CHAPTER 7

Damon didn't look back.

He never did.

Yet as he drove through the city streets, Phoebe's face lingered in his mind. The fire in her eyes. The sharp bite in her voice. The way she had dared him to stay out of it—like she actually thought he would.

She should've known better.

Damon had let her go once.

He wasn't about to make the same mistake twice.

His phone buzzed. He answered without taking his eyes off the road. "Talk."

"She's moving fast," came the voice on the other end.

Damon's grip on the steering wheel tightened. "How fast?"

"She's already freezing out her father's influence. Lancaster's deal is slipping through his fingers." A pause. "He's pissed."

Damon smirked. "Good."

"She's putting herself in the line of fire."

His smirk vanished.

Damon already knew that. Phoebe was brilliant—ruthless when she had to be—but her father had spent a lifetime learning how to manipulate power. If she thought stripping his financial hold was enough, she was underestimating him.

Which was why Damon had stepped in.

"You have the files?" he asked.

"Everything. Bank transactions, offshore accounts, a few… less-than-legal business deals."

Damon's jaw tightened. "Send them over."

"Already did."

Damon's car rolled to a stop in front of his building. He ended the call and stepped out, his expression unreadable as he made his way inside.

A part of him knew he should let Phoebe handle this on her own.

But another part—the part that still remembered the way she had looked at him when they ended—refused to.

She had needed him once.

And whether she admitted it or not, she needed him again.

He stepped into his penthouse, loosening his tie as he pulled up the files on his laptop.

Lines of transactions, shell companies, hidden deals.

Phoebe's father had been busy.

Damon scanned the data, his mind already working three steps ahead.

He had promised himself he wouldn't get involved.

But he also knew Phoebe—knew that her pride, her walls, her stubbornness would keep her from asking for help.

So he wouldn't give her a choice.

His phone buzzed again. A new message.

Unknown Number: You're playing a dangerous game, Blackwood.

Damon's lips curled into something between amusement and irritation.

He typed back. I don't play. I win.

Seconds later, another message.

Not this time.

Damon's amusement vanished.

He stared at the screen, then at the files in front of him.

Something wasn't adding up.

And for the first time in a long time, he felt it—

That nagging sense that he wasn't just moving the pieces.

He was being watched.

Damon stared at the message.

The air in his penthouse suddenly felt different—charged with something he didn't like.

He wasn't the type to get rattled.

But something about this felt off.

Carefully, he leaned back in his chair, keeping his expression unreadable, as if whoever was on the other side of that message could see him.

Then, he typed.

Who is this?

No response.

He waited exactly one minute before locking his phone and turning back to the files. If someone thought they could shake him with cryptic messages, they'd have to try harder.

Still, his instincts buzzed with warning.

This wasn't just about Phoebe's father anymore.

Damon opened a separate file, one he had been working on in secret—his own research.

Phoebe had believed her father's control over her life had been financial, but Damon had suspected otherwise. And now, the proof was sitting in front of him.

A name. A company. A transaction that didn't make sense.

Her father wasn't working alone.

Damon exhaled slowly. He had spent years making calculated moves, staying ten steps ahead of everyone.

But this?

This felt personal.

His phone buzzed again, pulling his attention.

Another message.

You want to protect her? Walk away.

Damon's jaw clenched.

Walk away?

He already had. And look where that had gotten them.

His grip tightened on the phone as he stood, crossing the room to pour himself a drink. The city lights stretched out beyond his floor-to-ceiling windows, glowing against the dark skyline.

Phoebe was out there somewhere, fighting battles she didn't even know had layers beneath them.

And she was about to realize it.

---

Phoebe

Phoebe sat in her apartment, staring at her laptop screen, but the numbers had started to blur together.

Something wasn't right.

For the past hour, she had been reviewing every step she had taken to cut her father out, making sure nothing had slipped through the cracks.

It should have felt like a victory.

So why did it feel like a trap?

She leaned back, rubbing her temples.

Then, as if the universe wanted to confirm her worst suspicions, her phone rang.

She glanced at the screen. Julian.

She picked up. "Tell me you're calling with good news."

Silence.

Then—

"Phoebe, there's a problem."

Her stomach dropped. "What kind of problem?"

Julian hesitated. "Your father isn't retaliating the way we expected."

Phoebe frowned. "Meaning?"

"Meaning… he's not trying to fight back." A pause. "It's like he knew this was coming."

Cold unease spread through her chest.

That didn't make sense. Her father never let go of power without a fight.

She sat up. "What aren't you telling me?"

Julian's voice was quieter now. "You need to see this for yourself. I'm sending it over."

A notification popped up on her screen. An encrypted file.

She opened it.

And felt the breath leave her lungs.

Because sitting right there, in the middle of a financial report, was a name she never expected to see again.

A name that made her blood turn cold.

Damon Blackwood.

Her grip on the phone tightened.

"What the hell is this?"

Julian exhaled. "That's what I was trying to tell you."

Phoebe's pulse pounded in her ears.

She had spent all this time fighting her father.

But somehow, Damon was tangled in this, too.

And she had no idea why.