing a line."
"No, you crossed it," she hissed. "When you chose her side instead of mine. After everything I've done for you."
"You mean after you signed off on a merger behind my back?" I said sharply.
Her face paled. "That wasn't my call—"
"You could've stopped them. You didn't."
"Because you weren't thinking straight!"
That did it. I slammed my fist against the window frame, making her flinch. "You don't get to decide when I'm thinking straight, Clara. You work for me."
Her voice softened suddenly, her tone shifting. "Damian… I was trying to protect you. You've been off lately. Distant. Distracted. And we both know who's responsible for that."
I exhaled harshly. "Emma isn't the problem."
"She's always been the problem." Clara's eyes glistened with frustration. "Every time she comes back into your life, everything falls apart. You start losing focus, losing control. You let her under your skin again and again—and you know where it leads."
I stared at her for a long moment, then said quietly, "Maybe she's not the one who brings out the worst in me. Maybe she's the only one who reminds me I still have something worth fighting for."
That shut her up.
For once, Clara had nothing to say. Her mouth opened slightly, then closed again.
Finally, she whispered, "You're making a mistake."
"Maybe," I said. "But it's mine to make."
She looked at me like she didn't recognize me anymore. "I hope you know she'll ruin you."
And then she walked out, heels clicking hard against the marble—this time, for good.
When the door closed, I let out a breath I didn't realize I'd been holding. My reflection in the window looked like a stranger—tired eyes, bandaged hand, haunted expression.
Was I really that far gone?
Maybe I was.
Because even now, amid the wreckage, the only thing I could think about wasn't the merger, or Clara's betrayal, or the bleeding cuts on my hand.
It was Emma's voice. Her scent. The quiet steadiness she carried even in chaos.
And for the first time in a long time, I didn't feel angry. I just felt… empty.
Empty in a way only she could fill.
I grabbed my jacket from the chair, slipping it on, and looked around the ruined office one last time. "You win this round," I muttered to no one in particular—maybe to the board, maybe to her.
Then I turned off the lights and stepped out, leaving the shattered glass and broken pride behind me.
But as the elevator doors closed, I caught myself whispering the truth I couldn't say out loud—
"She shouldn't come when I call… but God, I hope she always does."