Easton Media's twelfth-floor boardroom was sterile and quiet when Ava entered. Sunlight poured through the high windows, catching on the sleek metal trim of the long table, but the warmth outside didn't reach her.
She was early. On purpose.
She needed space to breathe, to steel herself.
Julian's visit that morning had shaken something loose. Their closeness was familiar, grounding. But it wasn't simple. Not anymore.
And then there was Damien.
She hadn't seen him since the after-hours scotch and that moment—when he stood too close, said too much, and cracked something open between them neither of them were ready to name.
A sound at the door made her spine straighten.
She expected a wave of executives, maybe Clarisse Vane's sharp heels and clipped tone.
But only Damien entered.
Alone.
He shut the door behind him.
Ava stood slowly, her eyes narrowing. "Where is everyone?"
He held up his phone. "Meeting postponed. Marla thought we needed time to work through… tension."
Her jaw clenched. "Let me guess. You suggested it."
He didn't deny it. "I asked for privacy."
"You're getting bold."
He moved toward the table, not hurried. "You've always been good in a room full of people. But when you're cornered, I see the real you."
"I'm not cornered."
"You're pretending you're not."
He sat across from her, uninvited, and placed a thick folder on the table.
"I had my team dig through the Sinclair file," he said. "There's something you need to see."
"I'm not interested in your version of the truth."
"This isn't my version. It's yours."
Ava stared at him.
Reluctantly, she opened the folder.
Dozens of internal memos. Emails. Financial projections. One email caught her eye—it was from Julian's mother, sent weeks before Sinclair Corp collapsed.
Her blood turned cold as she read.
"…with Jonathan refusing Blackwood's terms, I worry the delays will give our competitors an edge. Julian suggests we move forward quietly, in case negotiations fall through…"
She read it again. Then again.
Her chest tightened.
Damien watched her, quiet. "You didn't know."
She looked up sharply. "You're twisting it."
"I'm not. But if you think I was the only one in that room pulling strings—"
"Stop."
She pushed the folder away like it burned.
Because it did.
Julian had been there. Behind the curtain. All along.
She stood, pacing. Her heels echoed against the wood floor, too loud in the silence.
"He was a kid," she said. "He was scared. His mother was dying. He probably thought—"
"He thought about self-preservation," Damien cut in. "So did I. The only difference is… I didn't lie to your face afterward."
Ava turned on him. "You don't get to act noble. You destroyed my father."
He stepped closer. Not touching her. But closer than comfort.
"I did. I won't pretend I didn't. But I didn't hide it."
His voice was low now. Measured. Controlled.
"You think Julian is safe because he wears soft words and brings you croissants. But he was there. Watching your father drown and passing him a stone instead of a rope."
Ava's chest rose and fell.
The folder still sat on the table.
Proof she never wanted.
"You came here to hurt me," she said.
"No," Damien said. "I came here because I want you to see who's really standing beside you."
Her voice was barely above a whisper. "Why are you doing this?"
"Because you don't belong in anyone's shadow."
"I'm not."
"You are," he said. "Even now. You're trying to rebuild your father's legacy, not your own. You're letting your past make decisions you've outgrown."
Ava swallowed hard.
He stepped closer again.
This time, she didn't move away.
His voice dropped. "You've changed, Ava. And maybe I should be the last person to say this, but… it looks good on you."
Her breath caught.
The air between them shifted again. Tighter. Closer.
Ava wanted to step back.
She didn't.
His hand brushed hers on the table.
Barely a touch.
And still, the contact left heat trailing up her arm.
"I don't forgive you," she said, voice thin.
"I don't want your forgiveness," he murmured. "I want your honesty."
He reached for her hand again, slower this time.
And for a second—just one—she let him.
Until she snapped back, pulling away.
"Don't do that."
"Do what?"
"Make me forget who you are."
Damien's eyes darkened, not with anger—but something harder to name. "I think you already have."
The door opened behind them.
A staffer peeked in, startled. "Sorry—I was told this room was free now."
Ava was already collecting her things.
"Meeting's over," she said tightly.
She didn't look at Damien as she passed him.
But she felt his eyes on her back the whole way out.