There was a strange kind of silence that came after a storm—the kind that didn’t feel like peace, but pause. A breath held. A war waiting to resume.
And Damien sat in it now.
Maya’s message still burned in his chest like a brand, soft and disarming. Too gentle for the kind of man he was. Too honest for the world he lived in.
But it had reached him. Somehow.
And that scared him more than he’d ever admit.
His phone screen lit up.
He started typing—a quick, clipped message. Then deleted it.
Typed something softer, almost too soft for him. Deleted again.
His thumb hovered, restless.
The words wouldn’t come right.
Frustrated, Damien glanced up at James through the rearview mirror.
“James,” he said, voice low but curious.
James didn’t flinch. “Yes, sir?”
“Do you have a girlfriend?”
