My Consigliere, I Will Not Stand Behind You Anymore

It took me ten years to become the right hand to Damian Costello, the Consigliere of the Costello crime family. From a nobody to the woman wearing his engagement ring. But two weeks before the wedding, I decided to throw that ring away. Everyone in the family knew how hard I had fought all these years just to stand by Damian's side. I gave up the chance to become a top trader on Wall Street, willingly becoming Damian's assistant, his shadow. This man was infamous for his coldness and exacting nature, keeping everyone at arm's length. So I hid my sharp edges, spending a decade wearing down his icy exterior with gentleness. I cleansed the blood from every dollar he made. I became a necessity to him, as essential as the air he breathed. I thought that after ten years, I had finally made my presence indispensable. And finally earned what looked, to outsiders, like a glimmer of his affection. The family's notoriously aloof genius actually remembered my birthday. He even made an exception, letting me spend the night in his private study when I was unwell. He didn't even push me away when, emboldened by wine, I pressed a kiss to the side of his neck. If the Don's daughter, Isabella, hadn't returned from Italy, I might have kept playing my part, clinging to that false dream forever. But sadly, there are no ‘ifs’. I am going to give up everything here and leave you. Chapter 1 It took me ten years to become the right hand to Damian Costello, the Consigliere of the Costello crime family. From a nobody to the woman wearing his engagement ring. But two weeks before the wedding, I decided to throw that ring away. Everyone in the family knew how hard I had fought all these years just to stand by Damian's side. I gave up the chance to become a top trader on Wall Street, willingly becoming Damian's assistant, his shadow. This man was infamous for his coldness and exacting nature, keeping everyone at arm's length. So I hid my sharp edges, spending a decade wearing down his icy exterior with gentleness. I cleansed the blood from every dollar he made. I became a necessity to him, as essential as the air he breathed. I thought that after ten years, I had finally made my presence indispensable. And finally earned what looked, to outsiders, like a glimmer of his affection. The family's notoriously aloof genius actually remembered my birthday. He even made an exception, letting me spend the night in his private study when I was unwell. He didn't even push me away when, emboldened by wine, I pressed a kiss to the side of his neck. If the Don's daughter, Isabella, hadn't returned from Italy, I might have kept playing my part, clinging to that false dream forever. But sadly, there are no ‘ifs’. I am going to give up everything here and leave you. ... "Boss, my transfer request. I want to go to the Oasis Casino in Nevada." I pushed the signed, encrypted file across the black walnut desk, my voice perfectly level. The Underboss, sitting across from me, took the cigar from his mouth and stared at me in shock. "Ava? Have you lost your mind? Aren't you and Damian getting married next month?" "We're all waiting for Damian to make the official announcement. And you want to go waste away in the desert at a time like this?" I suppressed the sharp pain in my chest and cut him off. "Boss, my mind is made up. Just sign it." No one knew that Damian's proposal had nothing to do with love. It was born from a bloody firefight with the Russian mob two months ago. Damian was ambushed that day, and I was the one who charged into that abandoned warehouse alone. To cover his retreat, I drew their fire. A bullet tore through my shoulder, staining the concrete floor with my blood. I bit down, refusing to make a sound. The brutes, enraged, smashed a rifle butt against the back of my head. I bought Damian enough time for reinforcements to arrive, but I nearly bled out. I almost didn't make it. I lay in the ICU for three days. When I woke up, the man who was usually so distant was sitting by my bed, his eyes bloodshot. He held my cold hand, his voice hoarse. "Ava, let's get married next month." After all our years together, I could clearly read the guilt in his eyes. He just wanted to use marriage to settle the debt he felt he owed me for my life. But I was shameless enough to accept this emotional blackmail, just to secure my place by his side forever. As I walked out of the headquarters, a live broadcast of a charity gala was playing on the giant LED screen in Manhattan. A few new recruits who had just joined the family were gathered under the screen, whistling. "Whoa, look! It's Mr. Costello and Miss Isabella!" "The prince and princess of the mob. Damn, they look good together." "I heard Mr. Costello never lets any woman get close. Looks like Miss Isabella is the exception." Their chatter was like needles stabbing at my ears. I fought off a wave of dizziness and looked up at the screen. In