h4Chapter 359: using/h4

    Sofia’s POV

    Olivia’s teleport pulled us into a room, but this time the air was different—heavy with the smell of ink and old leather. An office. My eyes darted around, frantic, until I saw him.

    Damien sat behind his desk, his back straight, his jaw tight. In his arms was our son, who leanedfortably against him, ying with a pen Damien had given him. The sight should have eased me. My baby was safe. But instead, it only made my chest ache harder. His phoney face down on the desk beside him.

    I stumbled forward, my voice breaking. "Damien, why were you not picking up your calls..."

    He looked up at me, his brow furrowed as he nced at me and then back at Olivia. "So this is what you thought?" His tone was calm, too calm—dangerously so. "That I’d run away with him? That I’d take him away from you?"

    The words hit me like ws to the chest. How did he read my thoughts so fast...? "You were gone all day. You never picked up your phone. I didn’t know where you were. I didn’t know if he was safe. What else was I supposed to think?"

    Damien’s eyes burned into mine, and for a moment I thought he would yell. Instead, he rose slowly, cing our son gently onto the couch beside his desk. The boy curled into the cushions,fortable and calm, as Damien stepped closer.

    His voice dropped, low as if he didn’t want our son to hear. "You think so little of me, Sofia? That I would take him from you?" His chest rose and fell unevenly. "You believe I’d do something that cruel?"

    I shook my head, swallowing hard. "I don’t want to believe it—but you don’t talk to me, Damien. You don’t look at me. You only give your attention to him. And then today—you disappear without a word! My mind went to the worst ce because you shut me out."

    For the first time, something cracked in his mask. His jaw clenched, his voice trembling just slightly. "I would never take him away from you. Never."

    I swallowed hard, ncing past him, watching Charlie giggle in Damien’s chair as he spun the pen like it was a treasure. My chest swelled with relief and resentment all at once. I forced myself to face Damien again, only to find his expression unreadable, carved from ice.

    "My phone was on silent. I didn’t want interruptions," he said tly. "And I told the housekeeper to inform you that Charlie and I would bete. So why the hell were you so worried? Why let such silly thoughts crawl into your head?"

    My lips parted, but no words came.

    He stepped closer, lowering his tone again, his eyes boring into mine. "Sofia, listen to me. If I ever wanted custody of Charlie... if I ever wanted to keep him, I wouldn’t sneak around like a coward. I would tell you openly. To your face." His jaw tightened, his chest rising heavily. "But that’s not what this is. Charlie needs his mother. He needs you."

    My breath hitched, confusion tangling with the relief his words gave me.

    Damien’s gaze softened for just a fleeting second as it flicked back to where Charlie sat. "I may hate you, Sofia. I might be angry at you. But don’t ever believe I would use our son against you. He’s not a weapon. He’s... our boy."

    I blinked hard, my chest still trembling with leftover fear, but my eyes drifted back to Charlie. He was grinning as he spun the pen between his fingers, his little legs swinging happily off the couch.

    "Mom!" he beamed when he saw me walking closer. "I had so much fun!" His voice was bright, pure, and free of all the worry that had been eating me alive.

    My lips curved despite the heaviness in my chest. "Did you now?" I whispered, my voice breaking with both relief and love. I lowered myself onto the couch beside him, pulling him gently into my arms. His warmth melted some of the cold that had been lodged in me all day.

    He leaned into me, excited. "Daddy showed me his office! He let me sit in his chair and draw on some papers." He giggled proudly, and I couldn’t help but smile through my tears, brushing my hand over his hair.

    For a few moments, I let myself just breathe him in—his scent, hisughter, the sound of his joy. It calmed me more than any words could.

    Behind me, I faintly heard Olivia’s voice, low and steady. "She was worried sick, Damien. You have to understand that."

    Damien’s reply came quieter, rougher. "I didn’t think... she’d believe I could do something like that."

    I kept my focus on Charlie, not daring to turn. My boy’s chatter filled my ears, drowning out the weight of their words. Still, every syble sank into me, reminding me of how fragile everything between us had be.

    After a moment, Olivia came to me. She stood beside me, her gaze searching mine. "Do you want me to teleport you back?" she asked gently.

    I shook my head quickly, my arms tightening around Charlie. "No," I whispered firmly. "I’ll stay. Thank you."

    She nodded. "Call if anythinges up, okay?"I nodded, shing her an appreciative smile before she teleported away.

    Damien didn’t say another word after Olivia vanished. He simply walked back to his desk, lowered himself into his chair, and picked up a stack of papers as though nothing had happened. His face was carved from stone, his focus already on the work in front of him.

    I watched him for a long moment, my chest tight. Finally, I found my voice.

    "Why didn’t you just use the office in the mansion?" I asked quietly. "Where... where even is this ce?"

    He didn’t look up right away. His pen scratched against the paper before he finally set it down and leaned back, his eyes meeting mine. "This is mypany," he said simply. "It’s new. Barely two years old."

    My brows knit together. "Company?"

    He gave a short nod. "It’s just a few minutes’ drive from the packhouse. Not far at all. But I needed space—somewhere separate. Somewhere I could work without the noise of the pack or the weight of the mansion pressing down on me."

    I looked down, chewing on my lip, unsure what to say. My eyes softened when theynded on Charlie, who had slumped against the couch cushions. His little hands were still wrapped around the pen, his chest rising and falling with the rhythm of deep sleep.

    Carefully, I rose and crossed the room, slipping the pen from his tiny fingers before lifting him gently into my arms. He stirred but didn’t wake, his head resting against my shoulder.

    Iid him down on the long sofa in the corner—the one that looked more like a king-sized lounge than office furniture. I tucked a throw nket over him, brushing my hand lightly across his hair before stepping back.

    For a moment, I just stood there, watching his peaceful face. The storm inside me quieted, even if just a little.

    Then, slowly, my eyes drifted back to Damien—still at his desk, still pretending to be buried in his work, totally avoiding me.

    My eyes drifted across the desk andnded on something—subtle, but enough. A faint scent clung to the corner of the desk. Sweet. Feminine. Perfume. Or maybe my mind just wanted to see it that way. Either way, my blood boiled.

    "So you can sit here all day, in your little secret office, answering to no one," I snapped, my voice pained. "You can’t pick up my calls, Can’t even spare a moment to tell me where you are? Of course you were with a woman—that’s why you refused to pick up my call."

    His head shot up, his eyes narrowing. "A woman?" His voice was low and annoyed. "That’s what you think of me? That I sneak around like a coward, fucking a woman while my son is in my arms? Are you insane?"

    I frowned. "You don’t have to deny it. After all, we are not together anymore," I spat, trying my best to hide my jealousy.

    His chest heaved, his eyes burning into mine. And before I knew it, he was right before me—so close I had to tilt my head back to meet his gaze. My back hit the wall as he leaned in, his palms t on the wall on either side of me, trapping me there.

    "You drive me insane, Sofia," he hissed, his face inches from mine. "Always assuming, always pushing me, always wing at my control—"

    "I hate you," I spat, though the words trembled, unsteady. My breath betrayed me, shaky and quick, matching the thunder in my chest.

    His jaw tightened, his eyes flicking down to my lips for a fleeting second before snapping back up. "Do you?" he whispered, huskily.

    And then—like a dam breaking—we collided. His mouth crushed against mine, not gentle, not tender, but desperate, furious. My hands flew up to his chest, meaning to push him away, but instead they fisted into his shirt, dragging him closer. The kiss was fire, pain, and relief—all tangled into one.

    For a moment, I hated him. For a moment, I loved him. And for a moment, I couldn’t tell the difference.