Page 8 of His Untouchable Heart

“My wife passed away,” I said simply.

Damian didn’t blink. If the information caught him off guard, he didn’t show it. He just leaned back, swirling the last few swallows of his drink. “I see.”

I took another sip of coffee, keeping my tone neutral. “I’m not looking to replace her.”

For a moment, he said nothing. Then he chuckled, shaking his head. “You know, people act like love is an asset, but in reality? It depreciates.”

I gave him a flat look. “That’s a cynical take.”

“It’s a practical one.” He leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table. “Look at art. It’s one of the few things in the world that only gains value over time. A Picasso today is worth more than it was twenty years ago. But relationships? They have an expiration date. No matter how good it seems, eventually, someone loses interest. Someone leaves. Or worse, someone dies.”

There was nothing in his voice that suggested he was trying to be cruel. If anything, he was speaking from experience—though I wasn’t about to ask what.

I shook my head. “That’s a hell of a way to live.”

“It’s a hell of a way to survive.”

The words sat between us, heavy and unmoving.

I started to reply, but before I could, an image flashed in my mind. Gabrielle.

The way she carried herself—poised, graceful, as if she belonged in every room she entered. The way she studied me when she thought I wasn’t looking, her eyes sharp with curiosity. The way she seemed to already know my secrets, even when I hadn’t spoken them aloud.

I pushed the thought away. She was my employee. My responsibility. That was all.

Damian’s voice pulled me back. “You’ll see, Moreau. Give it time.” He smirked, tipping his glass toward me. “Miami has a way of messing with a man’s plans.”

I stared down at my coffee, my fingers tightening around the cup.

He had no idea.

Damian stood, stretching like a man who had nothing but time and endless possibilities ahead of him. He tossed a casual nod in my direction.

“Good talk, Moreau. You ever decide to actually enjoy Miami, let me know.” His smirk was sharp, knowing. “Try not to work yourself into an early grave.”

With that, he strolled out, already reaching for his phone—probably texting whatever model was warming his bed tonight.

I stayed put, rolling my coffee cup between my hands as the low hum of conversation and the clinking of glasses filled the space around me. The gym had its own social hierarchy and its own ecosystem of power and privilege. But outside these glass walls, Miami pulsed with an entirely different kind of energy—one I wasn’t sure I belonged to anymore.

Beyond the club’s outdoor terrace, the city stretched toward the water, neon reflections shimmering against the bay. Yachts were moored at the marina, music spilling from luxury rooftops and waterfront clubs, where people indulged without second thought.

Damian thrived in this world. I was just passing through.

At least, that’s what I told myself.

I leaned back in my seat, letting out a slow breath, but my mind betrayed me—drifting, unbidden, to Gabrielle.

Her voice was cool and professional but carried something just beneath the surface. The way her sharp gaze assessed me, always seeming to know more than I said.

The memory of her moved like a slow brushstroke in my mind—the curve of her mouth when she fought a smile, the way she carried herself with an effortless kind of elegance. She was a contradiction—poised yet untamed, polished yet burning with something deeper.

I shouldn’t be thinking about her like this.

She worked for me. I had no business letting my mind wander there.

And yet…

Her lips parted slightly in thought, the flicker of amusement in her eyes… the way she made even silence feel charged… I want to taste her…

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