Chapter 22: Breaking Point

Damon had been patient.

He had given her space, let her run, let her pretend that the almost-moment between them hadn't meant anything.

But enough was enough.

It was past eight, and she was still in her office.

The building was practically empty, most of the staff already gone for the night. But when he walked past the glass doors of her office, she was still there—drowning in work, her eyes dull with exhaustion.

She hadn't been answering his calls.

Hadn't responded to his texts.

But she couldn't ignore him now.

Damon stepped inside without knocking.

Phoebe barely looked up.

"Damon." Her voice was tired. "What are you doing here?"

He leaned against her desk, arms crossed. "What does it look like?"

She sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose. "I have work."

"It's eight."

"And?"

Damon didn't answer. Instead, he reached forward, shutting the laptop in front of her before she could protest.

Her eyes flashed. "Damon—"

"You're coming with me."

Phoebe let out a sharp, humorless laugh. "You can't just—"

"Yes, I can." He held out a hand. "Let's go."

She stared at him, jaw tightening, like she was trying to come up with a reason to fight him on this.

But in the end, she didn't.

With a heavy exhale, she grabbed her coat and walked out with him.

---

The drive was quiet.

Phoebe didn't ask where they were going, and Damon didn't tell her.

It wasn't until they pulled up in front of his penthouse that she finally reacted.

"Damon—"

"You need a break," he said simply. "So take one."

She hesitated, but something in his tone left no room for argument.

So she followed him inside.

She was silent at first, standing by the floor-to-ceiling windows, arms crossed.

Damon didn't push.

Instead, he disappeared into the kitchen, returning minutes later with a glass of wine.

"Here."

Phoebe took it, but she didn't drink.

Her grip on the glass was tight, like she was trying to hold herself together.

And then—

"I'm scared, Damon."

Her voice was quiet.

But it cut through the air like a blade.

Damon stilled. "Phoebe—"

"This is a mistake," she whispered, eyes glassy with unshed tears. "All of it. I can't do this. I can't go through this again. I can't let myself—"

She broke off, shaking her head.

Damon stepped forward.

Slowly. Carefully.

"Phoebe." His voice was soft. "Look at me."

She did.

And the moment their eyes met, something inside him cracked.

She was terrified.

Not just of him.

Not just of what they could be.

But of herself.

Of wanting this.

Of wanting him.

Damon reached for her, closing the distance between them in one slow, deliberate movement.

He wrapped his arms around her—not tightly, not possessively, but just enough to let her know he was there.

And for the first time since all of this started—

She let herself lean into him.

Her forehead pressed against his chest, her body shaking with the force of everything she had been holding back.

Damon closed his eyes.

"I'm sorry," he murmured, his hand sliding up to the back of her head, fingers threading through her hair. "For leaving. For making you think I wouldn't come back."

Phoebe didn't respond.

But she didn't pull away either.

And that was enough.

So he held her tighter.

And silently, he made a promise.

Not to leave.

Not to let her go.

Not this time.

Phoebe could feel his heartbeat against her cheek. Strong. Steady. Unwavering.

He had apologized.

He had held her like she mattered.

And that terrified her more than anything.

Because she wanted to believe him.

She wanted to believe that this time would be different.

But…

"You say that now," she whispered against his chest, voice raw. "But what happens when it gets hard? When something bigger than us stands in the way? What if you walk away again?"

Damon exhaled, resting his chin atop her head. "I won't."

"You did."

"I won't again."

She wanted to counter that.

Wanted to throw back every reason why this was a mistake.

But then his hands were cupping her face, tilting it up, forcing her to look at him.

"I lost you once, Phoebe." His voice was rough. "I'm not making that mistake again."

Something inside her cracked.

And then—

He started to pull away.

Not much. Just a fraction.

Like he was giving her a choice.

Like he was ready to let go if she asked him to.

But she couldn't.

So she didn't.

Instead—

Her fingers fisted in his shirt, yanking him back in, crashing her lips against his like her life depended on it.

Damon froze for a split second.

Then he moved.

Kissing her back just as fiercely, just as desperately.

His hands slid into her hair, pulling her closer, deepening the kiss until there was nothing left between them.

No hesitation.

No doubts.

No past.

Just this.

Just them.