CHAPTER 4

Phoebe closed the folder and slid it back across the desk.

"No."

Damon didn't move to take it. His expression didn't flicker. "You didn't even read the whole thing."

"I read enough." She stood, smoothing the front of her blouse. "Whatever this is, whatever game you're playing—I'm not interested."

His jaw tightened slightly. "It's business, Phoebe. Not a game."

She let out a quiet laugh. "You expect me to believe that?"

Damon's gaze locked onto hers, unreadable. "This deal is happening. Whether you're involved or not."

"Good," she said smoothly. "Then you don't need me."

Finally, she saw the flicker of something in his expression—annoyance, frustration, maybe even regret. It didn't matter.

She reached for the folder and held it out. "Take it and go, Damon."

For a moment, he just stood there, as if weighing whether to push or walk away.

Then, finally, he reached for the folder. But instead of leaving, he leaned in slightly, voice lower now.

"You always run when things get difficult."

Phoebe's fingers curled into fists at her sides, but she kept her face neutral. "You would know, wouldn't you?"

Something shifted in his eyes.

A memory, maybe. A moment neither of them had spoken about in years.

But before he could respond, she stepped back, turning away from him. "Lila will show you out."

She didn't wait for him to leave. Didn't give herself a chance to look back.

Instead, she turned her attention to the city beyond her office window, forcing herself to breathe.

This was the right choice.

It didn't matter that Damon was back in her life. It didn't matter that her pulse had quickened the second she saw him.

She wasn't the girl she had been back then.

And she sure as hell wasn't making the same mistake twice.

---

Phoebe stayed by the window, the city stretching endlessly before her. She focused on the skyline, on the noise of Manhattan beyond the glass, on the rhythm of her own breathing. Anything to block out the echo of Damon's voice.

You always run when things get difficult.

The words clawed at her, but she shoved them back into the past where they belonged.

A quiet knock at the door snapped her out of her thoughts.

Lila poked her head in hesitantly. "He's gone."

Phoebe exhaled, nodding. "Thank you."

Lila lingered. "Are you… okay?"

"Of course." Phoebe turned back toward her desk, already reaching for the next file in her inbox. "That was just business."

Lila didn't look convinced, but she didn't push. "I'll hold your calls for the next hour?"

Phoebe gave her a small smile. "That would be great."

As soon as the door shut behind Lila, Phoebe allowed herself exactly five seconds to close her eyes and breathe.

Then she snapped the folder open, determined to bury herself in work.

But no matter how many contracts she skimmed, how many emails she answered, she couldn't quite shake the weight of Damon's presence.

The past didn't just walk into her office today. It sat across from her, met her eyes, and refused to leave quietly.

And that terrified her more than anything.

Because the worst part?

For one split second, when she saw him standing there—

She had wanted him to stay.

---

Phoebe forced herself to focus. She had spent years perfecting the art of shutting things out—of silencing thoughts that had no place in her life anymore.

And Damon?

He was a relic of the past. A mistake she had already paid for.

The sharp chime of her phone cut through the silence, dragging her back to the present. She glanced at the screen. Dad.

Her stomach twisted. She considered letting it go to voicemail but knew better. With a steadying breath, she answered.

"Phoebe." His voice was clipped, businesslike. "We need to talk."

She pressed her fingers to her temple. "Is this about the charity gala? Because I already—"

"It's about your engagement."

The air in her office seemed to thin.

Her father continued, oblivious to the way her entire body had gone rigid. "I gave you time, but patience runs out. It's time to make a decision, Phoebe."

Her fingers tightened around the phone. "I did make a decision."

"You avoided the inevitable. I've given you options, and I expect you to choose."

Options. As if she was picking out a new handbag. As if her life—her freedom—was a transaction to be negotiated.

She inhaled slowly. "I'm not marrying anyone, Dad."

Silence. Then a quiet sigh. "Phoebe, you know what's at stake. You can't keep pretending you're separate from this family."

She shut her eyes. She had spent her entire life being a chess piece in her father's empire, maneuvered for the sake of alliances, reputation, and power.

But she wasn't that girl anymore.

"I've built something on my own," she said, her voice steady. "I don't need the family name. I don't need this—"

"You do need it," he interrupted, voice cold now. "Because no matter how much distance you put between yourself and this family, you will always be a Sinclair."

She clenched her jaw.

This was the same conversation they had over and over. The same pressure, the same veiled threats.

But this time, something was different.

This time, Damon was back.

Her father sighed again. "The Lancaster deal is already in motion."

Phoebe froze.

The Lancasters. The same family she had once been promised to in a marriage deal she had barely escaped.

Blood roared in her ears. "You didn't."

"Meet with them," her father said. "Before you say no. That's all I ask."

It wasn't a request.

Phoebe exhaled slowly. "I have to go."

She ended the call before he could say anything else.

For a long moment, she just stood there, staring at the phone in her hand, trying to process what had just happened.

The Lancaster deal.

Her father was forcing her hand again. And she had no doubt he would go through with it this time.

She braced herself against the desk, her mind racing.

She had spent years ensuring she would never be trapped again. She had built her own life, her own career, her own independence.

And yet—one call from her father, and she felt the walls closing in again.

The realization was like ice down her spine.

She needed a way out. A way to shut this down permanently.

And suddenly—against every instinct, against every shred of self-preservation—her mind flickered back to Damon.

To the deal he had offered.

To the one person who had ever made her father hesitate.

Her hands curled into fists.

No.

She had already said no. She wasn't going back down that road.

But even as she told herself that—she knew.

She might not have a choice.