Chapter 5 Zachary's Fury - Accusations and Manipulation Escalate

I should have known he wouldn't let me go that easily.

I should have known the silence was only the calm before the storm.

The flight to Chicago had been smooth; Damon was only business, all focus. He didn't waste time on anything like small talk or unnecessary pleasantries. I appreciated it more than I could say. His world was clean, sharp, and honest in a way my old life never was.

For once, I felt that I belonged to something that made sense.

And yet, even though I sat across from Damon in the sleek, private lounge, going through meeting notes, a part of me kept glancing at my phone, waiting for the inevitable.

And when the buzzing finally began, it hit me as if someone had slapped me across the face.

I froze.

It was Zachary.

Zachary: What the hell do you think you're doing, Sierra?

My stomach twisted. My fingers went numb.

I hadn't spoken to him in days. I hadn't detailed. I hadn't needed to.

He no longer deserved explanations.

Still, the familiar grip of fear wrapped around my chest, squeezing tight.

Don't get involved, I told myself. You owe him nothing.

But my hand was already moving.

I locked my phone and shoved it deep into my bag. I can't afford distractions, not right now. Not with everything at stake.

The meetings flew by in a blur of presentations, negotiations, and endless legal jargon. Damon moved through it all like a force of nature-commanding, brilliant, impossible to keep up with if you weren't laser-focused.

I did everything in my power to stay two steps ahead of him-organizing documents, whispering last-minute reminders, booking car rides, adjusting itineraries when meetings ran late.

Every time I thought I had proved myself, however, my phone would buzz again, in my bag like a persistent wasp.

By the time we reached the hotel, I felt wrung out and left to dry.

Damon hardly looked at me while we stepped out of the car.

"Brief meeting tomorrow morning, then we head back. Don't be late." "Yes, Mr. Cross," I replied, steady and calm my voice.

Without another word, he disappeared into the elevator.

I let out a slow exhalation, rolled my shoulders, and set off for my room.

Not until I was safely inside, the door bolted behind me, did I allow myself to look at my phone again.

Twenty-seven missed messages.

Most from Zachary.

The last one was enough to put my blood on ice.

Zachary: You think you can just walk away from me? After everything I did for you? You ungrateful little-

I dropped the phone onto the bed like it was burning.

He was tipping.

This was his favorite game: the accusations-guilt trips- threats masquerading as lovers' woefulness.

There was a time when it worked.

He'd shred me, tie up my mind in knots until I couldn't tell which was up and down anymore.

Until I began apologizing for things that weren't even my fault.

Not this time, though.

My hands shook while I typed one simple reply.

Me: Leave me alone, Zachary. This is over. Please respect that.

I stared at the screen for a long time before hitting send.

Three dots flashing angrily appeared almost on cue.

Then came the reply:

Zachary: You are making the biggest mistake of your life. I am the only one who ever cared for you. You think some billionaire boss is going to love you? To him, you are just a charity. A small, sad stray that he took in out of pity.

Those words struck hard, more than I'd care to admit.

Somewhere deep inside me, the voice that Zachary had planted years ago whispered the same things into the dark.

You are not enough. You will never be enough.

Squeezing my eyes shut, I faced my phone down on the nightstand.

He wasn't going to get into my head.

Not now. Not when I had fought so hard to come back from the wreckage he had wreaked.

But the damage was done.

Sleep was impossible.

I spent the long hours of the night and early morning, staring at a white ceiling, disputing the harsh echoes of Zachary's voice.

When the alarm clock rang at five o'clock in the morning, I felt as if I hadn't slept at all.

Damon and I had a quick morning meeting, which lasted but a few signature signings, a shake of hands, and a closing utterance of the deal.

Success.

Real success with real results.

I should have felt proud.

I should have felt like celebrating.

But internally, I felt frail. A slight diversion would shatter me.

Throughout the flight back home, he tapped away on his laptop and seemed to diligently work while I taped together the ragged edges of his next week's schedule.

At an interval, he bitten slightly in my direction.

"You look distracted."

That was neither a question nor a statement.

I read the screw-eye and tried to will my features into an expressionless mask.

"I'm sorry, Sir. I'm focused on my work."

He continued to look at me for an extended moment; those dark eyes contradicted what I wished, seeing too much.

Then he turned back up to the screen.

Back home, the first thing I did was silence my phone.

Zachary was still blocked - some stupid part of me thought that ignoring him would infuriate him even more.

But whatever he got me into, I would not entertain.

With a sort of willful vengeance, I immersed myself in work.

Damon was all the more vicious; I needed that. I needed the distraction; I needed the purpose; I needed the discipline.

For a few golden hours of every day, I was afforded a respite from the chaos threatening to consume the fringes of my life.

But, of course, Zachary found ways to infiltrate my mind.

First, emails.

Then, voicemails.

Finally, there was a letter slipped under my apartment door one night; a good old-fashioned, handwritten letter.

Oh, so you think you're better than me, huh?

You're nothing without me. I MADE you.

It was mad, it was angry, and it was frantic. It scared me.

Because if he was that angry to come to my apartment, what else was he capable of?

Sitting on my living room floor, letter in trembling hands, I tried to decide about its content.

The old Sierra would have ripped it up, shoved the fear down, pretended everything was fine, and waited until it exploded in her face.

But I wasn't her anymore.

Abandoning my thoughts, I pulled out my phone and called the non-emergency police line.

Not a report, more like an alert - it would become a paper trail.

Just in case.

I had fought too damn hard to build a new life to let Zachary tear it down one more time psychologically.

Damon had called me in a few days later after a particularly nasty meeting.

I stood in front of his massive desk, hands clasped behind, keeping myself steady under his penetrating glare.

"You've been doing great," he stated simply.

Relief washed over me, but I dampened it on my face.

"Thank you, Mr. Cross."

He tapped a pen on the desk and narrowed his eyes slightly.

"But there's something else on your mind, and I do not tolerate divided attention, Miss Everly."

I swallowed hard.

And this was it.

The crossroads.

I could just lie and tell him that everything was okay and pretend like I had some kind of invulnerable armor.

Or tell the truth.

I chose the latter.

Because Damon Cross wasn't stupid. And he f**king respected strength, even when it looked like vulnerability.

"My ex-fiancé has been trying to contact me," I said, my voice quietly firm. "Repeatedly. I've been keeping track. If it escalates, I am going to get a restraining order."

He nodded in slow contemplation.

"Do you feel unsafe?"

It was the simplest question of all - no judgment, no pity, all fact-gathering.

"Not right now," I sincerely replied. "But I will make sure to take action if that situation changes."

Another pregnant pause, and surprisingly, I saw a flicker of approval cross his gaze.

"Good."

That was it.

No lectures. No patronizing concern. No trying to help me.

Simple acknowledgment.

Simple respect.

I slowly exhaled, this little movement giving my shoulders a bit of a breather.

"You can leave," he said, turning back to whatever he had going on.

I walked free of his office, head held high.

Because this was the first time in years I was not hiding.

I was not apologizing for being.

I was standing my ground.

As for Zachary?

He could lose it all he wanted, Yell, Accuse, Manipulate.

But he couldn't touch me anymore.

Not where it matters.

Not where I am finally free.

My heart is so heavy right now and I'm at crossroads!!!!