Chapter 13

Damian’s POV

The hallway outside her suite was quiet, hushed with the kind of silence that came only after midnight. Hotels like this had their own pulse, a current of movement and muted laughter earlier in the evening, tapering off until only the distant hum of elevators remained.

I stood outside her door, my knuckles still raised from knocking.

A foolish decision, maybe. Reckless, definitely.

But I hadn’t been able to stop myself.

The day had stretched on longer than it should have. Calls with New York, last-minute changes to the Cosmo numbers, an endless parade of voices demanding, requesting, insisting. By the time I shut my laptop, the clock read past eleven.

I should have gone straight to bed. Tomorrow was another battle waiting to be fought.

Instead, my mind kept drifting back to the conference room, her voice steady as she explained her pivot, her eyes flashing with that quiet conviction. Kayna Scott had come into my world like a fault line, subtle at first, but powerful enough to split through steel.

I told myself it was her work I respected. That it was her ability to keep up in a room that most rookies would crumble in.

But even now, standing here, I knew that was only part of it.

The door didn’t open right away. I imagined her frozen inside, debating whether to answer.

I almost turned and walked away. Almost.

Then the lock clicked.

The door eased open a fraction, revealing her face. No makeup, hair pulled back messily, the faintest shadow of exhaustion under her eyes. Vulnerable in a way she never was at the office.

“Mr. Marshall?” Her voice was quiet, wary.

I should have left. Should have excused myself, said I’d come to deliver some trivial work update. Instead, I let the moment hang.

“Damian,” I corrected softly.

Her grip on the door tightened.

“I know it’s late,” I said, finally. “But I wanted to check in. On the project.”

Half a lie, half the truth.

She blinked, clearly unconvinced, yet she stepped back slightly. “Do you… want to come in?”

I hesitated. That single invitation, so small, felt like stepping onto thin ice.

But I nodded once.

The suite was neat, though the desk told the truth of her night. Her laptop still open, pages of notes scattered, a coffee cup abandoned hours ago. She’d been working long past when I told her to stop.

Of course she had.

“You haven’t slept,” I said, scanning the evidence.

She crossed her arms, defensive. “Neither have you, I’m guessing.”

Touché.

I moved toward the desk, picking up one of her marked pages. The notes were sharp, concise, improvements even I hadn’t considered.

“You redid the client expectations ?” I asked.

She nodded cautiously. “The data looked cleaner when framed against projected distribution channels. I thought it might tighten the proposal.”

I set the page down slowly. “It does.”

Silence stretched between us, heavy but not uncomfortable. She shifted her weight, clearly aware of how close I stood.

I should have left then. I should have drawn a hard line, reminded myself she was my employee, that this was business and nothing more.

But instead, I asked, “Why do you push yourself this hard?”

Her eyes widened slightly. She hadn’t expected that.

“Because I have to,” she said finally, her voice tight.

I waited.

Her gaze faltered, drifting to the floor. “Because if I don’t… everything falls apart.”

The words were raw, unpolished. A crack in her armor.

And in that moment, I wanted to know everything she was holding back. The family she rarely mentioned. The pain I glimpsed when she thought no one was looking.

Instead, I forced restraint. “You’ve done enough for tonight. Go to bed, Kayna.”

Her lips parted like she wanted to argue, but she stayed quiet.

I stepped back, heading for the door before I crossed a line I couldn’t uncross.

Hand on the handle, I paused.

Her voice stopped me.

“Damian?”

I turned, pulse quickening.

Her eyes met mine—uncertain, vulnerable, but steady. “Why did you really come?”

The question landed like a blade between us.

I should have given her the safe answer. I should have said it was about the project, about leadership, about responsibility.

But the truth pressed hard against my ribs, demanding release.

I opened my mouth—

And the sound of my phone vibrating in my pocket cut through the air.

I pulled it out, screen flashing with a name I didn’t want her to see.

Her gaze flicked down, caught it anyway.

The name burned bright in the dim light.

Ixora.

………

Her expression shifted from confusion to recognition and maybe even hurt.

I silenced the call, slipping the phone back into my pocket. My walls slammed back into place.

“This conversation’s over,” I said, voice colder than I intended.

And before she could respond, I opened the door and walked out.

But as I moved down the hall, jaw tight, I knew two things with absolute certainty.

One: Kayna Scott was a complication I could no longer ignore.

And two: Ixora’s reappearance wasn’t just inconvenient. It was dangerous.

For me.

And maybe—for her.