Cory pushed open the door to his brother's office without bothering to knock. He never did. The sharp click of his shoes echoed against the polished floor as he strolled inside, his usual easy grin already tugging at the corners of his lips.
Damian sat behind his massive oak desk, back straight, face unreadable. His eyes were fixed on the papers in front of him, the faint glow from the city skyline behind him casting a cold outline across his sharp features. He didn't flinch, didn't glance up, didn't acknowledge his brother's arrival.
"You know," Cory began, shutting the door softly behind him, "most people at least pretend to look busy when they're distracted. You don't even bother."
Damian lifted his gaze, slow and deliberate, then lowered it again as though Cory were nothing more than the whisper of wind sneaking in through the cracks. His hand moved to another sheet of paper, his pen gliding over the surface without pause.
Cory chuckled. "So that's how we're going to play it today? Silent treatment?"
Still nothing.
Cory walked closer and leaned against the edge of the desk, folding his arms. "Fine. I'll say it. You're thinking about her. That girl from the lobby. The one who bumped into you like she owned the place."
At that, Damian's pen froze for half a second. A fraction, no more. To anyone else, it would have been invisible. But Cory had grown up reading every tiny crack in his brother's armor. He saw it. He smiled wider.
"Knew it," Cory said. "You're curious about her."
Damian finally looked up, his gaze calm but chilling. "You're imagining things."
"Am I?" Cory tilted his head, his grin infuriatingly confident. "She's beautiful. Smart too, if she's here interviewing for this company. You noticed. Don't deny it."
"She's a candidate," Damian replied flatly. His voice carried no weight of interest, no flicker of warmth. "Nothing more."
"Right," Cory said, pushing himself off the desk. He took a slow step around the room, scanning the walls lined with framed achievements, photographs of business expansions, and one large painting their father had once hung here. "That's why you froze just now. For half a breath, you weren't the unshakable CEO. You were a man who got caught off guard."
Damian's expression never shifted. His lips pressed into a thin line as he returned to his papers.
"You hide it well," Cory continued, circling behind the chair. "But you can't fool me. I've seen that look before. You don't usually bother giving anyone more than a second of your time. But today, you did."
Silence.
Cory stopped behind Damian's chair, lowering his voice. "She's different, isn't she?"
Damian set his pen down, folding his hands together on the desk. When he finally spoke, his tone was sharp, precise. "Cory, I have no patience for your games. Leave."
Most people would have backed down. Cory, of course, was not most people. He moved back around to the front and leaned against the desk again, his smile never fading. "You know what I think? I think you're already interested. And that makes this fun."
Damian's eyes darkened. "Fun?"
"Yes," Cory said, tapping his finger lightly on the desk. "Because I'm interested too."
The words lingered between them, heavy and deliberate.
Damian's jaw tightened, but he didn't react further. He stared at Cory with the same cold stillness he gave to rivals in the boardroom, the kind that made grown men lose their composure.
Cory, unfazed, leaned in slightly. "You always get everything first. The company. The recognition. The spotlight. But maybe this time, things won't go the way you expect."
Damian's gaze didn't waver. "You overestimate yourself."
"And you underestimate me."
The tension thickened, silent but undeniable. The city noise filtered faintly through the glass windows, a reminder of the world beyond their personal battlefield.
Finally, Damian reached for his pen again. "You mistake my indifference for weakness."
"No," Cory replied smoothly, pushing off the desk and heading toward the door. "I mistake your denial for fear."
He placed his hand on the handle, then looked back one last time. His smile softened, losing some of its playful edge. "She's going to change something, Damian. For you. For both of us."
Damian didn't respond. He didn't move. He didn't even breathe differently.
Cory opened the door and slipped out, leaving the office heavy with unspoken words.
For a long moment, Damian sat perfectly still, staring at the paper before him. His hand rested on the pen, unmoving.
Then, in the quiet of his office, his thoughts betrayed him.
The brief touch of her shoulder against his in the lobby replayed with startling clarity. The way her eyes widened, the quick apology, the determined steps as she walked away without lingering. No hesitation. No effort to charm. No fear.
It unsettled him.
Most people bent beneath his presence. They stammered, they bowed, they tried to impress. She hadn't.
Damian forced the thought aside, picking up his pen again. He buried himself in numbers and contracts, each stroke of ink sharper than the last. But the memory lingered, stubborn, like a mark that refused to be erased.
And for the first time in a long time, Damian Stone felt the faintest crack in the armor he had built so carefully