the close-up shot, Isabella was leaning in to whisper something in Damian's ear, and he was bent slightly to listen. They were so close, yet he showed no sign of discomfort. The same man who required me to maintain a ten-foot distance while giving a report was now letting another woman's breath ghost against his ear. Isabella was practically plastered to his side, but he didn't pull away. A hint of an indulgent smile even touched the corners of his eyes. My heart clenched violently. Because I had once believed that no one could ever break through the walls he had built. But Isabella's return had shown me a completely different Damian. I remembered the first time I heard Damian say the name "Isabella." He had been staring at a mess of chaotic data, but a faint, almost imperceptible smile played on his lips. "Isabella messed up the order of the accounts again." There was no blame in his tone, only a sort of fond indulgence. Isabella was the apple of the Don's eye, the brightest sun in the entire family, radiant and bold. She could barge into Damian's heavily guarded office and use his classified documents as drawing paper. She could snatch the whiskey from Damian's hand, down it in one go, and then laugh with abandon on the very desk he would break a man's fingers for even touching. I once saw it with my own eyes. In his office, Isabella's fingers traced the tattoo on the side of his neck, the one that symbolized the family's honor. And Damian, the same man who would flinch if my own fingertips accidentally brushed against him, just froze for a second. The tips of his ears turned a faint red, and he made no move to push her away. I finally understood that this man wasn't born cold. It’s just that his flustered, boyish awakening to love was never meant for me. I returned to the luxury penthouse in Manhattan. This was meant to be our home, decorated with the utmost extravagance, yet the times Damian had actually stayed here could be counted on one hand. I calmly opened the closet and took down, one by one, the subdued dresses I had bought just to suit his tastes. The scenes I had once imagined, of us having dinner together before these floor-to-ceiling windows, now felt like a silent slap in the face. I found some cardboard boxes and packed up all my personal belongings, not leaving so much as a toothbrush holder behind. I hired a discreet moving service and had them clear my things out immediately. Just as I finished, my phone buzzed. It was an encrypted message from the Underboss: [Transfer approved. The Oasis is a mess. Good luck.] Almost simultaneously, a message from Damian popped up: [Private jet N481DC. Landing at Teterboro, 8 PM tomorrow. Pick me up.] I stared at the message for a long time, until the screen's light hurt my eyes. Then, I hit reply and typed the first refusal I had given him in ten years. [No time.] Chapter 2 I moved quickly. It took less than four hours to erase every trace of myself from the penthouse. This was the most sought-after piece of real estate in Manhattan, our marital home in name only. But when the real estate agent brought potential buyers for a showing, they could barely tell anyone had ever lived here. Just like me. After all these years, I had failed to leave any mark on Damian's life. "Miss Moretti, an anonymous, quick sale means the price will take a major hit. This is Park Avenue, after all." "Sell it." I pressed my fingerprint onto the digital agreement, not even bothering to look up. "Close the deal today." I had bought this place with the commission from my first money-laundering job, naively thinking it would one day be a home. Now, it just seemed like an expensive joke. Due to the family's internal transfer procedures, I had to stay in New York for another week. The day Damian returned, a storm was raging over New York, and visibility at Teterboro Airport was near zero. I was organizing data when my phone screen lit up with a message from Damian: [Landed.] Before, no matter what I was doing, even if I was in the middle of a delicate dance with federal agents, seeing that word would have sent me speeding to the tarmac. I remember one time, running a high fever, I forced myself to wait in the pouring rain for two hours just to confirm his route was secure. I ended up passing out in the car on the way back, nearly causing a pile-up. Afterward, Damian had only frowned and adjusted his cufflinks. "If you're not well," he'd said, "don't force it." No concern, just a statement of fact. But I had agonized over those three words for a long time, feeling like I had messed up, pushing myself even harder to prove my worth. Looking back on it now, I was so pathetic. I turned off the screen, tossed the phone aside, and went back to checking the data. That evening, the family held a small welcome dinner for the triumphant return of Damian and Isabella. I didn't want to go, but as the family's Chief Advisor, my absence would have been an open act of defiance. I