Damon's POV
People often assumed they knew me.
The newspapers called me The King of Blackwood.
Business magazines preferred The Young Titan.
The internet had somehow decided on The Ice King CEO.
None of them were right.
None of them knew me.
They only knew the man who signed billion-dollar contracts and stood expressionless in front of cameras.
They didn't know the man who preferred silence over parties.
Or the one who still visited his grandmother's rose garden whenever life became too loud.
"Sir?"
Olivia's voice pulled me from my thoughts.
"We've arrived."
I stepped out of the car, greeted by the familiar sight of Blackwood Children's Hospital.
Unlike corporate events, these visits were never announced.
No reporters.
No photographers.
No speeches.
Just children.
The hospital director greeted me with a warm smile.
"Welcome back, Mr. Blackwood."
"How are the renovations?"
"Finished ahead of schedule, thanks to your foundation."
"Good."
As we walked through the pediatric ward, laughter echoed down the corridor.
Children sat around a long table, painting pictures with bright watercolors.
One little boy looked up.
"Mister!"
His cheeks were covered in blue paint.
"Do you wanna paint?"
The nurses froze.
The director looked equally nervous.
No one expected the CEO of Blackwood Global to join an arts-and-crafts session.
I loosened my suit jacket.
"Only if you promise not to laugh."
The little boy grinned.
"No promises."
Twenty minutes later...
I found myself wearing a tiny paper crown a little girl had insisted I needed.
"It's because you're the king."
"So I've been told."
She nodded seriously.
"But kings need crowns."
Gabriel, who had arrived halfway through the visit, stopped dead in the doorway.
His jaw dropped.
Then he pulled out his phone.
"Oh, absolutely not."
I stood.
"Delete it."
"I'm preserving history."
"Gabriel."
"The mighty Damon Blackwood..."
He struggled to breathe through his laughter.
"...wearing glitter."
The children burst into giggles.
One little girl pointed at him.
"You need one too."
Before Gabriel could escape, three children surrounded him with stickers.
I folded my arms.
"Looks good on you."
He looked horrified.
"You planned this."
"I have no idea what you're talking about."
For the first time in years...
I laughed.
A real laugh.
The nurses exchanged surprised glances.
Apparently, I smiled more around children than adults.
After leaving the hospital, Gabriel climbed into my car.
"You know..."
"What?"
"I've known you for twenty years."
"And?"
"I've never seen you smile that much."
I looked out the window.
"They're honest."
"Children?"
"They don't care who I am."
Gabriel became unusually quiet.
"You'd make a good father."
The words caught me off guard.
"I doubt that."
"I don't."
He smiled.
"You already protect thousands of people."
"I think you'd protect your own family with your life."
The conversation lingered in my mind long after he left.
That evening, I visited my grandfather.
Arthur was pruning the roses in the garden himself despite the gardener's protests.
"You'll ruin your back."
He glanced over his shoulder.
"I'm old."
"Not fragile."
I took the shears from his hands.
"I'll do it."
He smiled knowingly.
"I was wondering how long it'd take before you stole those from me."
We worked in comfortable silence.
Eventually, he spoke.
"Your grandmother loved roses."
"I remember."
"She always believed flowers reflected the person who grew them."
I looked at him.
"And what do these say about you?"
Arthur chuckled.
"That I'm stubborn."
I couldn't argue with that.
He looked toward the sunset.
"Damon..."
"When your parents died..."
"I worried you'd spend your whole life building walls around yourself."
I stopped trimming.
"I've managed."
"You've survived."
Arthur corrected gently.
"That's different from living."
The garden became quiet again.
"You know..."
"I've accepted many awards in my life."
"I've built this company."
"I've made more money than I could ever spend."
He smiled sadly.
"But none of that compares to watching someone you love smile because you're home."
His words stayed with me all evening.
Back at the penthouse, Victor knocked before entering.
"The exhibition committee confirmed everything."
"They're expecting the anonymous artist."
I nodded.
"Good."
Victor hesitated.
"They're still using only a pseudonym."
"So no one knows who they are."
"No."
He frowned thoughtfully.
"Must be quite a humble person."
Maybe.
Or maybe...
Someone had convinced them they weren't good enough.
I walked toward the window.
The city sparkled beneath the night sky.
Somewhere out there...
A young artist had decided to step out of the shadows.
She didn't know it yet.
But one decision...