Damian's POV
There are moments when power feels like a weapon.
And moments when it feels like a burden.
This morning, it felt like both.
The city looked deceptively calm from the top floor of Thorne Group—glass towers reflecting the sky, traffic flowing like veins beneath steel and concrete. From this height, it all looked manageable. Predictable. Ordered.
It wasn't.
Because beneath the surface, something old had resurfaced. Something I had buried carefully, methodically, and without remorse.
Ethan.
The name sat like a shard of glass behind my ribs.
I adjusted my cufflinks as I walked down the corridor toward the executive conference room, my stride measured, unhurried. No one watching me would have guessed that my mind was already five steps ahead, mapping damage control, counter-moves, and contingencies.
That was the advantage of experience.
And the curse.