arrived late and chose a seat in a quiet corner. The atmosphere at dinner was loud and phony. The stars of the show were, of course, Damian at the head of the table and Isabella, who was glued to his side. She wore a vibrant red backless gown and was animatedly recounting tales from Milan Fashion Week. Damian swirled the whiskey in his glass, listening with his head tilted, showing no signs of impatience. When Isabella would get excited and grab his arm, he would only frown slightly but never pull away. "Oh, by the way, speaking of coming back..." Isabella's voice suddenly rose, her gaze sweeping over to my corner. "Ava, what was that about? Damian and I were left freezing on the tarmac." "Weren't you always the one who handled pickups?" Instantly, all eyes at the table turned to me, filled with probing curiosity. Damian finally looked up. Across the long table, his gaze was deep and indifferent, as if he were looking at any other subordinate who had made a mistake. I leisurely cut into the rare steak on my plate, dabbed my lips with a napkin, and met Isabella's deceptively innocent gaze. "His personal travel arrangements are not part of my job description." The fake smile on Isabella's face froze. A collective gasp went through the room. Damian's brow furrowed, a flicker of genuine surprise in his eyes. Of course. He was probably used to it. Used to me handling all his trivial matters like some high-end nanny, used to me being at his beck and call. A sudden refusal, like a trusted gun jamming, displeased him. The dinner ended under a strange, heavy cloud. As everyone was leaving, Damian stopped me at the end of the hallway. "What's this tantrum about?" He stood behind me, his voice low. His custom cologne, mingled with the scent of tobacco, was the very fragrance I once adored. I stopped and looked at him. The hallway light cast shadows across his chiseled features. There was a time I thought being able to gaze at him like this for a lifetime was a blessing. "I don't know what you mean, Consigliere." "Isabella is spoiled. She means no harm." Damian paused, as if trying to find the right words. "She was a real help in Europe, fending off some unnecessary social obligations. It's not like you to humiliate her in front of the Don over something so trivial." I knew it. He thought I was throwing a fit over Isabella, that it was why I had publicly embarrassed her. Looking at his entitled expression, my patience for pretense had run out. "Damian Costello." It was the first time I had ever said his full name. My voice wasn't loud, but it cut him off cold. It was enough to make the hand adjusting his cufflink freeze mid-motion. He looked up at me, a genuine flicker of confusion finally dawning in his eyes. "I'm not throwing a tantrum." "And it's not about who you attended some charity gala with." I looked him in the eye. My heart felt as if it were being squeezed by an invisible hand, only to be slowly released. Ten years. It was time for it to end. I took a deep breath, the words that had been circling in my mind for an eternity finally finding their voice. "Let's call off the engagement." Chapter 3 Damian's brow tightened. "What did you say?" Just as he was about to press me, Isabella came running frantically from the direction of the dining hall. "Damian! Something's happened! Our offshore accounts in the Cayman Islands have been frozen!" The color drained from Damian's face. That account was one of the family's lifelines. Isabella grabbed his arm, her face etched with panic. "That's the account Dad cares about most. If the FBI is onto it…" Damian glanced at me, his demeanor instantly all business. "The accounts are an emergency. We'll talk after this is handled." Without another word, he turned and strode down the corridor with Isabella, not even giving me a second glance. I stood in the cold wind of the rose garden, watching them leave. I wasn't surprised. In his world, I would never be more important than the family's interests. And that "we'll talk later" would most likely never happen. Just like our wedding, a wedding no one truly cared about. I had handled all the preparations myself anyway. All he had to do was sign the checks and show up. Now that I had informed him, my part was done. The penthouse was consigned to an agent for an anonymous sale, and my previous apartment was long empty. I suddenly realized I had nowhere to go. I moved into a safe house the family provided for its senior members. It was an unassuming brownstone in Brooklyn. While not as luxurious as the penthouse, it offered a welcome quiet. The next few days were calm. I was busy finalizing the last of the handover procedures for my move to Nevada. Suddenly, my office door was pushed open and Damian strode in. He acted completely normal, as if our last tense conversation had never happened. He didn't mention my recent distance or my move. He stopped in front of my desk, his tone as entitled as ever. "Family dinner