Chapter 93: His Secret Mistress.

Damien stared at the black laptop screen. His jaw hurt from clenching his teeth so hard. The leather chair creaked under his weight as he shifted for the hundredth time today.

Three days. Three damn days since Celeste walked out of his office.

He clicked refresh again. Nothing. The camera feed from her apartment building stayed dark. She'd found it. She'd turned it off. The screen mocked him with its emptiness.

"Shit." He slammed the laptop shut. The sound echoed in his empty office like a gunshot.

His phone sat on the mahogany desk like a dead thing. The screen was cracked from yesterday when he'd thrown it against the wall. Seventeen missed calls to her. Twelve text messages. All ignored. Each unanswered ring felt like a knife twisting in his chest.

The whiskey glass hadn't moved from its spot since this morning. The amber liquid caught the afternoon light streaming through his office windows. He couldn't even drink. Couldn't focus on anything except the way Celeste's eyes had burned with fury when she quit.

All because of Ethan. His useless brother who couldn't keep his hands to himself. Who thought money could fix everything he broke. Who humiliated Celeste's sister like she was nothing.

Damien's hands clenched into fists. The same hands that had signed checks to cover up Ethan's messes for years. Paid off women. Buried scandals. Made problems disappear.

He stood up so fast his chair rolled backward and hit the wall with a thud. "I'm done."

The words felt good. Real. Like a weight lifting off his shoulders. He was done cleaning up after Ethan. Done paying for his brother's mistakes. Done being the family's personal janitor who mopped up blood and tears with money.

A sharp knock rattled his door.

"Come in," he barked.

Marcus peeked his head inside. His new sub assistant looked like a scared rabbit. His tie was crooked. Sweat beaded on his forehead. "Sir, the quarterly reports are ready for review, and you have that conference call with Tokyo in fifteen minutes"

"Not now."

"But sir, they've been waiting"

"I said not now!" Damien's voice cracked like a whip. The sound bounced off the walls.

Marcus disappeared so fast he might have been a ghost. The door clicked shut with a soft sound that somehow felt final.

Damien rubbed his face with both hands. His stubble scratched against his palms like sandpaper. When did he stop shaving every day? When did he start looking like hell?

Since Celeste left. That's when everything went wrong.

His reflection stared back from the black computer screen. Hair sticking up in weird places. Eyes bloodshot and wild. He looked like a stranger. A crazy stranger.

His phone buzzed against the desk. His heart jumped like it had been shocked. Maybe she—

A work email. Not her. Never her.

Rage exploded through him like fire. He grabbed the phone and threw it across the room again. It hit the window with a sharp crack but the glass held. The phone clattered to the floor, its screen now completely shattered.

"Get it together," he muttered to himself. But he couldn't. Every minute without her felt like drowning in ice water.

The next day was worse. Much worse.

He snapped at his secretary, Linda, for breathing too loud during a meeting. The woman was sixty years old and had worked for the company longer than anyone. She actually flinched when he yelled.

"Sir, I was just"

"Out. Get out."

She left with tears in her eyes.

He fired a junior analyst  for using the wrong font in a presentation.  The kid looked like he might throw up.

"Please, sir, I have a family"

"Should have thought of that before you decided to be incompetent."

During the afternoon board meeting, he made three grown men cry. Actual tears. Over budget projections that were perfectly fine. He just couldn't stop himself from tearing apart every number, every graph, every suggestion.

By five o'clock, his entire staff was tiptoeing around him like he might explode at any second. Conversations stopped when he walked by. People scattered when they saw him coming.

He caught his reflection in the elevator doors as he left the building. His hair stuck up in crazy directions. His tie hung crooked around his neck. Dark circles made his eyes look hollow, haunted.

He looked insane. Felt worse than insane.

"I can't do this anymore," he said to his reflection.

The parking garage was empty except for his car. His footsteps echoed off concrete walls like gunshots. The sound followed him all the way to the Bugatti.

The engine roared to life, but his hands shook on the steering wheel. Actually shook. Damien Kane didn't shake. Didn't lose control. But here he was, falling apart over a woman who wouldn't even answer his calls.

First stop: his lawyer's office.

Gerald Winters was the most expensive divorce attorney in the city. His office smelled like leather and old money. He spread divorce papers across his mahogany desk like he was dealing cards.

