Chapter 190: Chapter 190: Damian

Damian’s grin widened like he’d won a small bet.

Before Max could return to his screens, the office door opened without the courtesy of restraint.

Elliot. The spoiled son of George Claymore.

Max felt his patience evaporate. Elliot strode in as if the manor belonged to him, steps loud on purpose, emerald tiepin catching the light, eyes scanning the room with that thin veneer of superiority that always made Max want to do something illegal.

Elliot carried a folder stamped with the Blue Ether Project seal like it was a medal.

“Maximilian,” Elliot said smoothly, ignoring Damian entirely. “I brought the final report on the Blue Ether Project. I thought I’d deliver it personally, given its importance.”

Max didn’t move. He didn’t rise. He didn’t offer Elliot the satisfaction of being treated like a visitor worth standing for.

“I don’t recall inviting you,” Max said. “Gabriel told me he would send it directly to the court.”

Elliot’s smirk sharpened. “Consider it considerate. I know how busy you are.” His gaze flicked toward Damian with a dismissive gesture. “And who’s this? One of your errand boys?”

Max felt Damian shift subtly in the armchair, but Max saw it. That was the thing about Damian: he didn’t react loudly. He reacted like a man deciding whether you were worth the effort of violence.

Max didn’t give Damian the chance to speak.

“He’s none of your concern,” Max said, his voice flat. “Leave the report with Gabriel as planned.”

Elliot stepped closer and dropped the folder onto the desk with a heavy thud. “I don’t think you understand the gravity of this initiative. Maybe if you paid more attention…”

Max put both hands on the desk and stood.

The movement was controlled, but the sound of his palms hitting wood made the room flinch. Even Elliot’s smirk hesitated.

“Enough,” Max said calmly in the dangerous way. “Get out.”

Elliot blinked. “Excuse me?”

Max didn’t raise his voice. “Leave. Now.”

Damian rose too, silent, arms folding, golden eyes icy. He didn’t say a word, and somehow that made Elliot’s bravado wobble.

Elliot recovered like a practiced actor. He scooped up the folder, turned toward the door, and then paused as if he couldn’t resist making it worse.

He pivoted, smiling at Damian. “Why don’t you make yourself useful, errand boy?”

He flicked the folder toward Damian.

Max felt something in his spine go cold.

Damian bent down, picked up the folder, and placed it neatly back on Max’s desk with a calm that promised consequences later.

Elliot hesitated for a moment, taken aback by the calm of the man he insulted.

Then he left, heels striking the floor like he was trying to make retreat sound like victory.

When the door clicked shut, Max exhaled through his nose and rubbed a hand over his face.

Damian turned back to him, expression settling into smug amusement like he’d just watched entertainment.

“You really should screen your visitors better,” Damian said lightly.

Max shot him a look. “And you should dress more like an emperor,” he muttered. “Might save us all some trouble.”

Damian’s grin widened. He strolled closer and clapped a hand on Max’s shoulder with infuriating affection.

“Why don’t we organize the coming-of-age ball together?” Damian said, bright-eyed with mischief. “I’ll handle charm and speeches. You handle the grueling details: guest lists, seating charts, and politics.” His golden eyes glimmered. “Perfect partnership.”

Max didn’t even pretend to be impressed.

“And,” Damian added, leaning in slightly like he was sharing a joke, “don’t forget to put your sweet cousin on that list.”

Max stared at him, deadpan, irritation flaring sharp in his chest, because Damian was smug, the court was circling, Elliot was a disease with legs, and all Max could think about was how he wanted Adam close and safe and how impossible it would be to have Damian anywhere near that.

“For fuck’s sake,” Max said, his voice flat.

Damian only smiled wider, like that had been the goal.

—

If the day had ended with Damian smug in an armchair and Max swearing under his breath, it would’ve been manageable.

It didn’t.

Max left the office to find Alphonso with the single-minded irritation of a man who needed his house to obey him before the Empire found a way to disobey Damian. He gave Alphonso curt instructions – no more visitors while Damian was here, no exceptions – and the older butler, infuriatingly calm, took it in stride like this was simply another day of Max’s family disasters spilling onto polished floors.

When Max returned, Damian had done what Damian always did when he was left alone in a room with information: he’d started reading.