tonight. We're going together." The atmosphere at dinner was lively, with the conversation naturally circling around a recent financial breakthrough. Isabella was seated next to Damian, animatedly talking about the charity gala. The Don, his face glowing, trimmed the end of a cigar. His gaze shifted between Damian and Isabella, a knowing smile on his face. "Damian, you and Isabella worked well together in Europe. The two of you, one is my head, the other my heart." The Don set down his cigar and looked around the table. "You're not getting any younger. You can't just bury yourself in family business forever. As for our Isabella, she can be a bit willful at times, but her heart is in the right place…" The implication was clear. The mood at the long table instantly froze. A few of the old-timers who knew the situation shot me furtive glances, their eyes a mix of pity and morbid curiosity. Isabella's cheeks flushed. She let out a shy "Dad," then looked at Damian with eyes full of expectation. I kept my gaze lowered, staring at the deep red wine in my glass, my fingertips digging into my palm under the table. Damian was silent for a few seconds before setting down his glass. His tone was as calm as ever. "Don, thank you for the high praise. But my focus is on expanding our territory. I have no plans for marriage at the moment." The blush on Isabella's face vanished, leaving her skin stark white. She stared at Damian in disbelief, her eyes quickly welling up. She shot to her feet, a hand flying to her mouth, and fled the dining room. "Bella!" the Don said, frowning. Damian's gaze followed the direction Isabella had fled. He sighed and rose to his feet. "My apologies, Don. I'll go check on her." The room was left in dead silence. The Underboss, sitting next to me, leaned in and said in a low, teasing voice, "Ava, what's this all about? Damian didn't even mention your engagement." "You want me to say something to the Don?" I shook my head and took a sip of wine. "There's no need." A relationship that neither party was willing to acknowledge would only become a joke if brought up by a third person. My stomach churned. I stood up and walked out to the terrace for some air. The terrace had a perfect view of the private garden below. In the dim light, I saw two figures beneath the old oak tree. Isabella was sobbing in Damian's arms, her words coming out in broken fragments. "Why not? Damian, I love you… I know I'm not mature enough, not as capable as Ava…" "But I can learn! I can do everything she does for you!" Damian wasn't holding her, but he wasn't pushing her away either. He just let her tears soak his shirt. That tolerance alone said enough. I thought of all the times over the past ten years I had tried to get close to him in moments of vulnerability. Every single time, the slightest brush of a fingertip was met with an instinctive stiffening, a retreat. Just then, as if sensing something, Damian's head snapped up toward the terrace. My face was a blank mask. I met his gaze calmly, as if watching a drama that had nothing to do with me. Only my hand, hanging by my side, had lost all its warmth. Damian's pupils seemed to contract, or maybe it was just a trick of the light. Isabella, still lost in her sorrow, didn't notice. "I know you better than she does, I know how to make you happy…" I turned and walked away, not sparing them another glance. Back in the private room, I excused myself, claiming I wasn't feeling well. The Underboss looked at me with concern, but ultimately said nothing. I walked back to the safe house alone, feeling hollow, the last embers in my heart turning to ash. I had just finished washing up and was about to go to bed when there was a knock on the door. I pulled it open to find Damian standing in the dim hallway light. Chapter 4 I looked at Damian standing outside my door. I didn't step aside or speak. I just let my eyes ask what he wanted. He stared at me for a few seconds before finally breaking the silence. "About Isabella… I turned her down." He paused, then added an explanation. "She was just emotional. Don't overthink it." I was surprised. I had expected him to tell me he was with Isabella now. But here he was, telling me he had rejected her. He was even worried I would "overthink it," so he had come to explain. "Damian," I said, my tone flat. "Whether you accept her or not has nothing to do with me anymore." Clearly, Damian hadn't expected this reaction. Complete indifference, without even a hint of relief. "If there's nothing else, I'm going to bed." I reached for the door. "Ava." Damian's large hand shot out, slamming against the doorframe and blocking my path. He leaned in, his voice dropping a few degrees. "You've been… off lately." I avoided his scrutinizing gaze and pushed the door shut. With a soft click, the lock engaged. The door now separated me from the face I had looked up to for a decade. I leaned against the cold door, slowly exhaling. My chest ached, a