Damien pov
Marcus looked past at Aria and Noah. "Lovely child. Those Blackwood eyes are unmistakable, aren’t they? It would be a sha if anything happened to him."
I lunged for him, but Aria’s voice stopped .
"Damien, don’t." She had Noah pressed against her chest, covering his ears. "Not in front of him."
Marcus backed toward the elevator, still smiling. "See you at the board eting, brother. I’m looking forward to it."
The doors closed, and he was gone.
The silence that followed was deafening. I could hear the hum of the air conditioning, the distant traffic eighteen floors below, the raggedness of my own breathing. The penthouse suddenly felt too small, the walls pressing in despite the floor-to-ceiling windows that normally made the space feel infinite.
Then Noah started crying—real, scared sobs that shattered what was left of my control. The sound pierced through "I want to go ho," he whimpered, his small voice cracking. "Mama, I want to go ho."
"We will, baby." Aria shot a look filled with accusation and fear, her eyes darker than I’d ever seen them. "We’re leaving. Right now."
I stepped forward, my hand outstretched. "Aria"
"No." She stood, Noah in her arms, his small fists clutching her blouse. I noticed how her hands trembled as she held him, the way her jaw was clenched so tight I could see the muscle jumping. "You want to be his father? Then prove it. Because we’re about to be at war, Damien. Your brother just declared it. Your board is moving against you. And my son—our son—is caught in the middle of all of it."
The sll of her perfu—sothing jasmine and sophisticated that I’d noticed a while ago—wafted toward as she moved past. It mixed with the scent of Noah’s baby shampoo, sothing sweet and innocent that made my chest ache.
"Let explain," I said, my voice hoarse. "Marcus is"
"A monster?" She spun to face , and I saw the tears she was fighting to hold back. "Just like you were? Or are you going to tell he’s different, that you’ve changed, that this ti will be different?"
Noah buried his face deeper into her neck, and I caught a glimpse of his eyes—my eyes—red-rimd and terrified.
"Mama, the bad man..." Noah’s muffled voice was barely audible.
"Shh, baby. He’s gone now." She stroked his dark curls, her rings catching the afternoon light streaming through the windows. "We’re safe."
She moved toward the guest room to gather their things, and I stood there, frozen, watching my family slip away again. The marble floors felt cold beneath my feet, the luxury of my penthouse suddenly hollow and aningless. What good was any of this—the power, the wealth, the empire—if I couldn’t protect the only two people who mattered?
My phone buzzed with another ssage, the vibration loud in the tense silence. David from PR: Boss, we need to talk. This is bad. Really bad.
Then another, from Patricia: Ergency board eting at 2 PM. They’re serious about this vote.
And finally, one from an unknown number: Enjoying the show? This is just the beginning. - M
I looked down at my hands. They were shaking—actually shaking. When was the last ti that had happened? My father had beaten the trembling out of when I was twelve.
Everything I’d fought for, everything I’d tried to rebuild—it was all crumbling. And this ti, I didn’t know if I could stop it.
From the guest room, I heard Noah crying and Aria’s soft voice trying to comfort him. "It’s okay, sweetheart. We’re going back to our place. We’ll have hot chocolate, and you can watch your favorite show. How does that sound?"
"Will the bad man find us there?" Noah’s question was small, vulnerable.
"No, baby. Mama won’t let anyone hurt you. I promise."
A promise I should have been making. A promise I’d failed at from the mont I threw her out of my life years ago.
I’d done this. All of it. My past, my enemies, my mistakes—they’d finally caught up with .
And now my son was paying the price.
I pulled up my contacts and started making calls. If Marcus wanted war, he’d get it. But I’d be damned if I let him hurt my family in the process.
"David," I said when my PR director answered. The sound of his keyboard clicking stopped abruptly. "Clear my schedule. We’re going nuclear on this story. I want a full press conference scheduled for noon. And get every piece of dirt we have on Marcus. Everything."
"Damien, are you sure?" His voice was tight with concern.
"Do it. Now."
I hung up and made the next call. Then the next. By the ti Aria erged from the guest room with Noah and their bags, I had a plan.
It was risky and desperate. It might destroy everything. But it was the only way to protect them.
She had changed Noah into fresh clothes—a small blue hoodie with a cartoon dinosaur that he must have loved. Her own blazer was slightly rumpled now, her usually perfect hair falling from its pins. She’d never looked more beautiful or more unreachable.
"Where are you going?" I asked as she headed for the elevator.
"Back to my penthouse," she said coldly, adjusting Noah’s weight on her hip. He’d stopped crying but his face was still buried against her shoulder. "With security. Away from you and your toxic family."
"That’s not safe. Marcus knows where you live." I took a step forward, and she took one back. The rejection stung more than it should have.
"Nowhere is safe!" She whirled on , eyes blazing with anger. "Don’t you get that? The mont you ca back into our lives, you put Noah in danger. This is what I was trying to avoid. This is why I stayed away."
"Then let fix it," I said, hearing the desperation in my own voice. "I’m calling a press conference. I’m going to make a statent"
"About what? That you threw your pregnant wife out years ago? That you called your own son a trap? That’s going to make this better?"
The truth, spoken aloud in her voice, was devastating.
"I’ll tell the truth. All of it. I’ll take responsibility. I’ll"
"You’ll make it worse," she said bitterly, as I noticed the slump on her shoulder"You always do."
The elevator doors opened with a soft chi. She stepped inside with Noah, who peeked at over her shoulder with red-rimd eyes that mirrored my own.
"Aria, please." I didn’t care that I was begging, that my voice cracked on her na. "Don’t shut out—at least not now. We need to face this together."
For a mont, she wavered. I saw it in her eyes—the desire to accept help, to not have to be strong alone. The sa look she’d given years ago when I could have chosen differently.
Then her expression hardened."You want to help? Then deal with your board and your psychotic brother. Keep them away from my son."
The doors started to close.
"Our son," I called out desperately.
She t my eyes one last ti before the doors sealed shut.
"Then start acting like his father," her voice echoed back. "And less like the man who destroyed his mother."
The elevator descended, taking them with it.
I stood alone in my penthouse, my phone buzzing with crisis after crisis, and realized sothing.
Marcus was right. The board was right. Aria was right.
I wasn’t fit to be a father. I wasn’t fit to lead. I’d failed at everything that mattered.
But I’d be damned if I failed at this.
I pulled up my contacts and found the one number I’d sworn I’d never call again.
The phone rang twice before a gruff voice answered. "Didn’t think I’d hear from you again, Blackwood."
"I need your help," I said to the private investigator who’d once dug up dirt on my father. "And I need you to do sothing that might be illegal."
"My favorite kind of job. What are we talking about?"
"Destroying my brother before he destroys my family."
There was a pause, then a dark chuckle. "Now we’re talking. When do we start?"
I walked to the floor-to-ceiling windows, pressing my forehead against the cold glass. The city sprawled below, indifferent to my crisis. My reflection stared back—a man I barely recognized anymore, with shadows under his eyes and desperation carved into every line of his face.
"I need surveillance on Marcus. Every eting, every call, every person he contacts," I said, my voice dropping lower. "I need his financial records, offshore accounts, anything that’s hidden. And I need leverage—the kind that destroys reputations permanently."
"That’s dancing pretty close to the line, Blackwood. Could blow back on you hard."
My jaw clenched. I was crossing a line my father had crossed many tis, becoming the very thing I’d sworn I’d never be. But what choice did I have?
"I don’t care about the line anymore," I said, my breath fogging the glass. "My son’s safety is worth more than my conscience."
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