I stood too quickly, nearly knocking over the water glass. “Sorry,” I said automatically, steadying it.
“It’s fine.” Her smile remained pleasant, professional. “Follow me, please.”
I trailed behind her down a corridor lined with offices, Natalie walking steadily beside me. Through glass walls, I glimpsed people at desks, in meetings, all of them looking like they belonged in this temple of success. My steps slowed as we approached a corner office, larger than the others.
The receptionist paused at the threshold. “Mr. Lajeunesse and Ms. Wong are here, Mr. Richards.”
“Thank you, Jennifer. Please send them in.”
The voice was deep, authoritative. My stomach tightened. Jennifer stepped aside, gesturing us forward. I forced my feet to move, clutching my backpack like a lifeline. Natalie’s presence beside me was the only thing keeping me from bolting.
The office was spacious, with the same stunning view of the city. Bookshelves lined one wall, filled with leather-bound volumes. A conference table occupied one corner, while an enormous desk dominated the space.
And behind it stood Damian Richards.
He was tall—taller than I’d expected, though not as tall as Marcus. Broad-shouldered in a perfectly tailored charcoal suit. Dark hair with just a touch of silver at the temples. Strong jawline, aristocratic features. The kind of man who commanded attention just by existing.
My pulse quickened, fight-or-flight instinct screaming. Wealthy, powerful, older man. Danger. Run.
But then he stepped around the desk, and I saw his eyes. Clear blue,yes, but not cold like Marcus’s. Something else lived there. Something I couldn’t name.
“Damian,” Natalie said, her tone warmer than I’d heard it before. “This is Alex Lajeunesse.”
“Mr. Lajeunesse.” He extended his hand, then seemed to reconsider when I flinched slightly. He dropped it casually, as if he’d meant to adjust his cuff link all along. “Please, have a seat.”
He gestured toward the chairs in front of his desk, then returned to his own seat rather than looming over us. The small courtesy wasn’t lost on me.
The massive desk between us might as well have been an ocean. Richards sat on the side of wealth, influence, safety—everything I’d lost. I was acutely aware of my secondhand clothes, my unwashed hair, the faint smell of car upholstery that seemed to have seeped into my skin.
And yet, unlike in Marcus’s office where the furniture had been arranged to intimidate, to remind visitors of their inferiority, Richards’s space felt different. The visitor chairs were positioned at a respectful distance, not crowded by the desk. The lighting was even, not designed to shine in a visitor’s eyes while leaving the occupant in flattering shadow. Small differences that spoke volumes.
Natalie took the chair to my right, her presence both reassuring and intimidating. This meeting mattered to her. She’d stuck her neck out for me.
I perched on the edge of my chair, backpack still clutched to my chest. “Thank you for seeing me, Mr. Richards. I know you’re busy. I appreciate you making time.”
“Natalie speaks highly of you.” His voice was measured, calm. “She tells me you need help with a serious situation.”
“Alex came to the legal aid clinic last week, and I finally saw him a couple days ago,” Natalie explained to Damian, her voice professionalbut with an undercurrent of urgency. “We’re overwhelmed with cases, and frankly, we don’t have the resources to go up against someone like Delaney.”
I nodded, swallowing hard. Up close, I could see the quality of his suit, his watch, the pen on his desk that probably cost more than everything I was wearing. This man lived in Marcus’s world. Moved in the same circles, probably. The thought made my skin crawl.
“I’m sorry,” I blurted. “This was a mistake. I shouldn’t have come.”
I started to rise, but Richards didn’t move to stop me. He simply sat there, watching me with those calm blue eyes. Natalie tensed beside me but followed his lead, not grabbing my arm or blocking my path.
“You’re free to leave at any time, Mr. Lajeunesse,” Richards said. “But I’ve cleared my schedule for the next hour. If you’d like to tell me what’s happening, I’m here to listen. If at the end of it you decide you don’t want my help, then that’s fine.”
The lack of pressure caught me off guard. Marcus would have blocked the door, used his body to intimidate me into staying. Richards just waited, his hands folded on the desk. Not reaching for me. Not demanding anything.
I looked at Natalie, who nodded almost imperceptibly. Then back to Richards, searching his face for any sign of the contempt or disbelief I’d seen from others. There was none.
My hand tightened on my backpack strap, thumb rubbing against the frayed fabric—a nervous habit I’d developed in the months after leaving Marcus. The backpack contained everything important I had left: my sketchbook, a change of clothes. My entire life, reduced to what I could carry.
What did I have to lose by talking? If Richards didn’t believe me, I’d be no worse off than I was now.
Slowly, I sank back into the chair.
“Marcus Delaney,” I said, the name bitter on my tongue. “He’s… he was my boyfriend. For three years.”
