Damien POV
The elevator doors slid open on the fifty-seventh floor of Blackwood Tower, and I stepped out to find my assistant looking up from her desk, her eyes widening in surprise.
"Mr. Blackwood, I wasn’t expecting—" She half-rose from her chair.
"Clear my schedule for the day." I walked past her without stopping, entering my office as the door closed behind with a soft click. The floor-to-ceiling windows showed the city spread out below—thousands of buildings, millions of people—and sowhere out there, my son.
My son.
I pressed my palms against the glass, feeling the cold surface like everything else in this damn tower. I’d built an empire here, made billions, crushed competitors, and for what? So I could throw out my pregnant wife because I was too much of a coward to trust her?
My phone buzzed in my pocket, and I pulled it out to see Marcus’s na flashing on the screen. I declined the call. He’d been calling a lot recently, but I didn’t have ti for whatever he wanted to threaten with this ti around, because nothing was urgent except this.
I opened my contacts and found the number I’d had my assistant track down yesterday—Monroe Global’s main line. I hesitated, then pressed call.
"Monroe Global, how may I direct your call?" A woman’s voice answered, bright and professional.
"Aria Monroe, please." My voice ca out rougher than I intended.
"May I ask who’s calling?" The receptionist’s tone remained pleasant.
"Damien Blackwood." I paced to my desk.
There was a pause. "One mont, sir." The line clicked to hold music—so classical piece that filled my ear, Vivaldi maybe. I sat down, then stood back up as the music droned on.
"Mr. Blackwood?" The receptionist was back, and her tone had changed to sothing more cautious.
"Yes." I gripped the phone tighter.
"Ms. Monroe isn’t available. Would you like to leave a ssage?"
"When will she be available?" I moved back to the windows.
"I’m afraid I don’t have that information." She sounded almost apologetic.
"Tell her I need to speak with her. It’s urgent." I pressed my forehead against the glass.
"I’ll pass along the ssage, sir." She hung up before I could respond.
I stared at the phone for a mont, then dialed again.
"Monroe Global" The sa receptionist answered.
"It’s Damien Blackwood again. I need to speak with Aria." I didn’t let her finish her greeting.
"Sir, as I ntioned, Ms. Monroe is unavailable. I can take a ssage—" Her patience was wearing thin.
"Put her on the phone." I turned from the window.
"I’m sorry, sir, but" She started to protest.
"Tell her it’s about Noah." The na felt strange on my tongue.
Another pause followed, longer this ti. "Please hold." Her voice had changed again, becoming more careful.
The classical music returned, and I gripped the phone so hard my knuckles went white. Co on. Co on.
Click.
"Mr. Blackwood." Not the receptionist this ti—it was Aria’s voice, and my heart stopped.
"Aria"
"You have thirty seconds before I hang up and block this number." She didn’t sound angry, just done.
"I need to see you. To talk about—" I rushed the words.
"About the son you told to get rid of? The baby you called a sche? Or maybe about how you threw out on the street pregnant?" Her voice rang out with barely contained fury.
I closed my eyes. "I was wrong."
"Which part did you want to discuss?" She wasn’t finished.
"About everything. I was wrong." My voice wavered slightly at the last word.
"How big of you to realize that four years later." The sarcasm was sharp enough to draw blood.
"Please. Just give five minutes. Let —" I opened my eyes, staring at nothing.
"You don’t get to make demands anymore, Damien." She cut off cleanly. "You gave up that right when you chose to believe lies over your own wife."
"I know." My hand shook as I held the phone. "I know I don’t deserve anything from you. But Aria, please. I saw him. I saw our son."
Silence filled the line—nothing but breathing on the other end.
"Where is he?" My voice cracked as the question ca out barely above a whisper. "Please. I need to know." I pressed the phone harder against my ear.
"You have no right to ask anything." Each word was cold and deliberate. "Not about him. Not about . Not about anything."
"Aria" I started, but the line went dead.
I stared at the phone for a long mont, then hurled it across the room. It hit the wall and shattered into pieces, plastic and glass scattering across the floor.
My assistant appeared in the doorway, her eyes going to the broken phone and then to .
"Get another phone," I said without looking at her. "And find out where Aria Monroe’s office is located. I want the address, the floor number, security protocols—everything."
"Sir, I" She hesitated in the doorway.
"Now." I turned to face her, and she disappeared imdiately.
