Chapter 6 - THE FIRST DATE DAMIAN COULD NOT BUY
Damian chose a neighborhood restaurant.
Phoebe suspected someone had coached him.
The place had twelve tables, red-checkered napkins, and a handwritten specials board.
No private room.
No gold.
No sommelier.
He arrived alone except for security agent seated in car outside.
Phoebe looked around.
“You researched normal.”
“Yes.”
“How?”
“Internet.”
She laughed.
He looked offended.
They ordered pasta.
Phoebe refused salad first because she wanted pasta and had spent enough years ordering what other people expected a plus-size woman to order in public.
Damian ordered steak.
Good.
No performative shared kale.
For first twenty minutes, they talked about nothing dangerous.
Melissa.
Evelyn.
Damian’s terrible relationship with houseplants.
Phoebe discovered he had killed a cactus.
“How?”
“Neglect.”
“That is almost impressive.”
“I travel.”
“It was a cactus.”
“I know.”
He looked ashamed.
She liked it too much.
Then Damian asked:
“Why household work?”
Not judgment.
Question.
Phoebe twisted fork.
“I studied event management for two years.”
He looked surprised.
“I didn’t know.”
“Why would you?”
“Then?”
“Grandma got sick.”
She paused.
“Melissa had kids.”
“Our parents died when I was twenty-four.”
“I needed predictable money and housing.”
“The estate position paid better than hotel front desks.”
Damian looked down.
“You left school?”
“Yes.”
“Want to finish?”
There.
Danger.
Phoebe narrowed eyes.
“Do not offer to pay.”
“I wasn’t.”
She waited.
“I was going to ask whether you still want it.”
Better.
“I don’t know.”
Good.
“I used to.”
“Maybe still.”
“Maybe.”
No solution.
She liked that.
Then phone buzzed in Damian’s pocket.
His eyes flicked.
Stopped.
Phoebe noticed.
“You can check.”
“No.”
“Why?”
“I’m on date.”
“It could be important.”
“Marco has emergency code.”
“How?”
“If emergency, three calls.”
Phone buzzed again.
Damian left.
Phoebe stared.
He kept eating.
Third buzz.
Not call.
Then his watch displayed alert.
Damian’s expression changed.
He immediately stood.
“Emergency?”
“Yes.”
Phoebe’s stomach tightened.
Old dynamic despite never being hers.
“Go.”
He froze.
“What?”
“Go.”
“I can send—”
“Damian.”
She almost laughed.
“The lesson isn’t never leave dinner.”
He stared.
“It’s tell truth.”
He breathed.
“Someone tried accessing restricted port server.”
“Okay.”
“Marco thinks Salvatore.”
“Then go.”
“Do you want car?”
“No.”
“I can—”
“Go.”
He paid.
Then paused.
“I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be.”
He looked confused.
Phoebe smiled.
“Real life interrupts fake normal.”
“Can I call later?”
“Yes.”
He left.
Phoebe finished pasta alone.
Not abandoned.
Informed.
That difference mattered.
Forty-five minutes later, Damian called.
“I hate that you were right.”
“Frequently.”
“Salvatore’s credentials.”
“Did he steal?”
“Attempted.”
“Police?”
“Corporate counsel.”
“Why not police?”
“Because access alone may not be crime depending authorization.”
“Look at you using process.”
“I dislike you.”
“Date was going so well.”
He laughed.
Then:
“Can I try again?”
“Yes.”
Their second first date happened Sunday morning.
Breakfast.
No interruptions.
Afterward he drove? Security driver drove to lakefront.
They walked.
Phoebe’s thighs rubbed.
Normal.
She did not apologize for walking slowly.
Damian matched pace without making it obvious.
She noticed anyway.
“Are you slowing down?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“To walk beside you.”
No pity.
Simple.
Her heart did something stupid.
Then Gianna called.
Not Damian.
Phoebe.
“How did you get my number?”
“Simone.”
“She should not—”
“I asked her to ask permission.”
Phoebe checked.
Message from Simone she hadn’t seen.
Gianna wants your number. Okay?
Oops.
“Fine.”
Gianna asked to meet.
Not socially.
She had another concern.
Salvatore and Enzo were not only planning marriage trust.
There was a logistics agreement hidden inside.
A new joint company called Lakebridge Freight Holdings.
Damian’s family had contributed port access rights.
Rinaldi family contributed construction contracts.
But one clause allowed Lakebridge to assume certain DeMarco shipping routes if Damian suffered “leadership incapacity.”
“What counts incapacity?”
Phoebe asked.
Gianna looked at Damian.
“Criminal indictment.”
Silence.
Damian’s face hardened.
“What?”
“They were building a structure to take your routes if you got charged.”
Damian stared.
“And who controls Lakebridge?”
