Chapter 2 - Descent into Denver
The flight continued in a heavy, charged silence that felt louder than any argument.
Cassandra stared straight ahead, her mind racing. She had spent three years convincing herself that Damon Prescott was a machine—a cold, calculated entity made of code, stock options, and ambition. She had braced herself for this exact encounter a thousand times in her daydreams, imagining him offering her a check to keep quiet, or worse, looking at the twins with polite indifference before walking away to board a private jet.
She had never imagined that a dropped crayon would crack his armor.
She had never imagined he would willingly walk away from a $780 million acquisition just to sit in an economy-class middle seat.
“You’re insane,” she whispered finally, breaking the silence as the seatbelt signs blinked back on for their descent into Denver International Airport. “You’ve spent three years building an empire, and you’re just going to throw it away because of a coincidence on a red-eye flight?”
“I didn't throw anything away,” Damon replied, his voice calm, steady, and entirely unshakable. He was looking out the window at the glittering grid of Denver lights cutting through the snowy darkness below. “I just spent the last three years building a house with no foundation. Tonight, I found out what was missing.”
“You don't get to do that, Damon,” she said, her voice rising slightly, thick with the accumulated pain of a thousand lonely nights. “You don't get to walk out of my life, play God in Seattle, and then stroll back in like nothing happened just because you discovered you have an heir. Being a father isn't a stock option you cash in when it’s convenient.”
Damon turned his head, his green eyes—the exact twin of Luke’s—meeting hers with a force that made her breath hitch.
“You’re right,” he said softly. “I don't deserve a second chance. I was arrogant, I was blind, and I let fear of failure make me choose a corporate title over the only person who ever mattered. But I am not walking away, Cassandra. You and the kids are getting off this plane, and you are coming with me.”
“I have my own apartment. I have a job at a graphic design firm—”
“You live in a two-bedroom rental on the east side of Denver,” Damon interrupted smoothly. “I know because I’ve spent the last hour running background checks on your public address through my corporate security firm while pretending to read legal briefs.”
Cassandra’s jaw dropped. “You hacked my address on an airplane?!”
“Satellite data and public registry records aren't hacking, Cassandra. It’s basic reconnaissance,” he replied with a faint, dangerous smirk. “And for the record, the heating in that building is sub-standard. My children are not spending Christmas in a drafty apartment while I own three heated properties within five miles of here.”
“I don't want your charity, Damon!”
“It’s not charity, it’s child support enforced by a man who is legally and morally incapable of letting you out of his sight ever again.”
Before Cassandra could think of a sufficiently devastating retort, the plane’s landing gear thudded against the tarmac. The cabin erupted into the usual symphony of unbuckling seatbelts, rustling carry-ons, and crying infants.
The moment the aircraft docked at the jet bridge, Damon stood up with an efficiency that brooked no argument. He grabbed Cassandra’s two heavy carry-on bags from the overhead bin before anyone else could move, slinging one over his shoulder and holding the other in his hand.
“Come on,” he said, extending his hand down to Luke.
Luke looked up at him, grinned, and placed his small hand inside Damon’s large, warm palm.
Cassandra felt a lump rise in her throat. She scooped up a sleeping Violet, adjusted her diaper bag, and let herself be herded out into the bustling chaos of the Denver airport terminal.
The midnight hour was fast approaching. Christmas Eve had officially turned into Christmas Day.
As they walked past the crowded baggage claim area, a tall, impeccably dressed woman in a charcoal wool coat came jogging toward them, panting slightly. It was Nora Beck, chief strategy officer of Prescott Technologies, looking as if she had just survived a natural disaster.
“Damon!” Nora gasped, coming to a halt in front of them. She looked frantically between Damon, Cassandra, and the two toddlers. “Thank God. The board is in full revolt. Merritt Systems just accepted Calder’s bid fifteen minutes ago because you missed the midnight signature deadline. We lost the acquisition!”
Nora stopped talking as she finally registered the scene in front of her. Her eyes widened as she looked at Luke’s green eyes and stubborn sandy-brown curls.
Damon didn't even blink. He adjusted his grip on the carry-on bag and looked down at his chief strategy officer with a calm, serene smile that terrified her.
“Let Calder have them, Nora,” Damon said smoothly.
May you like
Nora stared at him as if he had lost his mind. “Let them have it? Damon, that was seven hundred and eighty million dollars! The neonatal platform was your life’s work!”
“No, Nora,” Damon said, wrapping his free arm securely around Cassandra’s waist, pulling her flush against his side despite her reflexive stiffening. “My life’s work is standing right here. Merry Christmas, Nora. Take the week off.”
