Damian's office was silent as he stood there. The floor-to-ceiling windows framed the city in sharp morning clarity, sunlight glinting off glass towers and moving traffic far below. Normally, the view grounded him. Today, it felt distant...like a painting he'd seen too many times to truly notice.
He stood near the window, his jacket still on, his hands clasped loosely behind his back after sending her that message and seeing her reply.
He shouldn't be here, he knew that.
A few days ago, he had instructed Maxwell to clear his schedule for the entire week. No meetings or unnecessary calls. Only updates if something critical surfaced. Damian Cross didn't make decisions like that lightly. When he carved out time, it was deliberate or there was always a very reason.
Yet here he was, standing in his office before nine in the morning.
Because he hadn't slept.