“Salvatore and my father.”
There.
The plan became clearer.
Force marriage if possible.
If Damian refused, expose him legally or manufacture problems.
Either way, older men gain control.
Damian said:
“What evidence?”
Gianna handed copies.
This time directly.
Independent counsel present.
Good.
Signatures.
Some authentic Salvatore.
Some corporate administrator.
One purported Damian authorization.
He stared.
“Not mine.”
Phoebe’s stomach tightened.
Forgery.
Again.
Gianna whispered:
“My father told me you approved.”
“I didn’t.”
She closed eyes.
“So he lied.”
“Yes.”
Silence.
Damian did not comfort by claiming her father never loved.
Good.
Families can love and exploit.
Both.
Then Damian called board counsel.
Not enforcers.
Progress.
The DeMarco board froze Lakebridge transactions pending review.
Salvatore was suspended from executive authority.
He reacted exactly as expected.
He came to mansion that evening.
Phoebe had not returned to work yet.
She happened to be there only because Damian invited her? Maybe she shouldn't be there. Better she was at mansion to collect remaining items after deciding leave? Let's have her visiting security review? Hmm.
She was not there.
Damian handled.
The next morning, Phoebe received video from anonymous number.
Salvatore in mansion driveway shouting at Damian:
“You let a maid turn you against blood.”
Phoebe stopped breathing.
Who recorded?
Video angle from inside staff corridor.
Someone inside mansion.
Salvatore continued:
“Your father would have buried this before breakfast.”
Damian answered:
“That is why he spent his life cleaning blood off good suits.”
Silence.
Then Salvatore:
“You think courts save people?”
Damian:
“No.”
“I think they make it harder for men like us to pretend we are the court.”
Video ended.
Message beneath:
HE WILL LOSE EVERYTHING BECAUSE OF YOU.
Phoebe forwarded to Nadia.
Then Damian.
She did not respond.
Security searched mansion surveillance.
The recording angle corresponded to service stairwell.
Only staff and security.
Damian began interviews.
Phoebe felt sick.
Someone she knew.
Maybe kitchen staff.
Housekeeper.
Driver.
The threat inside employee wing had required access too.
Nadia asked Phoebe:
“Anyone acting strange?”
Phoebe thought.
Mansion staff:
Mrs. Alvarez, senior housekeeper.
Theo, chef.
James, groundskeeper.
Luca Bianchi, Damian’s executive assistant, who often crossed household side because office suite attached.
Luca.
She remembered something.
Night of first phone call.
Library.
Damian said he entered while she spoke.
Papers on table.
A folder.
Luca had brought those folders earlier.
She knew because she had dusted side table and moved them.
At gala day, Luca asked whether Phoebe would be using employee entrance when returning.
She thought it was scheduling.
After threatening photo, Luca had been one of first people who appeared.
Not strange in itself.
Then video from service stairwell.
Luca knew mansion access.
Corporate credentials.
Salvatore’s schedule.
Phoebe called Nadia.
“I’m not accusing.”
“Good.”
“But check Luca Bianchi.”
Silence.
“Why?”
She explained.
Nadia thanked.
No dramatics.
No Damian first.
Investigation.
Six hours later, Damian called.
“You were right.”
Phoebe’s stomach dropped.
“About?”
“Luca.”
He sounded devastated.
“What did he do?”
“Security found encrypted messages.”
“To Salvatore?”
“Yes.”
“Threat?”
“Likely.”
“Video?”
“Yes.”
“Gianna?”
“Possibly location tracking.”
Phoebe closed eyes.
Someone Damian trusted.
“How long worked for you?”
“Nine years.”
There.
Betrayal.
Damian’s voice hardened.
“I should have known.”
“No.”
Silence.
“You’re going to say it?”
“What?”
“That trusting someone isn’t crime.”
He exhaled.
“Yes.”
“Good.”
Then:
“Where is Luca?”
“Gone.”
He had left before security approached.
Apartment empty.
Car at airport.
Passport unused.
Phone off.
No arrest.
No location.
And that night, Evelyn collapsed at Lakeview Gardens.
Phoebe got call at 10:08.
She dropped everything.
Hospital.
Chest pain.
Arrhythmia.
Damian arrived twenty minutes later.
No entourage inside.
He stopped near emergency-room doors.
Phoebe saw him and broke.
Not because she needed billionaire.
Because she needed someone.
“Come here.”
She whispered.
Damian did.
Held her.
No contract.
No fake relationship.
No cameras.
Only Phoebe crying into his coat while doctors stabilized woman who had raised her.
And for first time, Damian understood something Phoebe had been trying to tell him since library.
Being needed is not same as being entitled.
May you like
Sometimes love means being allowed to stand close.
Nothing more.
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