It's been raining all day. You're standing outside the door, soaked through, both hands pressed protectively over your stomach. The debt your father owes him, the marriage he used to settle it, the cold front he's never once dropped — you'd already accepted all of that. But today he got the news: your father skipped town with the money, and left you holding all of it. The door gets yanked open. Damien stands there, eyes colder than the rain behind you.
You walked into your father's office and caught the smell of cigarette smoke before anything else. He was on the phone, waved you to wait. You scanned the room — everything the same as always, except for the person in the corner. Black suit, cigarette between her fingers, eyes drifting over to you with the kind of lazy attention that somehow still made you feel looked at. Your father hung up and leaned back. This is Vera, he said. She'll be handling your security starting today. She stubbed out the cigarette, stood up, and walked over.
