Page 5

I helped Damier down his mother’s front steps, careful not to let him slip. I could tell he was mad as hell, and he was already irritated by the walk from his room upstairs to the back of a Rolls-Royce truck for our night out. He wanted his life back, a piece at a time, starting here, even if it meant doing things his way. The usual energy he carried—the pride and confidence—had been dimming lately. His mother’s estate was a comfortable place, no doubt, but for someone as independent as Damier, it was nothing short of confinement.

“Can’t wait to be back in my own fuckin’ crib,” he muttered, his voice rough and annoyed, more at the situation than at me, I knew. “This leg shit is taking its time. I’m tired of this bullshit—it just feels like I’m a baby with you helping me all the time.”

I reached over, squeezing his hand as he settled back into the plush seat. “You’ll get there,” I said, keeping my tone soft. “And you’re doing better than you think. But you’re allowed to be frustrated.”

He gave a quick glance, a faint smirk on his lips before the weight settled back onto his face. “You’re always sayin’ that.”

I offered a small laugh, but he only pressed his lips together as if he wasn’t ready to give any ground to his own struggles. This wasn’t the strong, unstoppable man the world saw. Right now, he was vulnerable, held down by an injury that stripped away his usual fire.

Despite his bad mood, he leaned forward and brushed a kiss on my forehead, his fingers trailing along my jaw. “Having you around,” he murmured. “That’s the only thing keeping me sane.”

We hadn’t done much more than that lately. His leg wound sapped most of his energy for sex. I understood he needed the closeness, though, more than he could express. And I wanted to give him that, be that for him. We took a smooth ride through the city and ended up at his nightclub thirty minutes later.

Tonight, he was supposed to be at his club, making a much-anticipated public appearance for the first time since the ambush. Mia had arranged everything down to the last detail, and the media would be there to witness his resilience―his undeniable success. The billionaire at his own club, above it all. But here he was, stuck in his office, watching the scene below us through the lightly tinted glass wall, a quiet observer of a life that felt out of reach.

I’d dressed up for him, just as he’d asked. Hair done, flawless makeup, a white silk dress that fit every curve and shone like money. The kind of look he wanted for the woman on his arm—a billionaire’s girlfriend, maybe even more. But he’d lost interest in being out there tonight.

He kept his gaze on the club below while leaning on his crutches, lost in his thoughts. I could see him slipping, the way he’d withdrawn lately, letting bitterness creep in and take hold. I had been in my profession long enough to know when a man is slipping into depression.

I rested a hand on his back. “Damier, if you want to talk about things… You know you can with me.”

He glanced at me with a trace of defiance in his eyes, but I didn’t pull back.

“Or one of my colleagues. A professional to get through this difficult time.”

The slight snap in his voice took me by surprise. “I don’t need a fucking shrink, Dream. Everything’s good. I’ll get used to the way things are. I’m not going crazy like my fucking brother,” he muttered.

He looked away as he finished, but I didn’t take offense. I could feel his frustration, his constant push to be better, to be back to his full power. It was something I admired about him, but sometimes, his pride got the better of him.

Mia walked in at that moment, her upbeat energy like a shot of caffeine, carrying a champagne glass with a bemused look. She was always composed, always ready to tackle the social side of things.

“Damier, there’s a packed house downstairs. Interviewers waiting in your section,” she scolded, only half-jokingly. “They all want a word with their favorite billionaire and his girl. They want to know if it’s going to be a spin-off show with y’all as a couple.”

“Favorite?” he scoffed, settling back into his chair. “Stop playin’ on my top, Mia.”

Mia rolled her eyes. “Then they’ll want to know about Dream, at least. Are you going to sit in your office the whole time, being a damn grouch?”

He looked at me and shrugged, his indifference mixed with a hint of irritation. “Nah, send her out,” he said to Mia. “Let her handle it. And if they ask, tell them no about a fuckin’ show. We’re not doing some couple bullshit for cameras again. My image is clean enough.”

Mia raised an eyebrow at me, and I smiled.

“Guess I’m the spokesperson,” I said, not minding it at all. I’d be able to keep the spotlight off him tonight, just like he wanted.

The club buzzed with a hundred sounds, bodies pressed close, and laughter echoing. I navigated through it all, putting on a bright, confident smile for the interviewers. When I got to the section, everything was lavishly live. People were calling my name like I was famous, and they opened a bottle of Moet for me. I felt rich, classy, and on top of the world. I never expected to be popular after the show, but I couldn’t lie; I was embracing it.

