This next chapter was becoming a monster, so I found a good place to split it š There's just so much information contained, so I think it's better to split it so that it can be absorbed a bit better!
I'm so glad you guys liked the flashback fluff last chapter. It is needed
Thank you all for your patience, and enjoy š
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Damian checked his appearance in the mirror for a final time.
No wrinkles on his suit? Check.
Hair under control? Check.
Andā¦ his cards wereā¦ There! Check.
Damian flipped through his prompt cards, once again trying a last-minute attempt to impart the words to his memory, but at the same time, his brain had gone frustratingly blank, and suddenly the words on the cards in front of him could have been written in Atlantean for all he knew. Statements and statistics dripped through the sieve of his mind, and eventually he settled himself by thumbing through the papers, finding the motion as a way to focus his mind, and try to calm himself.
He turned to the mirror, and gave himself a final final once-over. It really was the final one, this time.
It was, by far, the smartest suit he owned, and he had to admit that the clean lines cut a striking silhouette on himself. While the suit itself was a respectable blue-almost-black, denoting the seriousness of the occasion, Damian allowed himself to choose a tie that felt more personable to him, something that could hint at a little of his personality. Something that would make him feel like himself, rather than the impostor 'CEO' of the Desmond Group.
The emerald silk slipped through his fingers before he even realised what he was holding, and it was only when Damian saw the green in his reflection did he pause with his hands hovering in the air.
A knock at the door.
"It's almost time, Lord Desmond."
"I know! I'm nearly finished," Damian called back. He tried, and failed, to hold back the exasperation from his voice.
At every meeting, Damian practically begged Mr Arnold Handel to drop the title, and just call him 'Damian'. Even 'sir' would be fine, and 'Mr Desmond' was perfectly adequate, but no - Mr Handel was a stickler for tradition, and so Damian was stuck bearing a title that would never fit him.
Finally, Damian opened the door to his room, and joined Mr Handel on the slow walk to the Eastern Auditorium.
Since Becky, Ewen, and Emile collectively intervened and pushed Damian to take his title as 'CEO' a little more seriously, he had become more receptive to the helpful advice of Mr Handel. Despite his short stature, Mr Handel exuded a measured confidence that gave him the appearance of height, helped by the distinguished white beard. He walked with purpose, perfectly balancing a briefcase in one hand with a ready clipboard in the other, while he read from the notes displayed:
"I will begin by introducing you to the podium, where you will read the statement that has been prepared for you - do you have it, good yes, just checking - and then I will open the floor to take questions. Please do not invite the questions yourself, I will direct the journalists in order of questions raised, and your role is to only focus on answering those questions. If you are stuck for answers you can refer to the prepared cue cards -"
That was just the start of Mr Handel's advice giving, and the speed and volume of the directions made Damian want nothing more than to let his mind wander and tune out of the conversation, but he forced himself to focus on Mr Handel's words, knowing that the event would make or break the Desmond reputation.
It was the question on all the newspaper headlines: can the second son raise the Desmond reputation from the ashes? Or will he join his predecessors in their ruin?
Just the thought of the task that lay ahead of him made him break into a cold sweat, and Damian had to briefly divert his attention from Mr Handel just to concentrate on not wiping his palms on his suit trousers . Now that would make headlines, if he was photographed. Some journalist far wittier than Damian could ever hope to be would zoom in on his nerves, his insecurities, and no doubt make some joke about how he was the 'fresh meat' on the market, ready to be devoured by the press.
As much as it embarrassed Damian, Professor Henderson really did him a favour by taking away his Imperial Scholar duties, and suspending him from all classes. He even let Damian continue to stay in the dorms, knowing that his security would be at risk if he left the school grounds.
It was hard, and a bit shameful, but ultimately it gave Damian the time to do the things that he needed to do, and focus on things in the short-term: prepare for the press conference during the day, and try to catch up on his missed schoolwork at night. He couldn't afford to think about anything - or any one - else.
Breathe, he scolded himself, trying everything he could to stop his mind from spiralling into dangerous territory. He couldn't afford to mess up. He had to be the perfect Desmond scion that the Group needed. Now more than ever, he needed to show them that he had what it took to lead the companies. This was what he was working for, all those weeks in the library, holed up in his room, on endless calls to core faculty of the Group.
