Page 81 of The CEO

“Meaning?”

Foster chooses his words carefully. “He’s . . . changed. His focus has shifted. The organization has noticed.”

The implication hangs in the air between us: that my absence has affected Damien more deeply than I anticipated, and that perhaps my power over him extends beyond that moment in the throne room.

We take the elevator and reach the greenhouse door, which Foster opens and then steps back.

“He’s inside,” he says simply. “I’ll remain here.”

I nod, taking a deep breath before stepping into the humid warmth of Damien’s sanctuary.

I move deeper into the green labyrinth, following a stone path that curves around a small indoor pond. The sound of water trickles somewhere nearby, creating a peaceful backdrop to the rustling leaves. For all its beauty, there’s something almost primeval about this place—nature contained but not tamed, much like the man who cultivates it.

I find him in a section filled with orchids, kneeling before a plant with ghostly white blooms that seem to float in the air. He doesn’t look up at my approach, his attention fixed on the delicate task of pruning dead leaves with precise, careful movements.

The change in him is immediately apparent. His hair is longer than I’ve ever seen it, curling slightly at the nape of his neck. A beard shadows his jaw, and his usual impeccable suit has been replaced by a simple black T-shirt and pants. He looks younger somehow, more vulnerable, yet no less dangerous.

I stand silently, watching him work, struck by the gentleness in his hands—the same hands that ended Kurt’s life with such efficiency, built an empire of shadow justice, and touched me with unexpected tenderness.

“You came back.”

His voice is rough, as if from disuse. He still doesn’t look up, his fingers continuing their careful work on the orchid.

“Yes.” I remain where I am, maintaining distance between us.

He finally turns, rising to his full height in one fluid motion. His eyes find mine, and the intensity in them nearly steals my breath—relief, hunger, vulnerability all warring for dominance.

“Why?” A simple question that demands so much.

“Because we’re not finished,” I answer truthfully. “Because I need answers. Real ones this time. All of them.”

He studies me, his gaze traveling over my face as if he’s memorizing it—like I might disappear again at any moment. “All of them,” he repeats, the words a statement rather than a question.

“Everything, Damien. No more secrets, no more strategic revelations. I want the complete truth about my parents, about Victor Messini, about your obsession with me. Everything.”

He nods slowly, accepting my terms without hesitation. “And after? When you have your answers?”

“That depends on what those answers are,” I say, stepping closer to him. “This is your last chance. Your only chance. If there’s anything—anything at all—that you keep from me now, I’ll walk away. I’ll disappear so completely, you’ll never find me again.”

Something flashes in his eyes: genuine fear. “I understand.”

“Do you?” I move closer still—close enough to catch the scent of earth that clings to his skin. “Because I don’t think you do. I don’t think you understand how completely you shattered my world. How everything I thought I knew about my parents’ deaths, about myself, about you—all of it was built on lies.”

“Not lies,” he counters softly. “Omissions. Manipulations. But not lies.”

“A distinction without difference,” I snap, anger flaring again. “You watched me for eight years, Damien. You knew who I was when I confronted you in your office. You knew what your mentor had done to my family when you kissed me. When you . . .”

He doesn’t flinch from my accusations, doesn’t try to justify his actions. “Yes.”

The simple admission fuels my anger rather than defusing it. “And you expected . . . what? That I would never find out? That I would fall into your world, into your bed, without ever discovering the truth?”

“I didn’t expect anything,” he says, his voice steady despite the emotion evident in his eyes. “I didn’t plan for you to enter my life again. When I saw you that day in the forest preserve, it was . . . unexpected. A collision of worlds I’d kept separate for years.”

“So you improvised,” I say bitterly. “Manipulated circumstances to bring me closer, to see if I could be useful to your organization.”

“At first, yes.” His honesty is brutal, unvarnished. “But it became . . . more than that.”

“More how?” I challenge, needing to hear him say it.

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