CHAPTER 11: The Reckoning

Damien didn't wait for Sabrina to make her next move.

He made his.

The next morning, dressed in a sleek grey suit and a darker mood, he stood in the glass-walled conference room of Blackwood Global, waiting. His assistants scurried like nervous birds in the outer office, sensing the storm brewing.

And then she arrived—perfectly poised, smug as ever.

Sabrina Voss swept into the room, her heels tapping confidently, her dark red lips curled into a smile that didn't reach her eyes.

"Calling me in like some... employee?" she said, folding her arms. "We both know I was never just that."

Damien didn't flinch. "You were many things, Sabrina. But now, you're a problem."

She laughed lightly. "Oh Damien. That's rich, coming from you. I was loyal. I was always there."

"You were manipulative. And selfish." He stepped closer. "And you crossed a line the second you walked into Aurora's apartment."

Her smile thinned, eyes flashing. "I warned her. I gave her the truth."

"You gave her poison," he said, voice steel. "And I'm here to make it very clear—you will stay away from her. From my son."

Sabrina blinked, and for a moment, the mask cracked.

"So it's true," she whispered. "The boy is yours."

Damien nodded. "Yes. And I will protect him with everything I have."

Sabrina looked away, swallowing. When she looked back, her eyes gleamed with something sharp. "You really think you're the only one with secrets, Damien? That I don't have leverage?"

"Try me," he said coldly.

She smiled. "I already did."

---

Across the city, Aurora sat at the kitchen table, watching Noah draw a rocket ship with crayons. But her mind was far from the bright colors on paper. Damien hadn't called since his late-night visit. She hadn't asked where he'd gone in the morning—but she could guess.

To Sabrina.

She hated how that name tightened her chest. How it made her feel small, even though she knew Damien had chosen them. Still, that woman held a part of Damien's past—one she could never touch.

The doorbell rang.

Aurora jumped slightly, her heart skipping. She went to the door cautiously.

A package sat on the welcome mat. No label. No note.

Frowning, she brought it inside and opened it.

Inside was a flash drive.

And a photo.

Her hands trembled.

It was a grainy picture. A younger Damien. A luxury suite. And Sabrina... in his lap. Kissing him. Date-stamped five weeks before Aurora had left Damien all those years ago.

Aurora's stomach twisted.

She wasn't foolish—she knew Damien had been with Sabrina once. But this timing… this date… it meant something. Something bad.

She didn't want to watch the flash drive.

But she did.

It was audio. A recording.

Sabrina's voice, sultry, cruel.

"She doesn't belong in your world, Damien. She's a fling. A convenient distraction. We both know where your loyalties lie."

Then Damien's voice, quiet... unreadable.

"I know."

The audio ended.

Aurora sat frozen.

He'd said, I know.

Had he agreed?

Had she been the distraction all along?

---

Later that evening, Damien returned.

No suit. No guards. Just him.

Aurora stood in the doorway, holding the photo in one hand, the flash drive in the other.

She didn't speak.

Damien's face fell the second he saw them.

"She sent it," he said quietly.

Aurora nodded.

"Before you say anything," he added, "you need to know that was recorded the night I ended things with her. She didn't take it well. She tried to twist it—used old photos, sliced audio. It wasn't what it seems."

"Then why did you say it?" she asked, voice cracking. "I know. Damien—was I just a phase to you back then?"

"No," he said instantly, stepping closer. "You were everything. That night… I was trying to get her to leave. I told her what she needed to hear. Not what I felt."

Aurora's heart was a thunderstorm.

She wanted to believe him. God, she did believe him.

But the wound still bled.

"I don't know if I can do this," she whispered. "Not with her lurking. Not with all this history between us."

Damien gently reached for her hand. "Then don't do it alone. Let me protect you. Let me fight for us."

She looked into his eyes—stormy, sincere, begging.

And just like that, the wall cracked.

Not crumbled. But cracked.

Enough to let him in again.

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