Damien’s POV
The party was suffocating .
I stood near the refreshnt table, Emma’s voice washing over like white noise. Around us, Chicago’s elite mingled and laughed, their champagne glasses catching the light from crystal chandeliers. Everything was perfect. Everything was fake.
Just like this whole goddamn evening.
Lily and Adrian were running around with the other kids, their laughter cutting through the adult conversation. At least they were having fun. At least soone was.
"—don’t you think, Damien?"
I had no idea what Emma had just said. Didn’t care either.
But then—
Sothing shifted. A cold prickle ran down my spine, sharp and imdiate. That old instinct, the one I’d honed in years of dealing with threats and enemies, suddenly screaming at .
Soone was watching.
My head whipped around, eyes scanning the crowd. Nothing. Just the usual suspects, the usual fake smiles and political maneuvering. I turned toward the windows overlooking the street.
A sedan sped past. Tinted windows. Gone in a heartbeat.
Nothing else.
Just my paranoia, probably. The stress getting to .
"Damien? Are you alright?"
Emma’s concerned voice grated on my nerves. I forced my shoulders to relax, unclenched my jaw.
"Fine. Thought I saw soone."
"Daddy! Daddy, look!" Lily ca barreling toward , her party dress a blur of pink. "I won the ring toss!"
I crouched down, and for the first ti all evening, sothing genuine broke through the numbness. "Did you now?"
She shoved a cheap plastic trophy in my face, beaming with pride. God, she looked so much like her mother when she smiled like that. My chest constricted.
"That’s amazing, sweetheart."
"I had three cupcakes!" Adrian announced, finally acting like an eight-year-old child, appearing with chocolate sared across his face like war paint.
Despite everything, I almost smiled. "I can see that, buddy."
I pulled out my handkerchief, wiping his face. These monts—these simple, ordinary monts with my kids—were the only things keeping sane.
The afternoon dragged on like torture. Endless small talk. Forced smiles. Emma playing her role perfectly, laughing at all the right monts, saying all the right things to all the right people.
Every ti she touched my arm, my skin crawled.
This was a mistake. Such a massive mistake. I should never have brought her. But I’d needed soone to deflect the questions, the pitying stares, the whispered speculation.
"Where’s your wife, Damien?"
"Is it true she left you?"
"Are you getting divorced?"
Emma had been a convenient shield. Nothing more.
By dinner, the kids were fading. Lily kept rubbing her eyes, and Adrian’s head drooped between bites. They’d run themselves ragged, played themselves out.
Good. At least they’d sleep well tonight.
"Soone’s tired," Emma said, reaching over to smooth Lily’s hair.
My daughter flinched slightly, pressing closer to .
"We need to leave," I said, checking my watch. Way past their bedti.
Emma’s face fell. "Already? I thought we might stay for dancing."
"The kids are exhausted."
"Of course." That smile again. "Family first."
We gathered our things—the kids clutching their party favors like treasure—and I made the obligatory rounds. Handshakes. Empty congratulations. Everyone pretending they weren’t gossiping about my failed marriage the second I turned my back.
Let them talk.
The air hit us the mont we stepped outside. Lily shivered, and I imdiately draped my jacket over her shoulders.
"I want one too!" Adrian protested.
"You’re already wearing yours, buddy."
"Oh. Right."
My driver pulled up with the SUV. I helped the kids into their car seats, Emma slid into the middle row, and I took the front passenger seat.
We weren’t even out of the parking lot before both kids passed out.
I glanced back. Lily’s head against the window, plastic trophy still clutched in her little hands. Adrian with chocolate still sared on his collar, frosting on his cheek.
They looked so small. So vulnerable.
The city lights blurred past. Traffic was light. The driver navigated smoothly toward my penthouse.
Toward ho.
"Damien."
Emma’s voice had changed. Softer. More intimate.
Every muscle in my body tensed.
"I’ve been thinking about today. About us."
"I see how hard this is for you," she continued, leaning forward. "Raising them alone. Dealing with everything. You need soone, Damien. Soone who understands your world. Soone who can be there for you and the kids."
"Emma—"
"Let finish." Her hand landed on my shoulder, and it took everything in not to shake it off violently. "I care about you. I have for a long ti. And I’m good with Lily and Adrian. They like ."
The hell they do.
"I want to be there for all three of you. I want to be the person you co ho to. The person who helps with howork and bedti stories. Your partner."
Partner.
The word made bile rise in my throat.
I already have a partner. I already have a wife.
"I know this might seem sudden," Emma pressed on, her voice trembling slightly. "But life is short. We could be really good together. I could make you happy. Make the kids happy."
The silence in the car was deafening. Just the soft breathing of my sleeping children and the pounding of blood in my ears.
This couldn’t be happening.
"Think about it," she urged. "Really think about it. I’m not asking for an answer tonight. I just want you to consider the possibility. Consider ."
My jaw ached from clenching it so hard.
"I know Sera abandoned you and the kids."
Everything went red. My hands were shaking.
"You don’t deserve to keep waiting for soone who doesn’t want you. You deserve soone who chooses you every single day."
"Pull over." My voice was deadly calm. Too calm.
"Sir?"
"Pull. Over. Now."
The driver imdiately complied, pulling to the curb on so quiet residential street.
Emma blinked. "What—"
I was out of the car in seconds, yanking open her door with barely controlled fury.
"Get out."
"Damien, I—"
"Get. Out. Of. My. Car."
She scrambled out, nearly tripping in those ridiculous heels. The second she was clear, I grabbed her arm and yanked her away from the car. Not hard enough to hurt, but hard enough to make her stumble.
"You want to know what you are to ?" My voice was low, shaking with rage. "You’re nothing. A placeholder. A fucking prop I used for one night because I needed to shut people up."
Emma’s face drained of all color.
"Damien—"
"And you have the audacity," I cut her off, my grip tightening on her arm, "to stand here and talk about my wife?"
"But she did leave—"
"Shut up!" The words exploded out of . "You don’t get to talk about her. You don’t get to say her na. You don’t know shit about what happened, about why, about anything!"
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