At some point, Damian became vaguely aware of the two shadows that joined him and Mr Handel - Ewen and Emile, supporting him from the sides as they always did. They knew just how nervous he was about this, how hard he had been working the whole timeā¦
"Don't worry Boss, you got this," came Ewen's sure voice.
"We'll be right behind you," said Emile.
Damian's chest tightened, and he let their words sink into him.
"Thanks, guys."
With Emile and Ewen behind him, and his Advisor on the other side, Damian tried to reassure himself of how lucky he was to have so much support around him. Then, there was the voice of Mr Handel, talking Damian through every point that he needed to make, but he had heard it all a hundred times over by now. He had been poring over those very materials for weeks, practising over and over until it was completely embedded into his mind.
As they got closer to the venue for the press conference, Mr Handel's voice faded into the background, because there was something else taking up Damian's attention entirely.
A flash of pink hair, and keen emerald eyes that made him stop breathing.
Anya clung to the edge of the wall on either side of her, her fingertips almost white from how hard she gripped it. She sat with her back to the courtyard, while she faced the door to the Eastern Auditorium.
Beside her, Becky talked with feigned enthusiasm about the latest Berlint in Love episode - a crisis of love, by all accounts - but Anya knew even without her mind-reading powers that Becky was only trying to distract her from the event taking over the school that day.
Tree branches shook in the courtyard behind them, rattled by the blustering winds that whipped through the corridors. Becky's Imperial Scholar's cloak fluttered behind her, making her look even more imposing than she already did.
The edges of the wall made deep indentations into her fingers as she clutched it even harder.
She hadn't seen Damian at all for the last couple of weeks, partly because his suspension wasn't yet over, partly because they still hadn't talked about what happened, but also because he had holed himself in his room preparing for this very day.
It was a huge day for Damian. Finally the day of the press conference arrived, and Anya couldn't help but feel nothing but nausea as she thought of what lay ahead for him.
She knew how hard he worked for it. Secluding himself in his room for days on end was only the tip of the iceberg, but what she had gleaned from Emile and Ewen in passing was that Damian had been on endless phone calls to his Advisor - the elusive Arnold Handel, who she had not yet met - and to various members of the Board of the Desmond Group, trying to sort out everything he could before the big day.
And finally, it was here. The day that Damian had been preparing so much for, and yet dreaded completely, all because the public would finally be able to prise their answers from the young scion. After months of theories running rampant in the papers, finally, the rumours could be addressed, the myths straightened out, and the answers that the public demanded so viciously would be delivered.
She couldn't imagine how he must have been feeling for it.
"- and then you wouldn't even believe what Vincent did when Delilahā¦. Earth to Anya? Are you even listening?"
Anya blinked, and realised that her grip on the edge of the wall had nearly cut off her own circulation, and she turned to Becky with a blank stare.
"Sorry, I was thinking aboutā¦"
Becky exhaled with a large sigh.
"Yeah, figures. It's kinda hard to get away from, isn't it?"
What Becky meant, of course, was that the details of Damian's press conference were everywhere. It wasn't a secret in the student body, not least because of the extensive signage directing journalists to the correct venue, and the increase in security detail guiding them, making sure that all identities were checked before entry and all bags were searched. The security even lined the designated path that the journalists were to take, making sure to watch their every move and ensure that no-one strayed from it.
Anya and Becky sat on the low wall outside of the Eastern Auditorium - where the press conference would be held - while members of the press were escorted onto the grounds of the school by the dependable security team of Eden College. It was practically a front-row seat to the main event of the day, and yet, Anya couldn't bring herself to go inside.
What if he didn't want to see her? Would Damian hate it if she kept her distance? Did he secretly want her there to support him? Anya didn't know, and even worse, she didn't know how she could find out without reading his mind directly, and the last time she did thatā¦
His voice tore through her memory:
GET OUT OF MY HEAD!
Even in reminiscence, it was more painful than she could bear. She had never heard him like that before, and she didn't want to push him back there.