I turned back to the windows where the city glittered in the afternoon sun. Sowhere out there was my son—a little boy with my eyes who called another man daddy. Or maybe no one. Maybe Aria had raised him alone. The thought made my chest tight.
For years, I’d lost years of his life. First words. First steps. Birthdays. All of it gone because I’d been too much of a bastard to believe the woman I married.
My assistant returned with a new phone and a folder, setting both on my desk carefully, as if I might explode again.
"Monroe Global is headquartered in Silver Springs," she said, opening the folder. "Two hours away. Ms. Monroe’s office is on the twentieth floor. Building security is... extensive. You’ll need an appointnt to get past the lobby." She slid a paper toward .
"Make an appointnt." I picked up the new phone.
"I tried, sir. They said Ms. Monroe isn’t accepting etings with you." She looked down at her notes.
I grabbed my car keys from the desk. "Then I’ll show up without one."
"Sir, they’ll have you removed" She followed to the door.
"Let them try." I walked past her without slowing down.
***********
Two hours later, I stood in the lobby of a glass tower that rivaled my own, with the Monroe Global logo gleaming behind the reception desk. The space was sleek, modern, and powerful. She’d built this. While I was drowning in guilt and whiskey, she was building an empire.
"Can I help you?" The receptionist’s smile was professional as I approached.
"I’m here to see Aria Monroe." I stopped at the desk.
"Do you have an appointnt?" She looked down at her computer screen.
"No." I watched her expression change.
Her smile didn’t waver. "I’m sorry, sir, but Ms. Monroe only sees scheduled visitors. Would you like to make an appointnt?"
"Tell her Damien Blackwood is here." I put both hands on the desk.
The smile faltered. "One mont." She picked up the phone and spoke quietly into the receiver, her eyes flicking to once, then twice. She hung up after less than thirty seconds.
"Ms. Monroe asks that you leave the premises, Mr. Blackwood." Her professional mask was back in place. "If you refuse, security will escort you out." She folded her hands on the desk primly.
"I’m not leaving until I see her." I didn’t move from the desk.
"Sir" She reached for the phone again.
"Call security. I’ll wait." I stepped back from the desk.
Two large n in dark suits appeared within minutes, flanking on either side.
"Sir, we’re going to have to ask you to leave." The one on my right spoke first.
"I need to see Aria Monroe." I kept my voice level. "I’m not causing trouble. I just need five minutes."
"Ms. Monroe has declined your request. Please leave voluntarily, or we’ll remove you." The left guard moved slightly closer.
I looked past them to the elevator banks, knowing that sowhere up there, twenty floors above, was Aria—my wife, the mother of my child.
"Fine." I stepped back from both of them. "I’ll leave."
The security guards relaxed their stances, and I walked to the door, stopping to turn back one last ti.
"Tell her I’ll be back tomorrow. And the day after that. Every day until she agrees to see ." I looked directly at the receptionist.
"Sir" The right guard started.
"Every. Single. Day." I pushed through the glass doors.
***************
The next morning, a delivery truck arrived at Monroe Global at nine a.m., the driver wheeling in a massive arrangent of white roses—two dozen, perfectly arranged. The card read: I’m sorry. Please let explain. -D
At nine-thirty, the flowers were returned to my office, unopened.
I sent more at noon—lilies this ti, her favorite if I rembered correctly. Those ca back too.
Day two, I tried tulips—red ones, the color of passion and apology. Returned.
Day three, I showed up in person again, but security was waiting at the entrance.
"Mr. Blackwood." The sa guards from before approached imdiately.
"I need to see Aria Monroe." I didn’t try to move past them.
"Sir, we’ve been instructed—" The right guard started.
"Just five minutes." I looked between them. "That’s all I’m asking."
"We’re sorry, sir. We have our orders." The left guard gestured toward the door, and they escorted out before I reached the elevators.
Day four, I left voicemails on her office line—ten of them. She didn’t answer a single one.
Day five, I was back in the lobby.
"Mr. Blackwood." The receptionist sighed when she saw . "We’ve been through this"
"I’ll wait here all day if I have to." I moved to one of the leather chairs in the lobby.
Security arrived within minutes—the sa two guards.
"Sir, this is harassnt." The right guard stood over .
"This is desperation," I said, looking up at him. "There’s a difference."
"We understand, sir, but you need to leave." The left guard moved to my other side, making it clear that this conversation was over.
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