Page 73 of The CEO

“Did you ever regret it?” I ask, my voice barely audible through my tears. “Did you ever think about me? About what you took from me?” I don’t know why I’m asking. It won’t change anything—won’t make hearing this gut-wrenching truth any easier to swallow.

Something shifts in Damien’s expression—the first genuine emotion I’ve seen since this devastating confession began.

“Yes,” he says simply. “It’s the only decision I’ve ever truly regretted, Eve. The only one that’s haunted me all these years.”

“So, what, you’ve been watching me out of guilt?” The thought makes my stomach turn, acid burning again at the back of my throat. “Following me? Studying me like some kind of . . . project?”

“Initially,” he admits, his honesty brutal. “But it became more than that. Something I couldn’t explain or control.”

The realization hits me with stunning force: every interaction, every “chance” meeting, every moment between us has been calculated . . . orchestrated by this man who helped destroy my life.

“My scarf,” I whisper as the memory surfaces. “In the forest preserve. You knew exactly who I was, didn’t you? From the moment you saw me there?”

“Yes.” No hesitation, no pretense.

“And that night in the alley? With Kurt? Was that planned too? Did you arrange for him to attack me so you could save me? Make me grateful? Make me trust you?” The questions pour out of me, each one peeling back another layer of betrayal.

“No,” he says firmly. “You weren’t supposed to be there that night. Kurt’s appearance was unfortunate timing. But once I saw him threatening you, I couldn’t let him hurt you.”

“How generous of you,” I spit, anger beginning to burn through the grief, cauterizing the raw edges of my pain. “The great Damien Knox, saving the damsel he helped orphan.”

The rage builds inside me like a living thing, clawing to get out. Years of grief, of questions, of searching for closure—all of it perverted by his revelation.

“And tonight?” I demand, my voice steadier now, fueled by growing fury. “Was that part of your plan too? Getting me to witness a murder, to be complicit in your world so I couldn’t go to the authorities about this?” I gesture at the folder—at the evidence of his betrayal.

“No,” he says. “That was never part of the plan. You weren’t supposed to be there tonight. You were never supposed to see that side of my life.”

“But I did,” I remind him. “And now what? I’m just supposed to forgive you? To forget that you helped cover up the worst thing that ever happened to me?”

The words tear from my throat as I launch myself at him, my fists hammering against his chest, my fury too vast to contain any longer.

“You helped him get away with it!” I scream, tears streaming down my face. “You covered up my parents’ murder! You’ve been watching me—manipulating me!”

He doesn’t try to stop me, doesn’t defend himself. He takes each blow, his eyes never leaving my face. My knuckles scrape against his skin, but he doesn’t flinch.

“I hate you,” I sob, even as my attacks weaken. “I hate what you’ve made me feel. I hate that I still want you despite knowing what you’ve done.”

My hand connects with his chest one final time before I step back, trembling with rage and grief. “You had no right,” I whisper, my voice breaking. “No right to keep this from me, to manipulate me, to make me feel . . .” I can’t finish the sentence, the truth of my twisted emotions too painful to voice.

“I know,” he acknowledges, making no move to approach me. “It’s the only decision I’ve ever truly regretted, Eve. The only one that’s haunted me all these years.”

“I doubt it,” I spit. “You don’t have a heart. You can’t possibly feel or understand emotions.”

“You can hate me all you want,” he says, his voice even. “But the fact remains that you’ve seen too much, and know too much. You can never leave this world now, Eve.”

His words land like another blow. “I thought I had a choice,” I say, remembering his promises in the throne room.

“You did,” he agrees. “Until you disobeyed me and followed me tonight.”

The reality of my situation crashes over me. I’m trapped now—bound to this man and his shadow world by what I’ve witnessed, by what I know.

“You have to choose,” he says, stepping closer. “You can be part of this, part of what I’m building. Or . . .”

“Or what?” I challenge, though I already know the answer. “What happens if I choose to destroy you instead? To take this evidence to the police and tell them everything I saw tonight?”

“You wouldn’t get that far,” he says simply—no threat in his tone, just cold certainty.

I understand then, with perfect clarity, exactly what he’s saying. If I try to expose him, I’ll disappear. Just like the man in the warehouse. Just like anyone who threatens his empire.

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