Chapter 68 Chapter Sixty-eight
Chapter 68 Chapter Sixty-eight
Chapter 68
The sleek, titanium belly of the private jet had barely kissed the tarmac at Zurich Airport before the machinery of the Kessler Consortium swallowed them whole.
Throughout the entire meeting, Damian and Selene rarely said a word to each other unless necessary.
By the time the armored Mercedes dropped them back at the Grand Bellevue Hotel, the weight of the day felt like a physical anchor dragging at Damian’s shoulders.
"The team has finished sweeping the floor, Mr. Cross,"Kieran reported, his voice dropped to a low, gravelly murmur. "The sweeps are clean. Swept for audio, visual, and physical breaches."
"Good. Thank you, Kieran."
"Two men will remain posted directly outside your double doors tonight. The shifts are rotated every three hours."
Damian offered a weary nod, rubbing the bridge of his nose where a tension headache was beginning to take root. "Get some rest yourself.”
Kieran hesitated, his hand hovering near his lapel. He glanced down the long, carpeted hallway toward the suite assigned to the Voss delegation. "Sir..."
Damian paused, his keycard halfway to the electronic lock. "What is it?"
"I don't trust this trip." Kieran admitted flatly.
A faint, humorless smile tugged at the corner of Damian's mouth. "Neither do I, Kieran. Keep your eyes open."
He stepped into the heavy silence of his suite, closing the door behind him. The room was massive, nicely decorated. He yanked his silk tie free, unbuttoned the top two buttons of his crisp white shirt, and poured a glass of mineral water from the wet bar.
Carrying the glass, he walked over to the floor-to-ceiling glass wall that formed the perimeter of the living room. Below him, Zurich was a sprawling, glittering tapestry of light woven along the dark ribbon of the Limmat River.
Then came the knock.
Damian’s brow furrowed. He glanced at the digital clock on the bedside table. It was nearly eleven o'clock. A cold prickle of annoyance washed over him. He crossed the hardwood floor, reached the heavy door, and peered through the brass peephole before opening it.
Selene stood in the hallway.
"What do you want, Selene?"
"I thought we should toast to the day," she said, raising a slender hand to reveal a crystal tumbler of amber scotch. "The Kessler acquisition is practically ours. Surely that warrants a brief celebration."
"I'm exhausted, Selene. I was just turning in."
"It will only take a few minutes, Damian. Don't be tedious."
"I'm not interested."
"You've been avoiding me all day. You barely looked at me during the strategy sessions."
"I was doing what we came here to do, working."
"So was I," she countered softly, her voice dropping an octave. "But the stage is dark now. May I come in?"
"No."
The refusal hit her like a physical slap.
“The boards are looking for any sign of division between the Cross and Voss empires."
"We gave them exactly what they needed to see today during the plenary session. They should be okay with that.”
"I thought we could speak candidly, Damian. Just us."
"There is no 'just us,' Selene. We have absolutely nothing left to discuss outside of the prospectus."
Her posture stiffened. "You didn't used to find my company so abhorrent. You used to crave it."
"I also used to believe you were a completely different person," Damian replied, his voice quiet, carrying a cold, dead weight that cut deeper than any shouted insult.
The remaining color drained from Selene's face. "So that's how it is? A lifetime of shared history erased because of a few turbulent months?"
"Our history ended a long time ago, Selene. You just refused to read the final page."
She took a step forward, closing the distance between them, her eyes searching his face for any residual warmth. "Damian... look at me. We grew up in the same world. We speak the same language. We've known each other's families for a decade."
"And?"
"You can't honestly look me in the eye and tell me that none of that meant anything to you. That I mean nothing to you."
"It meant something," he admitted calmly. The hope in her eyes flared bright. "It served as a perfect, definitive lesson on exactly what kind of person I never want to allow into my life again."
The hope died instantly, replaced by a cold, venomous disbelief. "You married a maid, Damian," she hissed, her voice dripping with aristocratic disdain. "A girl who washed the linens in your family's estate."
"I married the woman I love," he corrected her, his voice dropping into a dangerous, low register.
"You married a social climber who was beneath you in every metric that matters!"
Damian’s expression changed. The politeness he had maintained all day evaporated. "The woman you are speaking about possesses more inherent dignity, grace, and integrity in her little finger than your entire social circle combined. Do not speak her name in my presence again."
Selene pulled back, crossing her arms tightly across her chest as if shielding herself from the chill of his words. "You've changed. The Damian Cross I knew would never allow sentimentality to dictate his life."
"No," he said, shaking his head slowly. "I didn't change. I simply stopped pretending to be the monster my father wanted me to be."
"I can change, Damian," she whispered, stepping closer still, her hand trembling slightly as she held the glass. "I know I made mistakes. Severe ones."
Damian remained perfectly still, a statue of unyielding stone.
"I was blinded by jealousy." she continued, her voice fracturing.
"You had her dismissed under false pretenses," Damian enumerated, his voice a flat, damning recitation of facts.
"I know."
"You publicly humiliated her in front of the entire staff."
"I know, Damian. I was out of my mind."
"And then you laid your hands on my pregnant wife and pushed her down a flight of stone steps."
Selene lowered her head, unable to maintain eye contact. "I didn't know she was pregnant at the time. I swear to you, I didn't mean for her to fall like that. It was an accident born of anger."
"But you still pushed her."
"I am standing here, lowering myself to admit I was wrong," she pleaded, her eyes shining with unshed tears as she looked back up. "Can we not at least find a path toward a clean slate? A second chance?"
"No," he said. The syllable was soft, but it carried the finality of a gavel striking marble.
"I'm not even asking you to love me right now," she cried, a note of desperation finally shattering her poise. "I'm not asking for the world, Damian. Just give me one foothold. One chance to earn my way back."
"My chance with you was the night you orchestrated Aria’s firing," he continued mercilessly. "I gave you the opportunity to rectify the situation, to show a shred of humanity. You chose revenge instead."
"And the second?" she whispered, her voice trembling.
"The night you put your hands on my wife." Damian shook his head, his eyes entirely vacant of warmth. "There isn't a third chance, Selene. The ledger is closed."