Page 235 of Theirs to Desire (Club M: Boxed Set)

DAMIEN

T he only good thing that happens in the next two weeks is that I’m able to straighten things out with Lizbeth. We talk, her and I, for a very long time one evening.

She's openly regretful about her demands.

“I started seeing someone new,” she says.

“Alex is the one who found out that Cristiano was wealthy. He kept going on about how unfair it was that I was getting so little out of this deal. I told him that your family had been very generous, but he insisted I could get more. He said this could set us up for life.”

Fifteen million definitely would have done that.

She sounds really sad. “What happened?”

“I told him I had second thoughts, and he hit me.”

I sit up. I hate—loathe—men who hit women. “Are you safe?” I demand. “Do you need protection? What can I do?”

“You didn’t ask if the baby was safe.”

My heart lurches. “That was going to be my second question. Is it?” Magnus thinks they’re having a girl, and Cristiano thinks it’ll be a boy. I’m not taking any sides in this ridiculous discussion, so ‘it’ will suffice.

“You're a good guy, Damien. You asked about me first. The baby is fine.” She takes a deep breath. “I broke up with Alex after that. I’m too ashamed to talk to Magnus and Cristiano. Can you tell them I’m sorry about everything?”

“I’ll take care of it.” Lizbeth is a decent person. It wouldn’t have struck her to blackmail Cristiano. “I’m going to arrange some protection for you for the next couple of months, okay?”

“Alex wouldn’t hurt me again,” she says.

Gods, she’s so na?ve. Or is this what hope looks like? “Let’s not take any chances,” I say grimly.

I hang up with her and call Brody, who I went to college with. He runs a private security company with Adrian Lockhart, another good friend. I outline the situation and ask him if they can keep an eye on Lizbeth for the foreseeable future. “No worries,” Brody says.

“Send the bill to me,” I tell him. “Oh, and can one of your people find this boyfriend of hers? She said his name was Alex. Warn him to stay away from her, if you would. And don’t be gentle.”

“I wasn’t planning on it,” he replies grimly. “I don’t like men who hit women. I’ll take care of it.”

“Thanks, Brody.”

At least Cristiano and Magnus will be happy.

Ever since Sophia broke up with me, I've been waiting for her to cancel the dinner with her boss.

After all, she clearly doesn't want to see or hear from me again.

I don't know if she's going to be at La Vecchia or if it's just going to be Patricia Adams and me. If Sophia’s there, I don't know what I’ll say to her. I don't know how I'll react.

But I don't hear from her.

So, on Sunday night, I set out to have an excruciatingly awkward meal with a woman I’m head-over-heels in love with.

Tomorrow, it'll be two weeks since I last talked to Sophia. I thought the pain would lessen, but it shows no sign of abating. Maybe it's too soon.

Or maybe this wound will never heal.

It’s also been two weeks since I gave my mother an ultimatum, one she hasn't responded to. I’ve talked to her, yes, but she hasn't brought it up again, and neither have I.

Am I going to go through with it? Am I really going to leave the Cardenas Group?

Yes. I think I am. Nothing feels right anymore, and nothing seems very important either.

My heart feels shredded, battered, bruised, and broken.

Nothing brings me pleasure anymore. Everything is empty and flat and colorless.

When I see the lake from my window, I can only remember the meals we ate outside.

When I cook in my kitchen, that first memorable evening plays in an endless loop in my head.

Sophia sat on Julian’s lap, looked at me with laughter in her eyes, and asked if I was planning to join them.

And I’m thinking of Sophia again.

I force my thoughts back to the Cardenas Group. Deep down in my heart, I know I need to push this. I need to act without my mother second-guessing my every move, and if she can’t commit to doing that, it’s time to leave. No matter how broken I feel about that decision, it’s the right one to make.

What a miserable thirteen days it’s been.

I glance at my phone. For a change, it's silent. The Italian restaurant we’re meeting at is thirty minutes away. If I leave now, I'm going to be a little early, but I'll cope. Maybe I'll drink too much at the bar and make a fool of myself. That’ll be special.

I get into the car and start driving. I'm turning a corner when there's a pain in my chest. It’s been hurting for a few weeks now, but this is worse. It's an uncomfortable pressure, as if someone was squeezing me tight. Bile fills my throat, and I reach for the bottle of water at my side.

It isn’t there.

I break out into a cold sweat. My head is swimming, and my pulse is racing. This feels like a heart attack. I take my eyes off the road for a second to find my phone, and when I look up again, I’m on a bend, hurtling full speed toward a tree.

I grab the steering wheel and pump my brakes, but it's too late.

Everything goes dark.