Chapter 49 CHAPTER FORTY-NINE

Chapter 49 CHAPTER FORTY-NINE
Amelia’s POV

The elevator hummed its way up the Blackwood tower, cutting through the rain that blurred the city into streaks of silver. My hand rested on the railing, damp from the storm, knuckles white. I didn’t look at Adrian. If I did, the tremor in my chest might give me away.

When the doors opened, the scent of sandalwood and whiskey slipped out like smoke. Damian was already there, framed by the open doorway, immaculate as ever. He smiled a quiet, polite smile that made my stomach turn.

“You’re late,” he said. “I was beginning to think guilt had finally made you both honest.”

Lightning cracked somewhere behind him. He stepped aside so we could enter. The lights of the penthouse flickered against the glass walls; the whole place looked too bright, too clean, like a museum exhibit of someone else’s life.

Damian’s tone softened almost pleasantly. “Dinner’s ready. Let’s behave like adults for once.”

He led us into the dining room. The table gleamed under crystal light, three places set, wine breathing in crystal decanters. No staff. Just us. Of course. He liked his audience close.

I took my seat because refusing would have been a declaration of war. Adrian sat across, posture tense but steady. Damian poured wine into our glasses with an almost loving care.

“To family,” he murmured. “However complicated.”

We didn’t answer.

Rain struck the windows in hard, rhythmic bursts. Cutlery clinked softly. The silence between us felt like it had weight.

“So,” Damian began, slicing through his steak, “my little brother’s been busy. I saw your new proposal for the firm. Interesting ideas, too idealistic, though. You always did confuse emotion with strategy.”

Adrian’s eyes flicked up. “Maybe strategy needs a little emotion.”

Damian smiled without warmth. “Not in business. Not in marriage.”

He turned that same gaze on me. “What about you, Amelia? Do you still confuse the two?”

I gripped the edge of my napkin. “I think people confuse control with love more often.”

Something dark flickered behind his eyes. “Control keeps things from falling apart.”

The next silence was worse. The air grew thick; the hum of the city below pressed against the glass like static. I realized I was counting my breaths.

Damian set his knife down carefully and slid a folder across the table. “Speaking of control,” he said, “I found something interesting.”

The folder opened to photograph, grainy surveillance stills. Me. In the rain. At Adrian’s building. My stomach hollowed.

“You’re having me followed?”

He lifted his glass, studying the wine as if it were more important than my question. “No, love. I stopped pretending not to watch.”

Adrian’s voice cut across the table. “That’s enough, Damian.”

Damian’s gaze snapped to him. “You think you can protect her from me? You think you understand what she needs?”

Adrian didn’t flinch. “I know what she doesn’t.”

The thunder outside seemed to answer. Damian’s calm cracked just slightly, his fingers tightening around the stem of his glass. He leaned back, forcing a smile.

“Tell me, brother,” he said softly, “how long have you been trying to destroy me? Before or after you decided to steal what’s mine?”

Adrian’s reply was quiet, deliberate. “I didn’t steal anything. You threw it away.”

For a second, the world stopped breathing.

Damian’s jaw shifted; I could almost hear his teeth grind. Then he laughed too loudly, too brightly. “Touching. A man of morals now.”

He stood, moving behind me, and I felt his presence like heat against my back. “You think you’re free, Amelia?” he whispered close to my ear. “You’re living inside my eyes. Every step you take, I see it. Every breath, I hear it.”

I turned sharply. “You don’t own me.”

His hand flattened on the table near my plate, inches from my arm. “That’s the tragedy. I thought I did.”

Adrian rose from his chair. “Back away from her.”

Damian faced him, amused. “What happens if I don’t?”

The air held. Then Adrian’s hand closed around Damian’s wrist, firm, not violent, but enough. For one heartbeat, the entire dynamic shifted. Damian, the man who never lost composure, froze.

“You don’t own anyone,” Adrian said quietly.

Damian’s pulse jumped against Adrian’s grip before he pulled free, eyes cold. “You should have stayed the lesser son.”

He walked to the sideboard, poured more whiskey, his tone turning almost conversational. “Do you know why I called you both here?”

Neither of us answered. He turned, holding his phone up so we could see the screen with an email window open, a message drafted, and press contacts listed. Attached: the same photos spread on the table.

“At midnight,” he said, “the story goes live. Unless I choose otherwise.”

“You’d ruin your own name?” I whispered.

“Names can be rebuilt,” he replied. “Legacies can’t.”

Adrian took a step forward. “This isn’t business, Damian. This is a session.”

Damian’s smile was faint. “Everything is business.”

A gust of wind howled; the candles flickered. For a moment, his face was half in light, half in shadow. I realized then that the control he worshiped wasn’t strength, it was fear wearing armor.

“I won’t play your game,” I said.

He tilted his head. “Oh, sweetheart, you already are.”

The lights snapped out. The room plunged into darkness except for a red emergency glow washing over the walls. Rain hammered the glass harder.

“Stay here,” Adrian muttered, moving toward the control panel.

Damian’s voice came out of the dark, low and sharp. “Don’t touch anything.”

A soft electronic hum filled the silence. Behind Damian, one of the security monitors flickered to life on its own. Lines of static crawled across the screen, then cleared. A live feed of us. From somewhere outside the penthouse.

A figure stood on the opposite rooftop, half-hidden under a hood. The image zoomed closer, automated, as if someone else was controlling it.

Damian froze. “That’s not my feed.”

Adrian’s hand hovered near the monitor controls. “Then whose is it?”

On the screen, white text blinked into existence over the shadowed figure:

YOU THINK THIS IS YOUR GAME, DAMIAN? YOU’RE BOTH MY PAWNS.

The feed cut to black. The hum died. Only our breathing filled the space.

Thunder rolled through the glass walls. My heart raced so fast it hurt.

“Damian…” I whispered. “What was that?”

He didn’t answer. He was staring at the dead screen, jaw locked, eyes reflecting the red emergency light like metal.

For the first time since I’d known him, Damian looked afraid.

And that terrified me even more.