Isabella's Pov

I don't know why I kept talking to him. Maybe it was because he didn't look at me with pity. For the first time in hours, someone saw me as a real person instead of a problem.

We talked for almost two hours. I didn't go deep into my mess or say Ethan's name. We just talked about small things. How the New York skyline looked beautiful at night from the hotel. How he hated fake small talk at big parties. How I used to love making business plans but never wanted to be in the spotlight. He listened like every word mattered. His voice was low and calm, but I could feel a deep loneliness underneath that matched mine that night.

"You're not from New York originally," he said, looking at my face carefully.

"I'm from Chicago," I replied. "But I've been here for years because of... him." I stopped myself. "It doesn't matter anymore."

Damien leaned back and swirled the last of his whiskey. "Everyone has a 'him' or 'her' story. The main thing is not letting them destroy you completely."

I smiled sadly. "I think it might be too late for that."

He tilted his head. "Why do you say that? You still seem like you have some fight left. Most people in your situation would be on the phone crying to friends or planning how to get back at him. But you're here talking about the skyline and work like you're trying to remember who you were before tonight."

I let out a small breath and shrugged. "Maybe I am. It feels like everything I worked for just got thrown back in my face. Do you ever feel that way? Like you built something important but it turned out to be for the wrong person?"

Damien's gray eyes softened a little. "More than you'd think. I built Blackwood Holdings from nothing. Lots of long nights and hard choices that cost me more than I like to say. But success can leave you feeling empty sometimes. What about you? What kind of work did you enjoy the most?"

I thought for a second, surprised he really wanted to know. "Investor pitches mostly. Taking messy ideas and making them clear so people would believe in them. It felt creative, like solving a puzzle. But I never wanted to stand in front of everyone. That part always scared me."

He nodded slowly. "Smart. Too many people chase the attention and forget the real work. I hate those galas for the same reason. Everyone smiles and says empty things. 'How's business, Damien?' They don't care. They just want to be seen with me. If things were different tonight, what would you rather be doing?"

I sipped my sparkling water, feeling a tiny bit better. "Something simple. Walk in Central Park, get coffee and write ideas on a napkin. Or stay home with a good book. No pressure. What about you? How do you relax when you're not running everything?"

A small smile touched his lips, but it didn't stay. "Relax? I haven't done much of that in years. I read reports late at night or look over contracts. Sometimes I drive out of the city to think without my phone ringing. My wife used to take me to quiet dinners or art shows. After she passed, those things didn't feel the same."

"I'm sorry," I said gently. "That must be really hard. Losing someone who balanced you."

He looked at me for a long moment. "It changes you. Makes you colder maybe. People say I control things too much now."

Damien put his glass down. "Every day. My son thinks he knows everything about business, but he has no idea about real pressure. Families make things complicated. They expect you to always be strong. But sitting here with you... it's been a long time since I had a real talk with no hidden reasons."

I felt my cheeks get warm under his steady look. "Same for me. You're not what I expected. The magazines make you sound scary, like you're always ten steps ahead."

"Maybe I am," he said with a low chuckle. "But tonight I'm just a man having a drink with an interesting woman who won't fall apart. That takes strength, Isabella. Most people would already be asking me for money, advice, or a job. Why aren't you?"

"Because favors always come with strings," I said honestly. "And I'm tired of strings. I gave six years to someone who promised the world and gave me nothing but pain. I need to figure this out on my own, even if it's scary. Especially with the baby coming."

He leaned forward a bit. "The baby does change things. You need stability and a plan. Have you thought about what you'll do next week or next month?"

"Not really," I confessed. "Everything feels blurry right now. The morning sickness is bad, and my mind keeps replaying the fight. He said I was just support, like I didn't matter. Do you think people can change that fast? Or was he always like this and I just ignored the signs?"

"People rarely change," Damien said quietly. "They just stop pretending. You saw the real him tonight. It hurts, but it's better than living a lie. You deserve more than being someone's secret helper."

His words felt kind even though they were direct.

Time passed until I felt the tiredness hitting me hard.

"I should go," I said eventually, standing on shaky legs. The pregnancy exhaustion was really hitting me.

He stood up too, towering over me. "It's late. My driver will take you home."

"That's really not necessary..."

"It wasn't a request." His tone made it clear there was no point arguing.

Before I could push back, his phone rang. He checked the screen and his jaw tightened. "Give me a moment."

He stepped aside for the call. When he came back, his face looked even colder. "Plans changed. You're staying here tonight. My suite has a spare room."

I blinked in shock. "Mr. Blackwood, I can't just.."

"Damien," he corrected firmly. Then, softer: "You look ready to collapse, Isabella. Let me handle this one thing tonight."

I was too drained to fight. I nodded.

As we headed to the private elevator, his hand lightly touched the small of my back, protective, nothing more. But it sent an unexpected shiver through me.

Just as the doors slid shut, his phone buzzed again. He read the message and went completely still.

His eyes locked on mine, sharp and probing. "Tell me something," he said, voice low and serious. "What's the name of the man who did this to you?"

My stomach sank. I hadn't mentioned Ethan at all.

Before I could answer, the elevator dinged open on the penthouse floor.

Damien POV

She was Ethan's ex.

The full report hit my phone at 3 a.m. while Isabella slept in the guest room of my suite. My team worked fast when I asked.