"This will be messy, Damien." Gerald's wire-rimmed glasses reflected the overhead lights. "Celia won't go quietly. She'll fight this with everything she has."

"I don't care." Damien signed his name with sharp, angry strokes. The pen scratched against paper.

"The media will have a field day. Your reputation, your business relationships, your standing in society—all of it will take a hit."

"My reputation means nothing if I'm miserable." He signed another page. And another. Each signature felt like freedom. "What good is an empire if you're dying inside?"

Gerald pushed his glasses up his nose. "Are you absolutely sure about this? Once these papers are filed, there's no going back. The Kane family name will be dragged through every gossip column in the country."

Damien looked up from the papers. "Gerald, I've spent my entire life protecting a family that doesn't deserve protection. I'm done sacrificing my happiness for people who wouldn't do the same for me."

"And this is about the woman? Celeste?"

Just hearing her name made his chest tight. "File the papers today."

The drive to Celeste's apartment took forever and no time at all. His heart hammered against his ribs like it was trying to escape. What would he say? How could he explain that she'd become more important than everything else in his life?

Her building looked the same. Gray brick walls. Cracked sidewalk out front. A rusty fire escape zigzagging up the side. Nothing fancy. Nothing like the marble and gold world he lived in.

He climbed the stairs two at a time. His expensive dress shoes slapped against concrete steps that probably hadn't been cleaned in years. Each step sounded like thunder in the narrow hallway that smelled like cooking food and old paint.

Apartment 3B. Her door was painted blue, the color faded and chipped around the edges.

He raised his hand to knock. His knuckles hovered inches from the wood.

The door opened before he could touch it.

Celeste stood there in a white t-shirt and faded jeans. Her hair was messy, pulled back in a ponytail with strands escaping around her face. She had dark circles under her eyes too. She looked tired. Beautiful. Real.

More real than anything in his perfectly constructed life.

Her green eyes went wide when she saw him. Shock. Confusion. Maybe something else. Something that looked like relief.

"Damien?" Her voice was barely a whisper.

He couldn't speak. Couldn't think. Three days of torture, of missing her, of needing her like air, all crashed down at once.

He reached for her. His hands found her face. Her skin was warm and soft under his palms.

"I filed for divorce," he said. The words tumbled out rough and desperate. "I left Celia. I left everything."

Her lips parted in surprise.

Then he kissed her.

Her lips were coffee-sweet and perfect. She made a small sound in her throat that drove him crazy. Her hands grabbed his shirt, pulling him closer instead of pushing him away.

For a second, the world made sense again. For a second, everything was right.

Flash.

Bright light exploded behind his closed eyelids like lightning.

Flash. Flash. Flash.

"Damien Kane! Who's the girl?"

"How long have you been cheating on your wife?"

"Miss! Miss! What's your name?"

"Is this your secret mistress?"

Voices shouted from below like a pack of wolves. Cameras clicked rapidly, the sound like angry insects. Video cameras rolled, their red recording lights blinking like predatory eyes.

Damien's head snapped up. A crowd of photographers stood on the sidewalk below, cameras and phones pointed up at them like weapons. At least six of them, maybe more.

How did they know? How did they find him here?

"Get inside," he growled, pushing Celeste backward.

She stumbled, nearly falling. Her face went white as paper. "What—who are they?"

He shoved her through the doorway and slammed the door behind them. His hands shook as he turned the deadbolt. The metal clicked into place.

Outside, the voices got louder. More urgent. More cameras flashed. The light came through her thin curtains like strobe lights at a nightclub.

"Damien Kane caught kissing mystery woman!"

"Exclusive photos of the Kane affair!"

"Breaking news! Billionaire's secret love nest!"

Celeste pressed her back against the door like she could hold the world out with her body weight. Her chest rose and fell fast. Too fast. "Oh my God. Oh my God, Damien."

He could see her neighbors peeking through their windows across the courtyard. Could hear footsteps running up the stairs outside. More voices. More cameras. The feeding frenzy was just beginning.

"What have you done?" she whispered. Her voice cracked like glass breaking. "What have you done to my life?"

The flashes kept coming through the windows. The voices kept shouting questions that cut like knives. And Damien realized he might have just destroyed the only good thing he'd ever wanted to protect.