CHAPTER 11

Damon had always believed that choices defined a person.

He had made his.

And yet, for all the success, all the carefully calculated moves that had built his empire, something had never quite settled in him since the day he walked away from Phoebe.

At first, he told himself it was for the best. That it was necessary.

That choosing his career over her was the only logical decision.

But logic had done nothing to quiet the dull, persistent ache in his chest.

For years, he had moved through life like a man who had everything—power, influence, control. His world operated on precision, and emotions were liabilities he had long since learned to suppress.

Then Phoebe Sinclair had stormed into his life, shattered every well-placed wall he had, and left a mark so deep that no amount of time could erase it.

He had been a fool to think otherwise.

Damon exhaled, leaning back in his chair. The city lights stretched endlessly beyond his office window, but his mind wasn't on the world outside. It was on her.

He had spent years pretending their fake relationship hadn't meant more than a contract. That when it ended, it was nothing more than two people going their separate ways. But that was a lie.

Because somewhere along the way, she had become more than a temporary arrangement.

She had become the one thing he hadn't known he was missing.

The night she had come to his office weeks ago, her fury barely concealing her pain, he had seen it—how much she was still fighting, how much she was still carrying on her own. And when she had broken, just for a moment, letting him see the weight of it all, he had made a choice without even thinking.

To help her.

To fix what he could.

To give her something, even if it wasn't what she had asked for.

That was why he had gotten involved in the Lancaster deal. Why he had pulled the necessary strings, called in favors, and forced her father's hand without her even realizing.

Because he had never stopped caring.

And that night, when she had let him in for just a second, when his restraint had cracked just enough to taste her lips again—

Damon's grip tightened around the glass in his hand.

She had walked away. Called it a mistake.

But he had felt the way she had kissed him back. The way every wall between them had crumbled in that moment.

She still felt it too.

He knew it.

And now, as he sat in the quiet of his office, he accepted something he should have admitted long ago.

He loved her.

It was no longer a question, no longer something he could bury under logic or reason. It had been the truth all along.

And now?

Now, he had no intention of walking away again.

---

Phoebe sat across from him, stirring her drink more than actually drinking it.

She wasn't sure why she had agreed to this.

Lunch with Damon.

A simple thing, really.

Except nothing was ever simple with them.

Especially not after that kiss.

Her gaze flickered up, meeting his. Damon was watching her carefully, his usual unreadable expression giving away nothing.

"So," she said, setting her glass down. "Are you going to tell me how exactly you got my father to back off the Lancaster deal?"

A slow smirk touched his lips. "I made him an offer he couldn't refuse."

Phoebe arched a brow. "You mean you threatened him."

"I prefer the term 'negotiated.'"

She huffed a quiet laugh despite herself.

Damon leaned forward slightly, his voice dropping just enough to send a shiver down her spine. "You don't have to thank me, Phoebe."

She swallowed, forcing herself to hold his gaze. "I wasn't planning to."

His lips twitched. "Of course not."

Silence stretched between them.

It wasn't uncomfortable, it was charged.

And for the first time in a long time, Phoebe didn't feel like running from it.

Damon was here, she was here.

And maybe, just maybe, this wasn't a mistake after all...