heavy, suffocating weight. It wasn't Damian's style to come and explain things like this. In his world, explanations were for the weak. In the past, I had been so careful to hide my every emotion, all of which revolved around him, and he had never even noticed. But tonight, after I showed no reaction to Isabella's confession, he had come all this way to "clarify" things, just to placate me. I didn't understand why. Maybe it was to maintain some sense of order and rules, or maybe it was just to assuage his own guilt. A mix of absurdity and a faint, sour feeling washed over me. The more I thought, the more my head throbbed. I don't know how long I stood there before the ringing of my phone snapped me back to reality. "Ava! Did you see the file that was just posted on the family's internal server?" "How did Isabella get made lead administrator for the Phoenix system? That's the channel you nearly died to secure!" "That encryption algorithm, the one that can bypass FBI surveillance… you pulled all-nighters for three months straight, you went in as bait on the dark web! That's the family's financial lifeline!" My heart plummeted and my blood ran cold. "What did you say?" "Check the internal announcement! The sole creator and operator of the Phoenix system is listed as Isabella Rossi! Even Damian has taken a backseat! What the hell is going on?" I dropped the phone, rushed to my computer, and logged into the encrypted server. A top-secret file was pinned to the top of the announcement board. I couldn't miss it. [In recognition of Miss Isabella Rossi's independent construction of the 'Phoenix' intelligent laundering system, which single-handedly saved the family's financial operations from crisis, she is hereby appointed as the Head of the Financial Division…] "Phoenix." It was my masterpiece, a system powerful enough to change the entire financial landscape of the underworld. It was the impenetrable shield I had exhausted myself creating, all to help Damian solidify his power among the Five Families. In the underworld, whoever controlled this secure laundering channel held the family by the throat. But now, the credit for this career-making achievement, an achievement that could elevate anyone to the top, bore only Isabella's name. Damian had even graciously removed his own name from the project, gifting all the credit, mine included, to her. As if he were merely a selfless collaborator. Rage tore through me. I snatched my phone and dialed Damian's private number. "What's this about the credit for 'Phoenix'?" I asked the moment he answered. Damian's steady voice came through the receiver, the sound of a moving car in the background. "I turned down her confession. She was a wreck, and her authority within the family took a hit." I almost laughed out loud, my fingers digging into the edge of the desk. "So? You use my life's work as a consolation prize for her?" "That was my creation! You took my weapon and used it as a favor to placate your little princess! Did you ask me? Did you get my permission?" Damian's tone remained infuriatingly calm as he sidestepped the real issue. "The core of the system is on our server. She handled the final key generation. Crediting her as the creator serves the family." "Ava, the system belongs to the family. Isabella is the Don's daughter. She needs a major achievement to command respect and keep the old guard in line. Your contribution will be reflected in your year-end bonus." My voice began to tremble with a mix of indignation and a nauseating disgust. Three months of sleepless nights, countless algorithmic models, all erased with his casual words. It had even become his consolation prize to Isabella after he rejected her. And to think I had actually felt a flicker of hope for his late-night explanation. So this was it. In his eyes, my dignity, my talent, even I myself, could be carved up and served on a platter to soothe Isabella's bruised ego. "Reflected? How? By paying me off for my silence?" I took a deep breath, my voice turning cold. "Damian, what do you take me for? Do you really think I'm just a shadow behind you? Someone who doesn't need a name or a face? Just a tool to build your empire?" As the words left my mouth, I felt a clarity I had never known before. For ten years, I had been setting myself on fire for a man who didn't even see me as a person. And he thought it was his right. Chapter 5 The other end of the line went dead silent for a moment. Then, Damian spoke again, and his words chilled me to the bone. "Ava, let's be honest. You gave up a high-paying job on Wall Street to follow me. Wasn't it because you wanted my protection?" My hand tightened around the phone, my knuckles turning white. He continued, his logic infuriatingly clear. "If that's the case, then a meaningless title shouldn't matter to you." "Isabella is different. She's a potential successor. She needs a weapon in her hands, and Phoenix is the perfect way for her to prove her capabilities