Chapter 45

Damian’s POV

The morning sun crept through the Manhattan skyline, slicing into my office like a blade of gold. I’d been at my desk since before seven, yet my thoughts hadn’t touched a single spreadsheet. My mind—traitorous as ever—kept looping back to Kayna.

She’d been different these past few days.

Focused, but… distant.

Maybe she’d finally started to realize that I wasn’t safe ground to stand on.

I exhaled, running a hand through my hair, willing myself to focus. The Cosmo deal had gone through—flawlessly, in fact. Every analyst in my company was congratulating me for pulling off what should’ve been a six-month negotiation in two weeks. But what they didn’t know was that most of it had been her. Kayna had this unnerving ability to read a room, to sense shifts before they happened. She was sharp, instinctive, diplomatic where I wasn’t.

And lately, she was the only person I trusted to walk into a room with me and make it out unscathed.

I stood, pacing toward the glass wall that overlooked the city. Alex’s return still burned behind my eyes like an old scar reopened. My brother had always known how to provoke the worst parts of me. The night after the gala, we hadn’t spoken again—but I could feel him circling, waiting for the perfect moment to bite.

And then there was my mother.

She’d been calling, demanding dinners, insisting that Alex’s reappearance meant we should “move forward as a family.”

The word family coming from her always left a bad taste in my mouth.

The intercom beeped softly. “Mr. Marshall,” Ava’s voice floated through. “Miss Scott is on her way up. She said you wanted to see her before the conference call?”

I cleared my throat, my pulse immediately picking up at the mention of her name. “Yes. Send her in when she arrives.”

I caught my reflection in the glass. My tie was loose. My jaw—set too hard. I looked like a man preparing for battle.

When Kayna entered the office, the air shifted. She was wearing soft ivory—simple, elegant—and somehow it made her look even more untouchable.

She smiled politely. “Good morning, Mr. Marshall.”

“Morning,” I said, gesturing for her to sit. “You can drop the ‘Mr.’ already, Kayna. We’ve survived LA together. I think we’re past formalities.”

Her lips twitched. “Alright. Damian, then.”

The sound of my name on her tongue did something strange to my chest—like a pulse I couldn’t control.

She handed me a folder. “The Cosmo post-meeting analysis. Their director of marketing wants to schedule a follow-up for early next quarter.”

I nodded absently, but my focus stayed on her. She didn’t meet my eyes, and for the first time since she’d started working here, she seemed… nervous. Maybe it was residual tension from LA. Maybe it was the kiss we hadn’t talked about.

“Kayna,” I said quietly.

She looked up.

The air between us grew heavy, like Manhattan humidity before a storm.

“I know I crossed a line,” I continued, leaning forward. “At the hotel. It wasn’t planned. And I—”

“Damian,” she interrupted softly. “You don’t have to apologize again. It’s fine.”

“It’s not.”

She looked at me then, and the truth hit me square in the gut. It wasn’t fine for either of us. Because every time our eyes met, the memory of that moment in the dimly lit suite replayed itself—her breath, her hesitation, the way my pulse had drowned out every rational thought.

I swallowed the heat rising up my throat. “We should probably keep things professional.”

“Of course,” she said. But her voice carried a tremor that betrayed her.

By noon, Alex had made his grand appearance.

He strolled into my office like he owned it, flashing that same arrogant grin that used to get him out of trouble as a teenager.

“Little brother,” he said, dropping into the chair across from me without invitation. “You look tense. What’s new?”

“Still running my company,” I said dryly. “What brings you here? Or did Mother send you to spy again?”

He chuckled. “I came to see how your golden assistant’s settling back in. She’s something, Damian.”

“Stay away from her.” The words were out before I could stop them.

Alex arched a brow, his grin widening. “Ah. That kind of something.”

“Don’t start.”

He leaned back, stretching like a cat, enjoying every bit of discomfort he caused. “Relax. I’m just making conversation. You’re wound tighter than ever. No wonder Mother worries about you.”

I stood abruptly, walking to the window. “Mother worries about control. Not me.”

Alex’s smile dimmed slightly. “Still playing the victim?”

“I’m not the one who abandoned the company after Father’s death,” I shot back.

Silence. Thick, electric.

For a second, his eyes flashed something raw—hurt, maybe—but he smothered it fast. “You always did love holding that over me.”

I turned away, unwilling to let the conversation dig any deeper. “You can leave now.”

He stood, brushing off his jacket, smirking. “Fine. But one day, Damian, you’ll realize not everyone is out to take your crown. Some of us just don’t care about it.”

He left, leaving the faint scent of his cologne and a dozen old ghosts in his wake.

Julian showed up later that evening, calm and composed as always.

“Rough day?” he asked, tossing a file on my desk.

“Define rough.”

He chuckled. “The Brighton investors are getting impatient. They want updates on the offshore numbers.”

I rubbed my temples. “Tell them they’ll get them when I’m ready.”

Julian gave me a long look. “You’ve been off your game lately. Since LA, actually. You and Kayna—”

“Don’t,” I warned.

He raised his hands in surrender. “Just saying. The tension’s obvious. To everyone.”

“She’s my assistant, Julian. That’s all.”

He snorted. “Right. And I’m the Pope.”

Before I could respond, my phone buzzed. Mother.

I hesitated, debating whether to ignore it. Julian glanced at the screen and grimaced. “Brace yourself.”

I sighed and answered. “Mother.”

Her voice came through sharp, elegant, every word measured. “Damian. I assume you’ve spoken to your brother?”

“Yes.”

“Good. Then you’ll also know why I need both of you here tonight. There are matters concerning the family holdings I wish to discuss.”

“Tonight?”

“Yes. At the house. 7 p.m.”

I clenched my jaw. “What’s this about?”

“You’ll find out when you get here. And Damian…” Her tone shifted, taking on that icy sweetness I’d come to dread. “Do come alone. No accompaniment this time.”

The line went dead before I could reply.

Julian raised a brow. “What was that about?”

“I don’t know,” I muttered. “But whatever it is, it’s not going to be good.”

…..

Later that evening, the Marshall family estate sat like a ghost at the edge of the Hudson—grand, cold, and suffocatingly perfect. I hadn’t been here since Alex returned , and the air still smelled like old money and secrets.

Alex was already there, leaning against the grand piano in the drawing room, nursing a glass of scotch.

Mother sat near the window, pearls glinting under the chandelier. She looked every inch the matriarch she was—poised, graceful, dangerous.

“Damian,” she said without looking up. “You’re late.”

“I wasn’t aware this was a royal summons.”

“Everything concerning this family is royal,” she replied, her smile thin.

Alex chuckled under his breath. “He’s still allergic to authority, Mother.”

I ignored him and took the seat opposite her. “What’s this about?”

Mother’s gaze met mine, steel-gray and unflinching. “Your father’s estate. And a clause that was recently brought to my attention.”

My pulse quickened. “Clause?”

“Yes,” she said smoothly. “One that changes everything if not handled delicately. It concerns control of Marshall Holdings.”

I felt the weight of Alex’s stare on me, and for the first time in years, Mother smiled—not kindly, but like a predator about to reveal its trap.

“What clause?” I demanded.

Her lips curved. “The one that states the company’s majority ownership doesn’t rest solely with you, Damian. It rests with both of you. Jointly.”

My stomach dropped.

Alex’s smirk deepened.

And Mother leaned forward, voice low, deliberate.

“It’s time,” she said, “that you learned the truth about your father’s last deal—and why you were never meant to run this alone.”