But it felt awful to have to sit out on this huge event of his, just because they hadn't settled their argument yet. Despite everything that had happened, Anya wanted more than anything to show Damian just how much she cared about him. If he doubted her love, she would prove it. If he doubted her intentions, she would set the record straight. If he doubted her in any way at all, she would prove to him just how much he meant to her, butā¦
What if she tried to watch, and he didn't want her there at all? What if she distracted him, and he missed a question, and the journalists thought that he was incompetent? Then he would blame her, and they would actually break up for real, and then he'd be fired from being the CEO of the Desmond Group, and then it would be all her faultā¦
Suddenly, Becky stiffened next to her, and Anya's instincts told her to look up -
And there he was, flanked by Emile and Ewen on one side, and a man who must have been Arnold Hendel on the other. He was striking in his suit, so blue that it was almost black, walking upright in a way that made him look confident, collected, and completely in charge. He looked older. Taller. It made Anya want to grab his face and pull him down towards her and never let him go.
Green eyes met gold, and Anya took a steadying breath, taken aback by the depth contained within them: the subtle shifts between emotions, the heavy pain and the sorrow masked by the onset of duty and responsibility. Time slowed, and in that moment where their eyes met, she felt the ache of a thousand words she couldn't say, and a thousand words that she had yet to hear. A taut thread connected them, far too fragile for the weight of the emotions it bore.
A hard lump formed in her throat, and she was overcome with the sudden urge to say something, but what?
I'm sorry. I'm so sorry for everything. Please can we talk about this.
And:
I believe in you. You'll be great. You have nothing to worry about.
They were mere footsteps away from each other, and Anya wanted to forget everything and run into his arms. Her legs itched to run to him, her fingers twitched to reach for his hand, her arms ached to hold him close, and it was a real effort to tell her body no, to deny it what felt so natural and so right.
And then Damian pulled his eyes away from hers, and the moment passed, and suddenly she was staring into the empty corridor as Damian walked past her without a word.
The roar of her heartbeat was the only thing she could hear as she turned, desperate, to see the back of the boy she loved most walking away from her.
"Damian - "
His footsteps slowed, and her heart jumped into her throat.
Damian inclined his head to the side, not quite enough to make eye contact with Anya, but enough to show that he meant her to hear his words.
"I'm still angry with you," he said quietly.
He spoke with a softness that brought the sting of tears to her eyes, and it took everything she had to keep the tears from falling.
Anya opened her mouth, closed it, and eventually dipped her head down in acknowledgement.
"I know."
She wanted to say more. So much more. But there was no time, not nearly enough time, and too many words swelled within her chest, too large to fit in the tense expanse of the space between them. They tightened in her throat, but she managed to squeeze out just about the only thing that he might be willing to hear from her:
"Good luck."
It didn't convey nearly as much as she wanted it to, but at the same time, she knew that he had heard all of the weight behind the words, that he had understood what was in her heart. (How could he not? He always understood her better than anyone.)
There was a moment where Damian's shoulders slackened, and she watched him take a deep, settling breath.
And then he moved forward.
Anya watched Damian disappear into the Eastern Auditorium, followed by Mr Handel, and Ewen and Emile, who both cast her an apologetic glance before they closed the doors behind them.
Throughout it all, she could feel Becky's eyes on her, watching for her reaction, and it made Anya feel a little like being under a microscope. At any other time, Anya would have tolerated the perceptive eyes of her best friend, but at that moment Anya felt far too fragile, far too vulnerable and exposed as her lip wobbled and she struggled to hold the tears back.
He spoke to her. He actually spoke to her, but was it enough? He had said so little, but it was something. Was it a sign? What did it mean?
She clutched the fabric at her chest, marvelling at how such simple words caused such an ache inside her.
"Did you notice?" Becky said quietly, and Anya turned to her, startled.
"Notice what?"
"His tie."
Anya paused.
"What about it?"
Becky hesitated briefly, clearly trying to decide if she should say it, but then she got up from the edge of the wall, and dusted her skirt off.
"Come on," she sighed, and snaked her arm into Anya's elbow. "Let's go somewhere else, for now. We don't want to be in the way when they come out."
As Becky led Anya away, she cast one last glance back to the closed door, knowing that behind it, Damian was finally fighting for his future.
Damian tried his best to breathe, but it was more difficult than it had ever been before in his life.