The Blue Ether report Elliot had thrown like an insult was now open in Damian’s hands, and the Emperor’s earlier amusement had evaporated into that focused, predatory stillness that made Max’s skin prickle. Damian’s gold eyes moved fast over the pages, cataloging, assessing, and discarding.

Max dropped into the other armchair with a tight exhale. “Having fun on your free day?”

Damian didn’t look up. “I hoped my little brother would entertain me,” he said, voice smooth. “Instead, he abandoned me with paperwork.”

Max rolled his eyes and tried to steer it away from Elliot, away from anything that would spiral. “Uncle George will deal with Elliot. There’s no reason to waste your time.”

Damian’s eyes lifted. “Do not overstep your authority again.”

The reminder wasn’t loud. Damian didn’t use volume to assert his power; instead, he did so with the serenity that the air would listen.

Max’s jaw tightened, but he didn’t argue. He couldn’t afford to. Not today.

Damian returned to the report, and for a minute Max thought he’d gotten away with it.

Then Damian’s gaze paused on a section. Not the data, exactly – something that made his attention tilt in a different direction. His expression didn’t change much, but Max knew him too well.

“Who compiled this?” Damian asked.

Max’s stomach sank on instinct. “Gabriel von Jaunez oversaw it.”

Damian’s gold eyes narrowed by a fraction. “Von Jaunez.”

Max watched Damian’s focus tighten the way it always did when a name hooked him. The Emperor didn’t get ’curious’ the way ordinary men did. Damian got interested the way a blade got interested in a weak seam.

“I can smell him,” Damian said quietly.

Max blinked. “What?”

Damian didn’t look up. “His pheromones. On the report. Faint, but there.”

Max felt a cold annoyance crawl up his spine. He reached for the report the moment Damian held it out, expecting to confirm what Damian claimed, some residue, some trace, some explanation.

There was nothing.

Page after page, clean paper. No scent. No lingering signature. Nothing his senses could catch at all.

“I don’t feel anything,” Max said finally, his voice tight.

Damian’s mouth curved into a thin smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “Interesting.”

Max hated that smile on him. It always meant Damian had found a thread and was about to pull it until something bled.

“A marked omega with a mysterious past,” Damian murmured, more to himself now, “and pheromones only I can detect.”

Max’s jaw clenched. “Don’t.”

Damian looked at him at last. “Don’t what?”

“Don’t decide this is entertainment,” Max snapped, then immediately wished he’d chosen a calmer tone. “Gabriel is a person. And he’s involved with Claymore. Which means Uncle George will be involved too.”

Damian’s expression didn’t soften. If anything, it sharpened. “Good.”

Max stared. “Good?”

Damian’s eyes glittered with something that made Max’s irritation spike. “If George Claymore has his hands on something unusual,” Damian said evenly, “I want to know what it is.”

Max set the report down and rubbed the bridge of his nose. He could already feel the headache forming. He didn’t want Damian anywhere near Gabriel, not with that look. Not with that quiet, relentless focus that turned people into ’problems to solve.’

Max had Adam on his mind, and Damian being in this house, looking at Gabriel’s name like that, made everything feel tighter.

“Damian,” Max said, measured now, trying again, “leave Gabriel alone.”

Damian leaned back, utterly unbothered. “I haven’t even met him.”

“That’s the problem,” Max muttered.

Damian’s smile widened slightly, smugly. “You’re protective.”

“I’m practical,” Max shot back. “And you’re bored.”

Damian’s eyes glinted. “Yes.”

Max exhaled through his nose, fighting the urge to stand up and leave his own manor. “There’s almost nothing that stops you when you fixate on someone.”

Damian’s smile didn’t fade. If anything, it looked pleased with the accusation.

“Correct,” Damian said, like it was a compliment.

Max stared at him, irritation turning sharp and uneasy in his chest, because that was exactly what he feared: Damian’s attention wasn’t a passing thing. It was a spotlight that could burn through secrets, alliances, and people who weren’t built to survive it.

And the moment Damian had said Gabriel’s name with that quiet, testing interest, Max knew two things with cold confidence:

First: Damian would meet Gabriel soon.

Second, Max might be the only person in the Empire with enough proximity and enough nerve to try to steer the Emperor away from turning that meeting into something dangerous.

He leaned back, jaw clenched, already calculating how to keep Damian away from Adam.

And knowing, bitterly, that ’keeping Damian away’ was not the same as ’stopping Damian.’

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