Isabella Hart. Twenty-eight. The hidden force behind my son's rapid rise. Pregnant with his child while he flaunted Vanessa Sinclair like a prize.

I stood on the balcony with another whiskey, staring at the lights below. It wasn't just anger. Disappointment with Ethan had been growing, his cocky attitude, how he used people and tossed them aside. This cracked everything wide open.

But Isabella was something else.

I had watched her that night. Broken but still holding her head up with real dignity. No desperate pleas, no manipulations. Just honest exhaustion. It touched a part of me I thought died with Clara years ago.

The board's latest warning still stung: "Fix your image or we push the vote. Marriage. Stability. Family presence. Or you're out as CEO."

They called me unstable, said I was too cold.

A dark smile crossed my face in the night air.

This situation could fix multiple problems at once.

I took another sip and muttered to myself, "Ethan, you fool. You had no idea what you threw away."

I thought about Clara and how she always said I worked too much, shut people out too easily. "Damien, one day you'll regret being this isolated," she used to tell me. Tonight, looking at this report, her words felt sharper than ever.

By morning, I had gone over the details twice. Isabella wasn't just some heartbroken woman. She had real talent, the kind my son clearly took advantage of. I needed to see how she would react to all this.

The next morning, she came out of the guest room looking pale but put-together in last night's dress. Her hand instinctively rested on her stomach.

"Morning," she said quietly. "Thank you for last night. I'll get out of your way now."

"Sit down, Isabella."

She paused but sat across from me. I poured her orange juice and slid it over.

"I know exactly who you are," I said directly. "And I know what my son did to you."

Her eyes flew wide open. The glass shook in her hand. "How...?"

"Doesn't matter. What matters is what comes next."

She set the glass down carefully, her voice shaky. "You had me checked out? While I was sleeping here? That's... I don't even know what to say. Did you know last night at the bar?"

"Not at first," I admitted. "But I make it a habit to learn about people who cross my path, especially when they seem out of place. Tell me, did Ethan ever mention me much? Or was I just the distant father in his stories?"

Isabella looked down for a moment. "He talked about you sometimes. He said you were tough, that he was proving himself without your help. I didn't realize how complicated things were between you two."

I nodded. "Complicated" is one word for it. He's always been eager to show he doesn't need me. But stealing ideas and hiding a pregnancy? That's a new low. How long did you work in his company behind the scenes?"

"Years," she said softly. "I thought we were partners. I'd stay up late rewriting his pitches, calming him down before big meetings. He'd say things like, 'I couldn't do this without you, Bella.' And now... this. Do you think he ever cared at all?"

"Ethan cares about success," I replied. "Not much else right now. I've seen that pattern growing for a while. You're not the first person he's used, but you might be the one who makes him regret it. Have you spoken to him since last night?"

She shook her head. "He called screaming, but I didn't pick up again. I feel so stupid for believing him. What kind of man throws out the mother of his child like that?"

"A weak one," I said plainly. "One who's afraid of real responsibility. But you're stronger than he counted on. I saw it at the bar, you didn't break down begging for help. That's rare. Most women in your position would have been in tears asking me for money or connections by now. Why didn't you?"

Isabella rubbed her temple lightly. "Because begging never worked with him. Every time things got hard, I'd ask for credit or support, and he'd promise it later. 'Just help me close this deal, Bella. We'll celebrate together.' But the celebration never came. Have you seen that side of him before?"

"More times than I care to admit," I told her. "He's my son, but he's been chasing shortcuts. I tried to teach him that real power comes from building, not taking. Sounds like he took a lot from you. What was the biggest idea you gave him that he claimed as his own?"

She hesitated, then spoke. "The whole investor strategy for the second funding round. I created the presentation slides, researched every contact, even practiced his delivery with him. He stood on stage and got all the applause while I watched from the back. He said it was better that way, to keep my name quiet. Do you think he ever planned to marry me, or was I always just useful?"

I leaned back slightly. "Knowing Ethan, you were useful until someone with better connections came along. Vanessa's father has deep pockets. But that doesn't make it right. How are you feeling physically? "

"My savings won't last long in New York. Do you have any children besides Ethan? I mean, did you ever worry about balancing work and family?"

"Only Ethan," I said. "And yes, I'm worried. Clara handled most of it while I built the company. After she passed, I threw myself into work even harder. The board thinks that made me too distant, too cold. They want me to show a stable family image or they'll vote me out. Tell me honestly, Isabella, what would you do if you had real support right now? Money, protection, a name that opens doors?"

She looked thoughtful. "I'd focus on the baby. Maybe start my own small consulting work on the side. I don't want to depend on anyone again, but... being safe would be nice. Why are you asking me all this?"

"Because you're different," I replied. "You have backbone. And this mess with my son creates an opportunity for both of us."

I leaned forward, elbows on my knees, locking eyes with her tired but striking ones.

"I have a proposition. A contract marriage. One year, maybe more if it works. You get protection, money for your child, and payback against Ethan. I get a wife who quiets the board and teaches my son consequences."

She stared like I'd gone insane.

"You can't be serious."

"I'm always serious," I told her. "Walk away now with nothing but pain. Or walk away with real power."

Her mouth opened in shock. Silence hung heavy between us.

Finally, she breathed, "Why me? You could pick anyone."

I reached over and gently lifted her chin so she couldn't look away.

"Because my son never deserved you."

I let that sink in. "So, Isabella Hart... will you marry me?"