Chapter 5

Damian POV

I should’ve left hours ago.

Most executives had already fled into the night, their chauffeurs idling at curbside while they retreated to penthouses or their Hampton estates. By now, the upper floors of the tower should’ve been dark, a hollowed-out monument to ambition. But my office never slept.

From here, the city stretched out—streets glowing, sounds of vehicles pulsing in traffic , Manhattan humming with a rhythm as sharp as it was merciless. Usually, the view anchored me but tonight, it only sharpened the edge already gnawing at my thoughts.

The reason was obvious.

Kayna Scott.

Efficient. Polished. But with a certain volatility beneath her calm that I couldn’t quite place. She had a way of moving through the office—deliberate, self-contained, yet impossible to overlook. I’d seen seasoned associates crack under the strain of rapid-fire boardroom interrogation, but she hadn’t flinched. Not once.

That Cosmo session earlier was proof. Twelve executives firing questions like live rounds. She didn’t shrink. She didn’t stumble. She simply adjusted, answered when necessary, observed.

And that look in her eyes…defiant curiosity, quiet steel, had been aimed at me more than anyone else. As though she was testing whether my expectations could be broken.

I closed the Dubai contract with a snap and leaned back in my chair, my fingers tracing the beveled edge of the mahogany. My office was covered in amber shadows, the desk lamp the only light. A fortress. A vantage point.

But I didn’t like gaps.

Her résumé had been thorough but too smoothed over like someone had sanded the edges of her life before submitting it. Perfect but lifeless. Competent but… missing something.

Where had she learned to adapt like that? To mask nerves so completely?

I stood and crossed to the windows, catching my reflection in the glass—tie loosened, jacket still sharp. The city below looked infinite, a board I’d learned to play with precision. From up here, everything had rules, everything could be bought, outmaneuvered, or crushed.

And yet, the city had corners no light touched. Shadows too old to ignore.

The pull came creeping back. The same pull that made me notice the way her hair caught light when she bent over her notes, or the steady cadence of her voice when executives tried to pin her down. The way her eyes had lingered on me once, cautious, torn between distrust and reluctant intrigue.

I shouldn’t notice. But I did.

A knock—low, measured—cut the thought in two.

“Come in,” I said.

Julian slipped inside, always without hesitation, the rules bent differently for him. He moved with the casual weight of someone who knew where the real levers of this company were. He set a folder on my desk without preamble.

“The background on Cosmo,” he said. “Clean. No phantom accounts. No money leaks. Nothing the auditors won’t sleep through. And your new assistant?” His gaze sharpened. “Also clean. At least, on paper.”

I didn’t move. “On paper?”

“No hidden debts. No offshore ties. No anomalies.” He paused, studying me. “Which almost makes her more suspicious.”

I gave a short nod. “One less variable.”

Julian didn’t leave. He lingered, like he always did when he smelled more beneath the surface.

“She’s not like the others” he said finally.

“She’s competent.”

He almost smiled, though there was little amusement in it. “Competence doesn’t catch your eye, Damian. Precision does. Control does. She has neither yet you remember her name before week’s end. That’s… unusual.”

I leaned a shoulder against the window frame, meeting his stare evenly. “If someone’s working next to me, I remember their name. That’s not cause for concern.”

He studied me for a beat too long, then shrugged. “Be careful. Distraction is a luxury you can’t afford. Not with what’s circling.”

Circling. The word landed with weight.

I didn’t press. He didn’t elaborate. That was the rhythm of our partnership—mutual understanding laced with unspoken warnings.

When he left, silence bled back into the office. My hand hovered over the computer’s power switch when the phone lit up.

Not the office line. Not my private contacts. An unlisted number.

You can’t keep the past buried forever.

No greeting. No signature. Just a scalpel of words, cutting through the quiet.

I stared at the glow of the screen. My first instinct was to trace it. My second was to delete it. My third and most dangerous was to do neither.

People who sent messages like this fed on response. They thrived on reaction. The only way to starve them was silence.

Still, I read it again before locking the phone.

Past.

That was a word with teeth.

My mind should’ve gone back to quarterly forecasts, to Cosmo, to Dubai. Instead, it circled back to her.

Kayna.

Whether she was an asset or a liability, I didn’t yet know. What I did know was this: she’d stepped into a world where shadows lived longer than memories, and those shadows never stayed buried.

And when they came clawing back, she’d find out faster than either of us was ready for.

The real question was whether I’d shield her from it or whether I’d drag her down with me.