Damion’s POV
The ice had melted long ago.
I stared into the bottom of the glass, the remnants of my third—no, fourth—scotch clinging to the corners like the last pieces of a man who used to matter.
Isabelle’s words kept circling in my head.
“You could wait forever, and I still wouldn’t choose you.”
I hadn’t wanted to believe her. Not the way she said it—calm, resolved, final.
I had expected rage. Screaming. Maybe even tears.
But she had just looked at me like I didn’t matter anymore.
And that—that—was what destroyed me.
I wasn’t used to this kind of rejection.
I’d been betrayed. Cheated. Even left before.
But Isabelle’s rejection was different.
Because this time, I knew I deserved it.
The penthouse was dark, lit only by the city lights bleeding through the floor-to-ceiling win
