Chapter 6 - The Secret in the VaultBriar screamed, rushing past Damien to the edge of the shattered window.
Down below, twenty floors up, the wind whipped violently through the gaping hole. On the metal maintenance balcony just outside, Corbin lay motionless, pinned beneath Goliath’s massive front paws. The iron pipe lay twisted yards away.
Damien stepped up behind Briar, slipping his arm around her waist to pull her back from the dangerous ledge. His touch was firm, possessive, yet strangely grounding.
"He’s... is he dead?" Briar whispered, her whole body shaking violently against Damien's chest.
"No," Damien replied, his voice chillingly calm. "He’s wishing he was. My men will clean up the trash. He will never, ever find you again, Briar. It’s over."
Briar turned around, burying her face in the expensive fabric of Damien’s shirt, sobbing out all the terror, the trauma, and the exhaustion of her past life. Damien wrapped both arms around her, burying his face in her hair, inhaling her scent as if she were the only oxygen in a dying world.
An hour later, the penthouse was spotless. The glass was replaced by an emergency repair crew working under armed guard, and Corbin had vanished into the black hole of Damien’s private correctional facilities—never to see the light of day again.
Briar sat quietly in Damien’s massive personal library, wrapped in a cashmere blanket, sipping chamomile tea. Goliath lay contentedly across her feet like a heavy rug.
Damien walked in, holding a thick, worn leather-bound book. He placed it gently on the mahogany table in front of her.
"What is this?" Briar asked, her voice still hoarse from crying.
"My past," Damien said quietly, sitting across from her. "You wanted to know why I live in a fortress. Why I trust no one. Why Goliath refused to eat." He opened the cover. Inside was a faded photograph of a young woman with hair just like Briar’s, holding a puppy version of Goliath. "Six years ago, my enemies tried to break me by targeting the only person I ever loved. They failed to kill me, so they destroyed her instead."
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Briar looked up, her breath catching as she stared at the photograph—and then into Damien’s haunted eyes.
"When you walked into my clinic," Damien whispered, reaching out to stroke a stray lock of hair from her face, "you didn't just save my dog, Briar. You brought a ghost back to life. And I am never letting her go."
