Chapter 297: CEO of Jealousy

His blue eyes roamed over me, taking in the wrinkled shirt I had worn to bed and the tired look I knew was doing me no favors.

His gaze lingered a fraction longer than necessary before returning to my face, with something in his expression that I couldn’t quite decipher.

Actually, that was a lie.

I knew exactly what it was this time... Jealousy.

It was subtle, hidden beneath his calm exterior, but I knew Damien well enough to catch the slight tightening of his jaw and the way his fingers stilled around the mug.

"Must have been...fun." Damien continued.

Hearing those words in his voice was annoyingly irritating, especially when they came wrapped in that familiar low tone that managed to sound both polite and possessive.

I stood by the doorway, keys still in hand, staring at him and weighing the bigger issue: his presence or my father’s delight about it.

"Why the fuck are you here now?"

Dad made a disapproving noise from his spot. "Ollie. That’s not a way how to treat visitors."

"What? I’m just asking."

"You could at least say good morning first." He said and I rolled my eyes with annoyed sigh.

I glanced back at Damien, feeling their gaze on me like an unwanted blanket. "Good morning."

Damien’s mouth curved slightly. "Good morning."

The pause that followed seemed to stretch on, a familiar silence we used to share while deciding how much honesty was acceptable.

Then he took another look at my clothes, from the wrinkled shirt to the fact I was still in yesterday’s jeans.

I narrowed my eyes. "And yes, I did have a nice night out."

He arched an eyebrow. "With your friend?"

There it was and I almost smiled.

I should have quickly set the record straight, told him Connor had gotten drunk, I had driven him home, and I’d slept on the couch with nothing romantic or sexual happening...but instead, I thought about how I deserved to be a bit petty.

The part of me that remembered all his unanswered texts and empty promises decided it was time for a little payback.

"Yeah," I said, walking further into the room and purposefully dropping my keys onto the side table with a clink. "It was really fun."

Damien’s jaw tightened ever so slightly.

Absolutely fucking beautiful...I had never been so entertained before eight in the morning!

At least he had gotten just an inkling of how I felt when he vanished and suddenly heard he was CEO and in a possible relationship with that actress with no idea of it was real or just a dumb rumour.

Dad, oblivious to the silent tension between us, cheerfully pointed toward the kitchen. "There’s coffee...and breakfast."

I eyed him suspiciously. "Breakfast?"

"I was just about to make some since I didn’t know when you’d be back from your date’s house." Then Dad looked at Damien with that proud grin he usually reserved for when I actually remembered to buy milk without being told. "Actually, you should stay for breakfast, Son."

My head whipped toward him. "Dad?!"

"What?"

"He...he probably has somewhere to be." I said, scramble my brain for any sort of excuse.

"Well, I don’t actually." Damien calmly set his mug down, the soft sound of ceramic on wood somehow louder than it should’ve been. "I can stay."

I stared at him, of course, he could.

This asshole... little piece of shit.

He looked almost smug now, and I was starting to think my dad had unwittingly invited a wolf in and offered him a blanket.

Dad smiled. "Good...good. Sit down, Damien."

Damien stood, and for one ridiculous moment, I felt acutely aware of just how much taller he was than me.

He adjusted his shirt sleeve, picked up his coffee, and walked toward the dining table with that same quiet confidence he had when we shared a cramped dorm room, making the whole place feel like his own.

As he passed me, he leaned closer, his voice dropping so only I could hear.

"You said it was a fun night?"

I turned my head toward him, refusing to give him the satisfaction of retreating. "Very."

His eyes flashed with something sharp, then I smiled sweetly. "Connor is a good conversationalist."

Damien paused for half a second but kept walking. I had to bite my cheek to keep from laughing. This was going to be a long morning.

I changed quickly and returned to the kitchen a few minutes later, where Frank had jumped into breakfast preparations even though he was supposed to be taking it slow with his physical therapy.

He insisted his legs were getting better and that his therapist had told him he’d be walking more normally soon in about some weeks.

Apparently, that was all the encouragement he needed to act like he hadn’t spent years in a hospital bed.

The aroma of coffee and toast filled the small kitchen, and for a heartbeat, it felt like a normal Sunday morning...until I remembered who was over there arranging plates.

Damien was helping him, I froze in the doorway.

"Why are you helping him?"

Damien glanced over, completely unbothered. "Your father asked."

Dad smiled, looking way too pleased with himself. "I asked him because he actually listens...unlike a certain other son of mine."

I shot a look at my dad. "That’s hurtful, I always listen to you!"

"You’re my son. I almost expect you to ignore me."

Dad laughed in my face while Damien’s mouth twitched in what almost resembled a smile.

I took a seat across from Damien, instantly regretting all my choices that led me to this table, and watched as my father bustled around the kitchen with an energy I hadn’t seen in weeks

I even had a feeling of nostalgia, of Damien and I... visiting Dad in hospital. Then the three of us eating sandwiches as I watched as Dad and Damien formed a emotional support group that might as well had been called "Oliver Reyes’ Temper Victims Association"

Breakfast was surprisingly normal for about three minutes. Frank asked Damien how he’d been.

Damien answered politely, then he inquired about the Lockwood Group, and Damien explained he’d been CEO for two years.

Frank asked about the city, business, travel and Damien answered everything with that practiced patience I imagined he’d honed during endless board meetings.

The conversation flowed so smoothly that I nearly forgot how surreal it was to sit across from the guy who once promised to return in a year but had ghosted for four.

I mostly stayed quiet.

Then Dad popped the question I was expecting. "So why didn’t you ever visit?"

My fork stopped mid-air.

Damien looked at him, no hesitation but a brief pause before answering. "There were a lot of things I had to deal with."

I lowered my fork. "A lot of things?"

Damien’s gaze shifted to me. "Yes."

I smiled without humor. "Must have been really important things."

Dad looked between us, his fork frozen halfway to his mouth. "Oliver, don’t."

I ignored the voice in my head. "I mean, four years is a long time."

Damien remained unruffled. "I know."

"Long enough that you couldn’t make at least one phone call?"

Dad raised his eyebrows. Damien’s expression didn’t shift, but I caught his jaw tightening again. "I didn’t say I was proud of that."

"Good."

"Oliver," Frank warned.

"What?" I took another bite, chewing to give myself something to do. "We’re just catching up, aren’t we?"