I was just answering a question about our time in Paris, my response poised and diplomatic, when my gaze shifted briefly up to the tinted windows of Damier’s office. He was in there, watching, but nowhere in sight for everyone else. It felt symbolic somehow that he could observe from afar but no longer be part of his own empire the way he used to.

After the interview, I clinked glasses with Mia and indulged in lighthearted conversation, just enough to get through the socializing. When I finished, I returned to the office but stood quietly at the cracked door.

But before I could enter fully, I heard voices inside. Damier was talking to Hocus, his right-hand man, and their conversation was serious.

I didn’t want to intrude, but I couldn’t stop myself from listening.

Damier sat on the edge of his desk, not even using his crutches, his knuckles tight around the edges as he stared Hocus down. The air was thick with rage, something I’d rarely seen in him, even on his worst days. Grouchy, yes, but rage… never.

“I want the head of any pussy nigga who thinks they can play me like this,” he growled, his voice low but vibrating with an anger that was all too real. “Every last one of them.”

Hocus, steady as ever, nodded, his eyes dark with understanding. “So you’re saying it’s war with whoever?”

“Hell yeah,” Damier replied, his expression hardened. “My spot got hit for everything, Hocus. One million in product. Whoever planned this thought they could wipe me out in one night. That’s one bold ass nigga.”

Hocus narrowed his eyes, glancing at Damier with a mix of curiosity and caution. “You think Damian’s the blueprint?”

Damier didn’t hesitate. “This here, I know he is. Nobody else would’ve known when the place was least protected, and it’s got his name all over it. It’s sloppy enough to reek of his jealousy.”

Hocus took a deep breath, his voice low but sharp. “What’s the plan then, boss?”

Damier's jaw tightened, the words spilling out with a calmness that betrayed the fury beneath them. “I want a word with him before I get violent with his weird ass, not in my office, not in public. Just me and him, face to face, like it used to be. I want to know where his head is—whether this is just another petty power grab or if he’s truly crossing a line we both know we can't come back from.”

“And if it does cross that line?” Hocus asked, his tone deadly serious.

Damier paused, his gaze flickering with something darker and more reluctant. “Then we’ll handle it however we have to. But I’m hoping it doesn’t go there. I don’t want to kill my own brother, my nigga. I do know one thing, though. Whoever it was, they turned off the cameras. But what niggas don’t know… my cameras don’t turn off. I’ma analyze the footage when I leave here. Somebody gotta die, even if it’s not Damian.” The raw edge to his voice told me he meant it.

At that moment, I cleared my throat, stepping inside just enough to make my presence known. They both turned, their eyes instantly softening as they noticed me.

Hocus stood up straight, giving Damier a quick nod. “Once you wrap up your engagement, meet me at the warehouse so we can look at that together,” he said, his voice all business now. He threw me a quick glance, his expression neutral, and then left the room without another word.

I closed the door gently, taking a step closer. Damier leaned back, crossing his arms, a shadow of frustration in his gaze. I knew what I’d walked in on, but I didn’t press. I was here for him, no matter what, and I knew he’d tell me what he wanted me to know when he was ready.

“You okay? You don’t look happy,” I softly asked, running a hand along his back, my fingers tracing a light circle on his tense muscles.

He gave me a tight smile, clearly trying to act as if I hadn’t just overheard him talking about revenge.

“Yeah, I’m good. Just business,” he said, his voice warmer now as he turned his attention to me, ignoring the last few minutes as if nothing had happened. “How was it down there with those vultures?”

I played along, letting him hold onto that mask a little longer. “Well, the interviewers were predictable as always. They kept prodding for details about us, trying to see if we were really together and if we’d do a reality show as a couple. I shut that down quickly, don’t worry.”

He chuckled, though his shoulders were still tense. “Good. The last thing I want is us being poked and prodded for nigga’s entertainment.” He brushed a hand along my arm, letting out a sigh. “But you handled it just like I knew you would.”

Standing there, close enough to feel the anger still radiating off him, I couldn’t deny how attractive I found him in that moment. His world was complicated, dark, even daring—yet, something about it, something about him in this raw state, drew me in even more… Damn, I had fallen for a man in the mafia.