Chapter 4

The next morning, Damian presented me with a diamond necklace. It was a breathtaking piece, a cascade of brilliant-cut stones that glittered with cold fire. A severance package. A down payment.

He fastened it around my neck himself, his fingers cool against my skin. "A gift," he said, his voice neutral. "For a job well done in advance."

Just as the clasp clicked shut, the bedroom door flew open. Brooklyn Mckinney stood there, her face tear-streaked and blotchy. She didn't even glance at me. Her eyes were fixed on Damian.

"He won't see me!" she wailed, rushing towards him. She shoved me aside with a force that sent me stumbling backward. I tripped on the thick rug, my ankle twisting, and fell hard.

The diamond necklace, a beautiful, cold weight, snapped. The stones scattered across the floor like frozen tears. One of the sharp settings sliced a thin, bloody line across my palm as I tried to break my fall.

"I went to his office, and he wouldn't even see me, Damian!" Brooklyn sobbed, burying her face in Damian's chest. "He just... had a message sent out that he was busy."

Damian's gaze flickered down to me, to my bleeding hand and the ruined necklace on the floor. For a split second, I saw a flash of anger in his eyes. But it vanished as quickly as it appeared, replaced by a chilling indifference. He didn't move to help me. He didn't say a word.

His arms went around Brooklyn, pulling her close, his hand stroking her hair in a gesture of pure, unadulterated comfort. It was a tenderness he had never, not once, shown me.

"That's because he's a cold-hearted bastard, angel," Damian murmured, his voice a low, soothing rumble meant only for her. "What did you expect?"

"But I love him!" she cried, her fists bunching in his shirt.

Damian's expression hardened. He pushed her back gently, holding her at arm's length. "Don't be a fool, Brooklyn. He's not worth it."

She let out a frustrated sob and pushed at his chest. "You don't get to tell me that! You're not him!"

Damian's jaw clenched, but his voice was deceptively soft when he spoke again, a cat purring before it strikes. "No, I'm not. But I can help you get him."

He glanced over at me, his eyes cold and commanding. "Alexa knows his schedule. She also happens to be an excellent cook. Earl has praised her culinary skills before. A way to a man's heart, and all that."

I knew exactly what he was doing. On the surface, Damian and Earl maintained a civil, almost friendly relationship for the sake of business stability. They attended the same functions, sometimes even shared a drink. Earl had been to the penthouse for dinner on a few occasions, always under the guise of a business meeting. He had, in fact, complimented my cooking. Damian was now twisting that small, innocent moment into a weapon.

I slowly pushed myself to my feet, my bleeding palm stinging, my heart a cold, heavy stone in my chest.

"Go make some of Brooklyn's favorite dessert," Damian ordered, his attention already back on the crying heiress. "Bring it to Earl's office. Make an excuse. Say it's a peace offering from her."

Brooklyn sniffled, wiping her eyes. "He... he won't even care."

"He will," Damian promised, his voice dripping with false sincerity. Then his eyes found mine again, and the coldness in them was absolute. "Won't he, Alexa?"

I didn't answer. I just turned and walked out of the room, the scattered diamonds crunching softly under my heel.

As I passed Brooklyn, she shot me a look of pure venom. "Look at you," she sneered, her voice thick with disgust. "The loyal little dog. I don't know what he ever saw in you. He used to be so attentive to me, but then you came along."

Damian laughed, a low, dismissive sound. "Don't worry about her, angel. She's just a tool. A temporary amusement."

He pulled Brooklyn back into his arms, his voice dropping to a seductive whisper I could still hear as I reached the door. "Everything she has, I can give to you. Her cars, her jewels, this very penthouse. All you have to do is say the word."

He paused, and his next words were a blade twisting in my already bleeding heart.

"After all," he said, his voice laced with cruel amusement. "What is she? A convenient body to warm my bed. Nothing more."

The words struck me with the force of a physical blow. I stumbled, my hand flying to my chest as if to hold my broken heart together.

Even the servants in the hallway, who used to bow their heads to me, now looked at me with a mixture of pity and contempt. My reign was over. I was nothing.