The argument from last night still lingers between us, an open wound neither of us has bothered to close. When I walk into the meeting, I don’t spare him a glance. I don’t need to—I can feel his presence like a shadow, commanding, unyielding.

Normally, I’d sit beside him. Today, I don’t. I pull my chair a little farther away, an act of quiet defiance, and settle in without a word.

Damien notices. Of course, he does.

With one hand, he reaches out and pulls my chair toward him with a slow, controlled motion. The sound of the legs scraping against the floor is impossibly loud in the suddenly silent room. My pulse spikes, but I don’t react. I keep my gaze forward, refusing to acknowledge him, refusing to let him see that he gets to me.

“Carry on,” he says, his voice smooth, unaffected, as if nothing had happened. The employee stammers for a second before continuing, though the atmosphere in the room has shifted—everyone has felt it.

The meeting drags on, every second thick with the weight of unspoken words. When it finally ends, people begin filing out, eager to escape the tension. So am I.

I rise quickly, reaching for my things, determined to leave before he can say anything. I don’t want to be alone with him.

But just as I step toward the door, his voice catches me mid-stride.

“Running from me now?” His tone is quiet, but there’s something dark beneath it. Amused. Knowing.