Damian Cross stepped into his Mansion and closed the door behind him with a soft click, letting out a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding. The quiet of the space enveloped him, but instead of soothing, it felt oppressive, a stark reminder of the chaos he'd left behind.
Miranda.
Her scent still clung to his skin, a faint trace of her perfume mingled with the memory of her touch. She was intoxicating, as she had always been, a fire that threatened to consume him if he lingered too close. But he had done what he needed to do—what was best for both of them.
Unbuttoning the top two buttons of his shirt as he walked toward his desk. A sleek black folder sat waiting for him, its contents a welcome distraction from the emotional storm still raging in his chest.
Damian settled into his chair, flipping the folder open and scanning the documents inside. Financial reports, investment plans, contracts that needed his signature—all meticulously organized, just as he liked. Work was his sanctuary, the one place where everything made sense.
He reached for his phone, dialing the familiar number without hesitation. It rang twice before a crisp, professional voice answered.
"Good evening, Mr. Cross," Elena Moore said, her tone efficient but warm, as always.
"Elena," Damian began, leaning back in his chair. "I need you to double-check the figures on the Rawlinson merger. There's a discrepancy in the projected earnings report."
"Of course," Elena replied. "I'll pull up the files now. Is there anything else you need?"
Damian hesitated for a moment, his mind flickering back to Miranda. He shook his head, as if the action could dislodge the lingering thoughts of her. "Yes, I also need confirmation on the Baxter transaction. Make sure the funds were transferred to the appropriate account."
"I'll verify that immediately," Elena said. There was a pause before she added, "Is everything all right, sir? You sound... distracted."
Damian pinched the bridge of his nose, closing his eyes briefly. Elena was perceptive—one of the many reasons he trusted her implicitly. But tonight, he wasn't in the mood for personal questions, even if they came from someone as loyal as her.
"Everything's fine," he said, his voice clipped. "Just make sure those issues are resolved by morning."
"Understood," Elena said, her tone returning to its usual briskness. "I'll email you the updates as soon as I have them."
"Good," Damian replied. "Thank you, Elena."
He ended the call and placed the phone on his desk, leaning forward to rub his temples. Work usually had the power to clear his mind, but tonight, it wasn't enough.
His thoughts drifted back to Miranda, to the way her body had trembled beneath his touch, the way she had looked at him with equal parts love and fury. She had always been a contradiction—a blend of softness and steel that had captivated him from the start.
But that was exactly why he had to let her go. Miranda wanted more than he could give. She wanted all of him, and Damian wasn't the kind of man who gave himself away. He had built walls for a reason, walls that protected him from vulnerability, from the risk of losing control.
The memory of her words echoed in his mind: "You belong to me."
A bitter smile tugged at his lips. No one owned Damian Cross. He had spent his life ensuring that he would answer to no one, and Miranda was no exception. As much as he cared for her—and he did, though he'd never admit it—she deserved someone who could give her the stability she craved.
Damian sighed and turned his attention back to the documents in front of him. Numbers were simple, logical. They didn't demand answers he wasn't willing to give.
But as he worked, the faintest ghost of her voice lingered in his mind, a reminder that no matter how much he tried to shake her off, Miranda Chase wasn't going anywhere.
Damian leaned back in his chair, staring at the faint glow of the city lights outside his penthouse window. He'd gone through two reports, signed three contracts, and made notes on a strategic partnership deal, but his focus was slipping.
It was her again—Miranda. She lingered in his thoughts, creeping into the cracks he tried so hard to seal. No matter how much he buried himself in work, her voice, her touch, the fire in her eyes—all of it haunted him.
His hands, still resting on the polished surface of his desk, curled into fists as he recalled her words.
"You belong to me."
Her voice had been fierce, her conviction unshakable. For a moment, he had almost believed her. There had been an unbearable pull between them, an unrelenting force that made it hard to walk away. He could still feel the warmth of her body against his, her hands gripping him as if letting go would destroy her.
Damian clenched his jaw, pushing away the memory. He had done the right thing. Hadn't he? He wasn't what Miranda needed—what she deserved. She was better off without him, even if she didn't see it now.
But that didn't explain why his chest tightened at the thought of her alone in her apartment, replaying their last moments together. It didn't explain why his resolve felt like it was slipping, why every fiber of his being wanted to turn back the clock and pull her into his arms one more time.
He stood abruptly, his chair scraping against the floor as he moved. He paced the room, his steps measured and deliberate. He was Damian Cross—a man who controlled his world, who didn't falter, didn't let emotions dictate his actions.
And yet, he could still feel her hands sliding up his chest, her lips pressing against his neck, her breath hot and desperate as she whispered his name. His pulse quickened, his body betraying him as he remembered the way she fit against him so perfectly, like she had been made for him.
He stopped pacing, his gaze fixed on the darkened skyline. He couldn't afford this distraction. Miranda was a storm he couldn't weather, a force of nature that threatened to unravel everything he had built.
But even as he told himself to let her go, his hands twitched at his sides, itching to hold her again. His body remembered her touch, her scent, the way she gasped when his lips found the sensitive spot just below her ear.
Damian shook his head, cursing under his breath. She was intoxicating, yes, but she was also dangerous—to him, to his carefully constructed life. If he let her back in, she would burn through him like wildfire, leaving nothing but ashes in her wake.
And yet, the thought of never seeing her again, never feeling her warmth, sent a pang of something almost like regret coursing through him. He hated it—hated the way she had the power to make him feel so completely out of control.
No. He couldn't let her win. He couldn't let her consume him.
Damian walked back to his desk, his movements sharp and decisive. He flipped open another file, his eyes scanning the lines of text with forced determination.
But even as he tried to focus, he knew the truth. Miranda wasn't a chapter he could simply close. She was written into his story, indelible and inescapable.
And no matter how much he tried to convince himself otherwise, some part of him wasn't ready to let her go.