C4 Fractured Pieces

Damian

This morning had been a disaster.

Sitting in my office now, staring at the skyline of the city I practically owned, I couldn't shake the sour taste left by the investor meeting. The room had been filled with minions in designer suits, each one agitating to prove their loyalty to me while carefully sidestepping any real commitment. Half of them had seemed more interested in what I'd be drinking at my next gala than the actual business plan.

My hand curled into a fist as the memory replayed. It wasn't their meaningless flattery that got to me. It was the subtle, lingering doubt I'd seen in their eyes. ''Does he still have it The unspoken question hung over every word they said. My reputation preceded me, but reputation could be fleeting.

''Don't let them see you falter, Damian.'' My father's old advice echoed in my mind, though I doubted he'd recognize the man I'd become.

"Damian?"

The soft voice pulled me out of my thoughts. Eleanor.

As usual, she stepped into the office without waiting for an invitation. Eleanor was the daughter of one of my father's oldest friends, a connection she never hesitated to exploit. Her dark auburn hair fell in glossy waves over her shoulders, and she was dressed in a fitted navy blue dress that screamed sophistication.

"Rough morning?" she asked, her lips curving into a practiced smile as she sat herself on the edge of my desk.

I didn't respond right away, leaning back in my chair and regarding her with irritated disinterest. Eleanor was beautiful, and she knew it but not my type. But she also knew how to weaponize it, which was part of the reason I kept her at arm's length.

"You could say that," I finally said, my tone clipped.

She reached out, placing a perfectly manicured hand on my forearm. "You work too hard, Damian. You need to let someone take care of you for a change." Her voice was honeyed, dripping with suggestion.

I pulled my arm away, irritation bubbling under the surface. "I don't have time for this, Eleanor."

Her smile faltered for a split second before she recovered. "You never make time, do you? Always so focused on work. I wonder what it would take to distract you." She leaned in slightly, her strong choking perfume filling the space between us.

That was the last straw.

I stood abruptly, forcing her to move back. "I need coffee," I muttered, grabbing my coat.

"Damian-" she started, but I cut her off.

"Not now, Eleanor."

I left before she could protest further, telling my bodyguards to stay behind. For once, I wanted space to breathe without the constant shadow of someone watching my every move.

###

The coffee shop wasn't far, a small place tucked away in the chaos of the city. I ordered a black coffee and found a seat by the window, the faint buzz of the café providing a strange sort of comfort.

As I sipped the hot liquid, I let my thoughts drift, the tension from the morning slowly beginning to ease. Staring at my phone and going through some photos my father had sent me while he was on vacation. Ever since he retired he'd been travelling the world. That was until I heard her.

The sharp, irritated tone of a woman's voice broke through my thoughts. My eyes flicked toward the counter, and there she was.

She was a whirlwind-wild, angry, and unapologetic. She was yelling about something, her gestures animated as her voice carried through the room. For a moment, I simply watched, taking in the way her chestnut hair fell loosely around her face, the way her lips pressed into a firm line, and the flush creeping up her neck.

Then I noticed something odd-her ears. They were turning red.

I couldn't help it; the corner of my mouth twitched. There was something almost endearing about how easily her emotions played out on her face. But before I could think about it too much, she turned abruptly, her eyes locking onto mine.

That's when it hit me. *It's her.*

Maya Evans

"Damian Greyson" she spat, her tone dripping with venom.

I raised an eyebrow, taking another deliberate sip of my coffee. "Miss Evans. To what do I owe this... pleasure?"

Her cheeks turned crimson, and I caught the slight tremble in her hand as she gripped her coffee cup. I knew that look. Fury, barely held in check.

"You're insufferable," she snapped, her voice low but cutting. "People like you think you can walk all over everyone else without a second thought."

I studied her for a moment, my gaze wandering to the way her jaw tightened when she was angry. She was-*attractive.*

The thought caught me off guard, but before I could chase it away, she moved.

Hot liquid splashed across my chest, soaking into my shirt.

For a moment, I was too stunned to react. The sting of the coffee wasn't nearly as sharp as the sting to my pride. My gaze snapped back to her, and I saw the immediate regret in her wide, hazel eyes.

"Unbelievable," I muttered, standing abruptly.

"I-I didn't mean to-"

"Save it," I said sharply, grabbing her arm-not harshly, but firmly enough to guide her toward the door. The last thing I needed was to make more of a scene in front of the curious onlookers.

Outside, I released her and glanced around, noting the small crowd that had begun to gather nearby. I couldn't risk any more attention, so I straightened my jacket and fixed her with a glare.

"This isn't over," I said, my voice low and cold.

Then I turned on my heel and stormed off, slipping into my car and slamming the door shut.

###

By the time I reached my office, my mood had soured even further. I pushed open the door, only to find my father sitting calmly in one of the chairs across from my desk.

"Damian," he greeted, his tone neutral but tinged with something I couldn't place.

"Not now, Dad," I said curtly, brushing past him.

I knew what he wanted to talk about. Me getting a wife is all he'd been nagging me about lately

He didn't take the hint, standing and moving to face me. "You can't keep going on like this," he said, his voice softening. "You've built walls so high, I'm not sure anyone can get through to you anymore."

I didn't respond, staring out the window instead.

"Do you think I don't know why?" he continued. "I was there, Damian. I saw what your mother's choices did to you."

The mention of her was like a punch to the gut. My mother now happily remarried to some other man-had walked out on us when I was only ten. She'd never loved me, not really. I'd spent years trying to prove myself worthy of affection, only to realize it was a wasted effort.

"That's enough," I said quietly, but firmly.

My father sighed, and for a moment, neither of us spoke. Then he placed a hand on my shoulder. "There's an art gallery opening this weekend," he said. "You should come. It might do you some good."

I didn't respond, and he didn't push further.

As the door clicked shut behind him, I sank into my chair, staring blankly at the papers on my desk.

Love, trust, vulnerability-they were luxuries I couldn't afford. They only ever lead to disappointment