Chapter 8

Phoebe's pulse thundered in her ears as she stared at the name on her screen.

Damon Blackwood.

Her fingers clenched into fists before she forced herself to breathe.

No. There had to be a mistake.

She clicked through the report again, scanning the transactions, the timestamps, the connections. But the more she looked, the more undeniable it became.

Damon wasn't just involved.

He had been involved for a while.

Her stomach twisted.

"Phoebe?" Julian's voice was still on the line, cautious, careful—like he already knew how she was going to react.

She swallowed back the sharp sting of betrayal. "How long?"

Julian hesitated. "Phoebe—"

"How. Long."

A beat of silence.

"Months."

Phoebe shot up from her chair. "Months?" Her voice came out sharp, disbelief cutting through every syllable.

Julian exhaled. "Look, I only put this together today. Whatever he's been doing, he's been careful about it."

Phoebe let out a bitter laugh. "Of course he has."

Of course Damon had been careful. He always was. Calculated. Controlled. A master at making moves before anyone else even realized a game was being played.

But this wasn't just some business maneuver.

This was her life.

Phoebe squeezed her eyes shut. If Damon had been tangled in this for months, that meant he had known what she was up against. And he hadn't said a damn word.

Not when they ran into each other.

Not when she told him to stay out of it.

Not when he walked away like she didn't matter.

Heat surged through her veins, anger and hurt twisting together.

She had spent years locking her emotions away when it came to him.

But right now?

Right now, she wanted answers.

She grabbed her coat.

"Phoebe—" Julian started, but she had already made up her mind.

"I have to go."

"Just—don't do anything reckless."

Phoebe let out a sharp breath. "Too late."

She ended the call, grabbed her keys, and stormed out the door.

Damon had made his move.

Now it was her turn.

---

Damon was still at his desk when he heard the knock.

One glance at the time told him it was past midnight.

Another glance at the security feed told him exactly who was standing outside his door.

Phoebe.

Damon exhaled slowly, his jaw tightening.

He had been expecting this.

Still, when he opened the door, the sight of her knocked the breath from his lungs.

Her dark eyes burned with fury, her coat still wrapped around her like she had barely paused before storming over here.

And beneath all that anger—

A flicker of something else.

Something raw.

Something that almost made him regret keeping her in the dark.

Almost.

Phoebe didn't wait for an invitation. She stepped inside, her heels clicking against the floor as she turned to face him.

"Tell me the truth," she said, voice sharp and unwavering. "How long have you been involved in this?"

Damon shut the door behind her.

A pause.

Then, he met her gaze head-on.

"Longer than you'd like."

Phoebe let out a hollow laugh, shaking her head. "Unbelievable." She took a step forward, and suddenly, they were too close, tension crackling between them like a live wire. "Were you ever going to tell me?"

Damon's gaze darkened. "I was handling it."

"Handling it?" Phoebe's voice rose, incredulous. "You were watching me—for months—while I fought to get out of this mess, and you didn't think I deserved to know?"

His jaw tensed. "It wasn't that simple."

"It was that simple, Damon. You chose to keep me in the dark. You chose to walk away, knowing damn well what I was up against."

Damon's fists clenched at his sides. "You told me to stay out of it."

"Oh, so now you listen?" Phoebe's voice was quiet, but it cut deeper than any shout could have.

Damon exhaled through his nose, his control slipping. "I did what I had to do."

Phoebe let out another sharp laugh. "Right. Because it's always about what you decide, isn't it?" She took another step, challenging him with the sheer force of her presence. "You don't get to play the silent protector, Damon. Not with me. Not after everything."

Silence stretched between them, thick with everything unsaid.

And then—

"Why?" Her voice softened, but the weight of the question hit him like a blow. "Why get involved at all?"

Damon stared at her, the answer sitting on the tip of his tongue.

Because I couldn't stay away.

Because I never stopped caring.

Because walking away was the worst mistake of my life.

But he didn't say any of that.

Instead, he held her gaze and said the only thing he could.

"Because someone had to."

Phoebe sucked in a breath, and for a split second, her walls cracked—just enough for him to see the emotion beneath them.

Just enough to make him want to reach for her.

But before he could, she stepped back, her expression hardening once more.

"This isn't over," she said, her voice low. "Not even close."

Damon's lips curled into something that wasn't quite a smile.

"No," he murmured. "It's not."

Phoebe didn't move. She should have turned and walked away, should have clung to the anger still burning in her chest. But the fight drained out of her all at once, leaving something else in its place. Something she didn't want to name.

She exhaled sharply, shaking her head. "You don't get it, do you?" Her voice was quieter now, rough around the edges. "This isn't just my job, Damon. This is my entire life."

She lifted her gaze to his, and for the first time that night, her mask slipped. "My father has been pulling the strings since I was a kid. I spent years trying to get out of his shadow, trying to prove I wasn't just his pawn. And now, after everything, I find out you've been wrapped up in this too?"

Her voice cracked at the end, and she hated it. Hated that he could still do this to her. Hated that, despite everything, he was still the only person who could make her feel safe and unsteady in the same breath.

Damon's expression darkened, but this time, it wasn't guarded. It was something else. Something dangerously close to regret. "Phoebe—"

"You should have told me," she whispered. "You should have been on my side."

Damon's jaw clenched. Then, with a sharp exhale, he closed the distance between them. "I am on your side."

Phoebe let out a hollow laugh, but it held no humor. "Right. Because keeping me in the dark was such a great way of proving that."

He didn't flinch, didn't move. Just held her gaze like he was seeing every shattered piece of her. "I did what I had to do to protect you."

Her throat tightened. "I never needed you to protect me, Damon. I needed you to trust me."

Silence.

Then—softly, but with absolute certainty—"I'll fix this."

Phoebe blinked, caught off guard. "What?"

Damon took a step closer, his voice steady. "You said this is your life. That your father is trying to control it. I won't let that happen."

Something thick lodged in her chest, something dangerously close to hope. But hope had never done her any favors before.

She swallowed hard. "You can't just fix this, Damon. It's not that simple."

"It is for me."

His confidence was infuriating. It was reckless. It was everything that had made her want to throttle him for years.

But it was also the first thing in a long time that made her feel like maybe—just maybe—she wasn't fighting this battle alone.

Phoebe's breath came unsteady. She opened her mouth, ready to argue, ready to push him away before he could pull her in again. But before she could say a word—

Damon moved.