Chapter 6 - The Missing Ingredient
Damon slammed the study doors shut behind the last departing, white-faced board member at 4:30 p.m. The room was thick with the scent of stale coffee and bitter defeat. Vanguard Capital had officially suspended negotiations. The board was threatening mutiny.
He didn't care.
His chest felt hollow, compressed by a sudden, terrifying panic that had nothing to do with stocks, mergers, or board votes.
Damon strode down the long corridor toward the kitchen, the only place that mattered anymore. He pushed open the swinging doors, expecting to find Ren prepping dinner, her dark hair pinned back, her hands moving with that familiar, calming grace.
The kitchen was empty.
The stainless steel counters were spotless. The cutting board was put away.
Damon’s heart hammered against his ribs. He hurried across the room, his eyes landing on the marble island. Resting beside the sink was a folded piece of heavy cardstock paper with his name written across it in clean, elegant handwriting.
He picked it up with trembling fingers and unfolded it.
Damon,
You built Windmir House to keep the world out, but you can't build an empire by locking yourself inside a cage. Your board is right about one thing: I am a distraction. You don't need a chef, and you certainly don't need a liability. Thank you for letting me see the boy behind the walls. Don't look for me.
— Ren.
For a long moment, Damon couldn't breathe. The silence of the house—the very silence he had hated, then learned to endure, and finally prayed to escape—came crashing back around him like a tidal wave, colder and heavier than it had ever been before.
He didn't hesitate. He didn't call his driver. He didn't check his phone.
May you like
Damon threw on his coat, ran out through the side doors, climbed into his personal car, and slammed his foot down on the accelerator, tearing down the winding gravel driveway of Windmir House with tires screaming against the wet asphalt.
He drove straight through the gray afternoon rain, heading east toward Brooklyn, following the only clue she had ever given him: My brother lives in Brooklyn. Subway’s easier.
