Second Chance Betrayal: A Billionaire’s Sinful Reunion

Isla's POV

The foyer is too small for two people who used to know each other this well, so I move through it fast, putting real distance between us before I let myself breathe. The living room opens up beyond its dark hardwood, ceilings that go up forever, light fixtures hanging like something out of a magazine and I stop dead at the edge of it, because none of this looks like it used to. The black couches are gone. Gray leather has taken their place, matched to a kitchen island I don't remember either. I press my lips together and think about what it must have cost him to walk into this house after his father died and decide whether to preserve it like a shrine or make it his own. He loved Raymond in a way most sons never manage. I know that better than almost anyone.

Damien comes to stand beside me, and we both just look at the room like it might explain itself. I wonder if he's thinking about the funeral too the last time either of us reached for the other and meant it. The lie between us had already done its damage by then, but the ache hadn't caught up yet. "I'm not going to say what's in my head right now," I tell him, and my voice shakes more than I want it to.

"You don't have to say it. I already know." He tips his chin toward the far wall. "Downstairs."

Down to the bar, away from the front door, away from any easy exit. I wonder, briefly, if that's the point if he's herding me somewhere I can't bolt from as easily but I don't ask, because it's his house and his call to make. I fall into step beside him, and when we reach the stairwell, all steel and curved gray, narrow enough for one body at a time, he waves me ahead of him instead of leading. I hesitate half a second before I go, one hand skating the railing, every nerve in my back lit up with the awareness of him behind me. He still hasn't asked why I'm here. That silence says more than a question would.

Downstairs opens into a den deep brown sectional, a television practically the size of a wall, a bar shaped like a crescent moon tucked into the corner. "Drink first," Damien says, dropping in beside me, his shoulder grazing mine hard enough that I actually flinch and look away.

I don't meet his eyes, but I feel them on me the whole walk to the bar. I take the stool across from where he settles behind the counter. "Still a Brandy Alexander girl?"

"I shouldn't. I'm driving back tonight, and you remember exactly how badly I handle alcohol." The admission that he remembers anything about me at all slips out before I can stop it.

"I remember plenty," he says, and he's already reaching for the bottle, mixing mine before he pours his own that fifteen-year scotch he's never once switched out for anything else. He slides my glass across. "Either way, we both need one of these right now." He knocks his back in a single motion, refills it, then rounds the bar to stand at my side, close enough that his warmth reaches me before he even speaks again. I look up and I'm on fire and rooted to the floor in the exact same instant.

"Damien "

"Bring the drink," he says quietly. "Patio's better. You won't feel boxed in out there." He's already walking.

He still reads me the way other people read the weather. It doesn't mean anything, I remind myself. It's a skill, not a connection. I follow him with my glass, and he pulls the curtains and slides the door open, and we step out under the awning onto stone, the ocean spread out gray beneath a sky that's holding a storm just out of reach. I've always loved the ocean right before it turns violent. The fireplace catches in the corner, and he comes to stand beside me.

I finish my drink in one long pull. "That buys me time to sober up before I drive." I set the glass down on one of the small tables and cross to the railing instead, resting both palms on the wood.

I hear his glass land beside mine before he joins me at the rail. "Talk to me."

"I came to warn you."

"Warn me about what."

"Ri. He's coming after you."

He actually laughs. "Ri's been coming after me since law school, since I made him look like an amateur in front of people who mattered. Running our own companies now hasn't changed a thing. He got the closest he'll ever get when he got you."

I turn to face him fully. "He never had me. Not for one second."

"He's my enemy, and you left my bed, my company, and walked straight into his."

"I needed work. That part is on you."

"You never needed a job that badly," he snaps.

I drag a hand through my hair. "That's not why I'm here. You need to actually hear me."

"You want to explain how the man you're sleeping with is now suddenly worried about my safety?"

"I am not sleeping with Ri. Stop. Just listen to me for once."

"Like you listened to me? I fought hard to get you to hear me out, Isla. I remember every single attempt."

I retreat until my spine finds the concrete pillar behind me, arms wrapping around myself. "I heard you. It wasn't enough at the time, but that's not the point right now. I took a week off recently to look at other jobs. I interviewed with the District Attorney's office."

"The DA's office pays garbage. Why would someone like you even consider it?"

"Because I'm exhausted by your money, yours, his, all of it. I wanted somewhere that wasn't built on power, except I lasted forty-five minutes before I understood it's exactly the same game everywhere. Everyone wants what you have, and that makes them despise you for having it."

"Meaning what, specifically?"

"I was sitting in an office with the door open. Down the hall, in a conference room, there were four men talking about a billionaire who plays at being ethical, who thinks nothing can touch him. They said they had someone inside your company. They said they were about to bring you down and come out looking like heroes for it."

"Did they use my name?"

"No. But "

"I don't break laws, Isla. That's simply not who I am."

"I know that. That's exactly why I drove out here. I got scared your calls were being watched, because it was you, Damien. I know it was. And there was a detective's business card sitting on Ri's desk that I wasn't supposed to see. He's building something against you."

His eyes narrow on mine. "And you're telling me this man who supposedly betrayed you, why, exactly?"

"Because you're not a criminal, and that's the whole reason I came." I push off the pillar, trying to move past him, but his hand closes around my arm and hauls me back.

We end up chest to chest, hips aligned, history crackling in the space between us, and instead of pushing us apart it drags us closer. Thunder rolls overhead and the sky finally breaks, rain hammering the roof and pouring past the edge of the patio in sheets. Damien's fingers slide into my hair, his other hand flattening between my shoulder blades. "You honestly thought you'd walk out of here without this happening first?" His mouth finds mine before I can answer.