Chapter 59
KAYNA’s POV
The night I made the biggest decision of my life.
I couldn’t concentrate on anything after I sent that message to Damian telling him we needed to talk. My apartment was quiet—too quiet—and every small sound felt amplified, like the cracking of my nerves. I stood by my kitchen counter, my fingers curled around a glass of water I wasn’t drinking, staring at the city lights flickering through my window.
My mind wouldn’t stop cycling.
The leaked clause.
The blogs.
Ixora’s smug face in the headlines.
Damian looking like he was drowning at work.
The pressure from his mother.
The inherited mess from his father.
And the marriage proposal.
I had spent the whole day replaying his voice from yesterday—raw, strained, almost pleading under the practiced control. He hadn’t said the words out loud, but the truth was painted all over him: Damian Marshall was breaking.
And the entire world was watching.
A buzzing vibrated against the counter. My phone lit up with a text.
Damian:
The reservation is set. 7:30pm. I’ll text you the location. Thank you for agreeing to meet.
I exhaled shakily.
This wasn’t just another meeting.
It was a pivot point in both our lives.
I checked the time—6:20pm. Enough time to get ready, though nothing I owned felt appropriate for discussing a marriage contract over dinner.
A marriage.
Fake or not…
Temporary or not…
My stomach twisted.
I didn’t know what scared me more: the proposal itself, or the part of me that wasn’t scared enough.
I changed three times.
A dress. Too intimate.
A blazer. Too businesslike.
Sweater and jeans. Too casual.
Eventually I settled on a simple black slip dress layered with a cream coat—elegant but not trying too hard. I stared at myself in the mirror, smoothing the fabric over my hips, wondering if I looked like someone about to negotiate a marriage with her billionaire boss.
My chest tightened.
Not just my boss.
Not anymore.
We had kissed.
And I had felt everything I wasn’t supposed to.
I grabbed my bag before I could second-guess myself again.
The restaurant was tucked into a quiet street in Midtown—intimate, expensive without flaunting it, more candlelit than chandeliers. The kind of place people came to nurture secrets and drink wine that cost more than rent.
A hostess led me to a corner booth with heavy curtains drawn halfway for privacy.
My breath caught when I saw him.
Damian stood when I approached, looking… undone. Not in his clothes—they were as crisp and tailored as always—but in the eyes. Dark circles, tension etched into his jaw, exhaustion carved into the lines around his mouth.
But when he saw me, something shifted—like a cord inside him eased, almost imperceptibly.
“Kayna,” he said quietly.
“Hi.”
The word wavered more than I meant it to.
He stepped around the table to pull out my chair. It was a small gesture, but he did it like it mattered. Like I mattered.
As soon as I sat, he returned to his side, exhaling heavily.
“Thank you for coming,” he murmured.
“You said it was urgent.”
“It is.” His fingers tapped once on the table before curling into a fist. “More than you know.”
The waiter came for drink orders. Damian didn’t even look at the menu.
“Sparkling water,” he said.
“No wine?” I asked softly.
He shook his head. “Not tonight. I need my mind clear.”
That made two of us.
When the waiter left, silence stretched between us—not awkward, but loaded. He looked at me like he didn’t know where to start. Like every sentence was a cliff.
Finally, I took the plunge.
“Damian… just tell me everything. Please.”
He drew in a breath. “My father tied the company’s ultimate ownership to… legacy obligations. Marriage. Heir. Public image.” He clenched his jaw. “My mother is using it as leverage. And she wants Ixora front and center.”
The way he said her name made something ugly twist inside me.
“And the leak?” I asked.
His nostrils flared. “I don’t know yet. But I’ll find out.”
He paused. His voice dropped lower.
“And I understand if you say no. If you walk away from all of this. You didn’t ask for any of it.”
Something in me stung at that.
“Damian… I didn’t ask for this, but I’m already in it,” I whispered. “Whether either of us wanted that or not.”
His eyes flickered.
I inhaled slowly, gathering everything inside me like delicate glass.
“I’ve made a decision.”
His shoulders tensed.
“I’ll do it,” I said. “I’ll agree to the marriage.”
He didn’t move at first.
Didn’t speak.
Didn’t breathe.
Just stared at me like the world had stopped.
“Kayna…” His voice cracked the faintest bit. “You don’t know what that means to me.”
I swallowed. “It comes with conditions.”
He straightened. “Name them.”
I opened my hand on the table, grounding myself.
“One—there’s a timeline. Six months, maybe a year if needed. But I won’t be trapped in anything indefinite.”
He nodded. “Fair.”
“Two—my independence stays intact. My job, my apartment, my life.”
“You’ll keep all of it,” he said immediately.
“Three—no… implied expectations.” My cheeks warmed. “Physical or otherwise. Unless we choose that ourselves.”
His jaw tightened. “Kayna, I have never wanted to pressure you.”
“I know,” I murmured. “But there has to be clarity.”
His throat bobbed as he swallowed.
“Four—my mother’s healthcare. She needs a proper facility, the best doctors, everything she needs without question.”
“You’ll have it,” he said without hesitation. “All of it.”
I paused.
“Five… your family stays out of my personal business.”
Something dark flickered across his face. “Gladly.”
“And last…” My voice softened. “If feelings get complicated… we talk about it.”
His gaze locked onto mine.
Too intense.
Too warm.
Too raw.
“Kayna,” he said quietly. “You deserve honesty. And choice. I will never let this arrangement hurt you.”
For a moment, the world blurred around the edges.
He reached across the table, hesitated—and then his fingers brushed mine.
The smallest touch.
But it felt like a spark, sliding up my arm and straight into my chest.
I didn’t pull away.
Neither did he.
“Thank you,” he whispered. “For trusting me. For even considering this. For… everything.”
I let out a breath I didn’t realize I’d been holding. “We’re doing this together, Damian. But we do it on equal ground.”
His thumb stroked once over the back of my hand—soft, reverent.
“Equal ground,” he murmured.
We talked for another hour—details, logistics, the timeline, his worries, my fears. The more he opened up, the more I realized how deeply this had been consuming him.
And the more I understood why he had come to me.
Not because I was convenient.
Because he trusted me.
And that was dangerous in ways neither of us had words for yet.
When dinner ended, he stood to help me from the booth. His hand hovered at my lower back—not touching, just there—as if he couldn’t decide whether he should.
Outside, the night air was thick with city noise, headlights streaking across wet pavement.
I opened my mouth to tell him goodnight—
—when I heard it.
The click-click-click of rapid camera shutters.
Flash.
Flash.
Flash.
A cluster of paparazzi stepped into the sidewalk light.
“Damian! Damian Marshall—over here!”
“Is she the mystery woman?”
“Are you getting married?”
“Kayna Scott—are you the chosen bride?!”
My breath froze.
Damian’s hand grabbed mine instantly—tight, protective, instinctive.
More flashes. More shouting.
The world tilted as he pulled me closer, shielding me with his body.
And the last thing I heard before the crowd surged was:
“Marshall, is this the woman replacing Ixora in the marriage deal?!”
Everything inside me stopped.
Because someone out there knew far too much.
And this was only the beginning.