Chapter 4 - The Boardroom and the BeastThe transition from a cramped Brooklyn bakery kitchen to the executive suite of DeLuca Holdings—which Damon had acquired and rebranded as Vance-DeLuca Global three weeks after our meeting—was nothing short of seismic.
By the time our second week of our “engagement” rolled around, the media frenzy had reached a fever pitch. Paparazzi camped outside the Central Park West penthouse twenty-four hours a day. Every fashion magazine in the country wanted an exclusive interview with the mysterious working-class mother who had captured the heart of New York’s most notoriously cold bachelor.
And Damon played his part to absolute perfection.
Every public appearance was a masterclass in calculated devotion. He held my hand walking down red carpets, looked at me with smoldering intensity during charity galas, and effortlessly shut down any journalist who dared ask an invasive question about my past.
But behind closed doors, away from the flashing lights and society cameras, our relationship had evolved into something far more dangerous: real.
We spent our evenings sitting on the penthouse floor eating takeout pizza, helping Lily build Lego castles, and talking about everything from childhood memories to corporate strategy. I discovered that beneath Damon’s terrifying, ruthless exterior lay a man of profound loyalty, quiet humor, and a deep, aching loneliness that mirrored my own.
Then came Thursday afternoon.
I was sitting in my new corner office on the fiftieth floor of the Vance-DeLuca Tower—Damon had insisted I take over the corporate philanthropic foundation division, utilizing my organizational skills—when my intercom buzzed.
“Mrs. Vance?” my assistant’s voice came through, sounding slightly panicked. “There’s… someone here to see you. He says he’s an old friend.”
My stomach dropped. I didn't need to ask for a name.
Ten seconds later, the frosted glass door of my office swung open.
Julian stood in the doorway.
He looked like a ghost of the man he had been at the Plaza. His expensive suit was wrinkled, his hair was messy, and the arrogant smirk was completely gone, replaced by a desperate, maniacal glaze in his eyes. The corporate audit Damon had unleashed had completely destroyed his family’s empire, stripping him of his wealth, his status, and his future in New York.
“You,” Julian hissed, stepping into the office and slamming the door behind him. “You did this. You and that monster you hooked up with!”
I stood up slowly behind my desk, my heart hammering against my ribs, but my voice remained ice-cold. “Get out of my office, Julian. Before I press the security button and have you thrown out the loading dock.”
“You think you’re untouchable now, don’t you?” Julian laughed, a bitter, unhinged sound. He took a threatening step toward the desk. “You think a billionaire plays games with someone like you for real? You’re just a charity case, Emily! A prop to make him look good until he gets bored and trades you in for someone of his own class!”
Before I could reply, the heavy oak door of my office was ripped open with a force that made the glass panels rattle.
Damon stood in the doorway.
He hadn't worn his suit jacket today; his shirtsleeves were rolled up, revealing lean, powerful forearms, and his face was carved out of absolute, unadulterated ice.
Julian spun around, his face draining of color as Damon stepped into the room.
“Get out,” Damon said. It wasn't a shout. It was a low, lethal whisper that carried the terrifying force of an avalanche.
“Damon—Mr. Vance, listen to me,” Julian stammered, backing away toward the door. “She’s playing you! She’s just a nobody from—ugh!”
Damon didn't let him finish. In two blindingly fast strides, Damon closed the distance, grabbed Julian by the collar of his wrinkled shirt, and effortlessly hoisted him off the floor, slamming him hard against the heavy glass wall of the office.
The glass bowed outward under the impact. Julian let out a choked gasp, his hands clawing frantically at Damon’s wrists.
“If you ever,” Damon whispered, his face inches from Julian’s, his eyes burning with a dark, terrifying fury, “step foot on this floor again. If you ever look at her, speak to her, or breathe in her direction... I won't just take your money. I will make sure you spend the rest of your natural life wishing you had never been born.”
“I-I’m sorry! I’m leaving! I swear!” Julian sobbed, his legs kicking uselessly against the air.
Damon shoved him backward with such force that Julian stumbled, fell flat on his back across the plush rug, and scrambled to his feet, bolting out of the office and down the hallway like a terrified animal.
The heavy door clicked shut.
The office fell dead silent.
I stood behind my desk, trembling slightly from the sheer adrenaline of the confrontation.
Damon slowly turned around, running a hand through his dark hair, his chest rising and falling heavily. He looked at me, his fierce expression instantly softening into something raw and vulnerable as he saw the pale shock on my face.
“Emily,” he breathed, crossing the room in three long strides and pulling me into his arms, wrapping his strong, steady frame around me so tightly I could hear the heavy thud of his heart.
“Are you okay?” he murmured, pressing his face into my hair. “Did he touch you? Did he say anything else?”
I buried my face in his chest, inhaling the clean, familiar scent of his cologne, letting the overwhelming warmth of his embrace wash away the last remnants of my past.
“I’m okay,” I whispered, wrapping my arms around his waist. “I’m completely okay. Because I knew... for the first time in my life, I knew I wasn't alone anymore.”
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Damon pulled back just enough to look down into my eyes. His hands came up to frame my face, his thumbs gently brushing away a stray tear I hadn't realized was falling.
“You will never be alone again, Emily,” Damon said, his voice thick with emotion. “Not for the rest of my life.”