to the entire underworld." A roar filled my ears, and my blood ran cold. He knew. He knew all along. Every compromise I made, every time I swallowed my pride, every time I willingly stood in his shadow… he saw it all. It wasn't that he didn't understand. He just didn't care. He even saw my love for him as a license to strip me of my dignity whenever he pleased. Since I loved him, I was expected to sacrifice my life's work for his "greater good," for his family. My mouth opened, but my throat was filled with the metallic taste of blood. I wanted to ask him what gave him the right. I wanted to ask if he knew that I was nearly flagged by Interpol cracking that dark web port. But in the end, I said nothing. Any more words would just be another form of self-humiliation. Exhausted, I just ended the call. The next day, the internal showcase for the Five Families went on as scheduled. This was the key meeting that would determine if the Costello family would dominate the money laundering channels for the next quarter. Isabella stood confidently before the large screen, demonstrating the processing power of the 'Phoenix' system to the heads of the other families. The capos and financial experts in the audience murmured their approval, marveling that the Don had produced such a brilliant daughter. Then came the Q&A session. A request for an anonymous internal communication suddenly flashed onto the main screen. A glaring red message popped up, accompanied by a piercing alert tone: [I challenge the operational capabilities of the presenter, Miss Isabella Rossi. The core logic lock of this system uses an architecture originally created three years ago by Miss Ava Moretti.] [Furthermore, the current demonstration has a fatal flaw. In the event of a capital overload, the entire dark web coordinate system will be exposed to the FBI. May I ask Miss Rossi, as the "creator," what is your emergency kill switch protocol?] Isabella didn't know the first thing about algorithms. She didn't even know what a kill switch was. She stared at the words, her face instantly turning ashen. The clicker in her hand fell to the floor with a clatter, and her panicked gaze shot to Damian in the audience. The host tried to regain control of the room, but the whispers were already too loud to contain. "Knew that airhead princess didn't suddenly grow a brain." "So she stole it? And she stole something that wasn't even finished?" I sat in the corner, my heart hammering in my chest. I didn't do this. I would never resort to such a scorched-earth tactic. I wouldn't stoop to something so underhanded. Just then, a cold gaze cut through the chaotic crowd and locked onto me. I looked up and met Damian's deep grey eyes. He stared at me from across the room, his brow furrowed, his expression a mask of undisguised suspicion and profound disappointment. He didn't even have to speak. I read everything in his eyes. He was convinced that I, bitter about having my work stolen, had deliberately sabotaged the meeting in front of the Five Families, putting the family's interests at risk. He saw me as the kind of person who would destroy Isabella's future, even if it meant damaging the family's reputation. My heart sank. Damian stood up, buttoned his suit jacket, and strode onto the stage. He took the microphone from the trembling Isabella, shielding her with his body. "Gentlemen, my name is Damian Costello." "Regarding the anonymous query, I will offer one final clarification." "The entire underlying logic of the Phoenix system was architected independently by Isabella, under my direct authorization. She is the sole owner of this system. I stake my reputation as Consigliere on it." "As for the 'flaw' that was mentioned, that is a bait program Isabella deliberately left for counter-surveillance purposes. She simply hadn't had the chance to explain it yet." He paused. His cold eyes turned to me again. "As for the mention of Ava Moretti…" He let out a small, dismissive laugh. "Ava is merely my administrative assistant. She handles filing and fetches coffee. She lacks the strategic vision and technical capability to architect a financial system of this magnitude on her own." The room exploded. "So that Ava is just a gofer?" "I knew it. The rumors about her were always overblown." "Sounds like some secretary's pathetic attempt to climb the ladder..." I froze in my seat, feeling as if he had stripped me naked in front of everyone and lashed me with a whip. Ten years of fighting side-by-side, countless times saving the family from financial ruin. And from his lips, it all became "fetching coffee." He had publicly nullified my entire worth. He denied my skills, denied my sacrifices, denied the very meaning of my existence. And he did it all just to protect a princess who didn't even understand the basics of her own supposed creation. I felt a wave of humiliation and despair unlike anything I had ever known. Damian turned back to the teary-eyed Isabella behind him, his voice instantly soft. "Bella, don't be afraid." "Continue with your presentation. I'm right here." Chapter 6 Damian's words were like a large-caliber round, punching straight through my armor. The mocking, knowing looks from the crowd stung like a thousand tiny cuts. Administrative assistant? Fetches coffee? Lacks core capabilities? A decade of risking my life, of pulling the family back from the brink of financial disaster, was reduced to something so cheap, so worthless. All to pave the way for a princess who had nothing but her bloodline. I saw a flash of triumph in Isabella's eyes as she stood behind him. It was a needle that punctured my last shred of reason. A molten rage washed over me, burning away my composure. I shot to my feet, my chair scraping back as I charged toward the stage. The moment my foot hit the first step, a powerful hand seized my wrist. Damian had moved with lightning speed. His grip was so tight it felt like my bones would crack. "Come with me," he warned, his voice low. The face I had loved for ten years was now as cold and unfamiliar as a stranger's. "Let go!" I struggled, my voice trembling with rage. Damian gave me no chance to resist. He gave a slight nod to the stunned audience, his tone returning to its usual elegant calm. "My apologies. My assistant appears to be emotional over some work-related changes. Excuse us." With that, he ignored my struggles and practically dragged me out of the conference room. The heavy oak door slammed shut behind us, cutting off all sound from within. In the empty hallway, only the sound of our breathing remained. I wrenched my arm free. An angry red mark was already blooming on my wrist. I leaned back against the wall, gasping for air, and stared at him. "You'd grind me into the dust just to prop her up?" "In your eyes, am I less than a dog? At least a dog gets a word of praise from its master. What am I?" Tears welled up, but I forced my eyes wide, refusing to let them fall. Damian watched me in silence. The dim hallway light cut his face into sharp planes of shadow, hiding his expression. Just when I thought he would fob me off with more of his pragmatic reasoning, he suddenly took a step forward. He braced one hand on the wall beside my head and used the other to grip my chin, forcing me to look up at him. He lowered his head, and his cold lips crashed down on mine without warning. There was no prelude. It was a violent, silencing act. His lips were cool and dry, moving against mine with an unyielding force that demanded submission. My body went rigid. My mind went blank. Damian pulled back just enough to look down at my stunned, speechless face. His throat worked as he swallowed. "Now… can you calm down and not ruin this meeting?" My eyes widened in disbelief as I stared at the face so close to mine. I had chased him for a decade, fantasized countless times about this kind of closeness, even accepted an engagement that relegated me to the shadows. I had once so desperately craved his touch, dreamed so many times of a kiss where he would lose control. But now this long-awaited kiss had come, under these circumstances, delivered this way, all to shut me up. A wave of shame, sharper than any public humiliation, washed over and drowned me. A sharp crack echoed through the corridor. I raised my hand and, with all the strength I possessed, brought it down across his face. My palm stung from the impact. Damian's head snapped to the side. Five red fingerprints bloomed across his proud face. He was stunned. For the first time, I saw shock in those deep grey eyes that were always in control of everything. My hand was still shaking, but my heart felt like it had been hollowed out, aching with an empty pain. "You think I'm throwing a tantrum? You think a kiss will make me forget this?" I looked at him, and the tears finally broke free, but they were accompanied by a cold laugh. "Damian, you disgust me." Without another look at him, I turned and strode away. I didn't go back to the conference room. I didn't try to argue my case. None of it mattered anymore. The light in the hallway was blinding. I raised a hand and wiped away my tears. I went straight back to my office and opened the encrypted server. My fingers flew across the keyboard, entering one final command. Initiate backdoor program. Format all data. Under that string of commands, the core code of the Phoenix model dissolved into endless, meaningless gibberish. If you wanted to give it away, then I would reduce it to a pile of scrap. After I was done, I pulled out the hard drive and fed it into a shredder. Then, I blocked Damian's number and all his contacts. A few hours later, I was standing in the security line at JFK Airport. The boarding announcement began. I picked up my small suitcase and walked toward the gate without looking back. The plane climbed into the sky, into the thick blanket of clouds. Goodbye, Damian. And goodbye to ten years of my own idiocy.