After spending so many weeks and months avoiding them, being suddenly this close to so many journalists was like standing alone in a pack of wild dogs. Sure, they looked civilised on the surface, with their cameras and notebooks and pens, but there was an undercurrent of threat that Damian couldn't ignore, a hunger that made him sweat. He could smell their curiosity, bordering on ravenous interest. Their gazes bore into him, eating away at his confidence and his flesh until he was sure that he might dissolve on the spot.
Again, Damian resisted the urge to wipe his palms on his trousers, although he was becoming rather taken with the idea of just running away entirely. On any other morning, the sunlight that filtered through the high windows of the Eastern Auditorium would have been a lovely sight, but with the threat of disgrace on the horizon, Damian felt as though he was burning alive, the toxicity of the sun's rays lasered on him like a microscope. It was too bright. He tried to blink his vision back, but before him was a sea of suits and pens and moustaches and so many eyes.
He wished Anya was with him.
Calm down. Focus.
He stared at his black leather shoes, shiny from polishing them within an inch of their lives. Slowly, he lifted his head to try to take in everything around him.
The Eastern Auditorium was not the largest space at Eden College by any means, but it was decently sized with enough room to seat approximately fifty in the central audience, with seats on each side able to accommodate a few more. Ewen and Emile took the seats that were reserved for them at the side, able to see everything from their position. Both looked just as nervous as he felt, but at least they didn't have the pressure of having to hide their feelings from the rest of the world.
Ewen caught his eye and gave him an enthusiastic thumbs up, to which Damian responded by averting his eyes with a tired smile.
A part of Damian knew that he couldn't avoid Anya forever, but even so, he was surprised to see her sitting out there, waiting for him to show. There was no other explanation for it. He wondered how long she had been sitting there, how long she had been waiting to see him.
As soon as she made eye contact with him, something pulsed through his entire body: the urge to run to her, to hold her close, to never let her go. It was the most natural feeling in the world to him, it was almost second nature how much she was a part of his heart and of his life, to the extent that continuing to deprive himself of her was akin to starvation.
The look in her eyes pierced his soul, but he couldn't let himself fall apart. Not then, not there. There was still so much work to do. He had said I'm still angry with you, and at the same time, the anger had dissolved to reveal unimaginable and unbearable heartache. All this time, the anger was just a mask for the hurt, and he just wanted the pain of it to end.
Maybeā¦ Maybe it was time to talk. Maybe he was ready.
After the conference.
Damian looked up, somewhat grateful that the high ceilings helped open the space, so that he could breathe easier. He had seen conference rooms with short ceilings, and he could only imagine how stuffy and claustrophobic those felt.
The high ceilings also meant that it could accommodate high windows, and the panelled glass took up almost the entire East side of the space. It was purpose-built to get the brightest sun in the mornings, and Mr Handel had encouraged Damian to take advantage of it, saying that the natural lighting would turn up well in photos - even though the thought of cameras flashing at him made Damian feel sick.
He vaguely caught the tail end of Mr Handel's introductory speech, and his legs moved automatically to step up to the podium, just like they had practised, but he couldn't for the life of him think about what came next.
What did his media training instructor say?
Look at the cards.
Of course. He was gripping something - a wad of stiff cards. He remembered now. They would have the answers to everything that he needed.
"Lord Desmond?"
Shit, shit shit shit, it had already started, and he hadn't even been paying attention.
"I apologise," Damian cleared his throat, and stacked the cards on the podium in front of him. "I was just taking a moment."
Breathe, just breathe, you idiot.
"Could you repeat the question?"
This time, Damian tried to centre himself, and made eye contact with the man who had stood up in the audience: just one enemy ship in a sea full of them.
"It's been eleven weeks since your father's arrest, and in all this time you have maintained a low profile. Why break your silence now?"
God, he was thirsty.
You've prepared for this, he chided himself. Just answer the question. One at a time.
Damian drew a deep breath, unintentionally drawing the attention of everyone in the room.
"I've been taking the time to understand the responsibilities that come with leading the Desmond Group. It's a challenging situation, but I believe it's time to address the questions and concerns that have been circulating."
Of which he knew that they would have many. Damian prayed it would all be over quickly.
Several more hands went up, and when selected by Mr Handel, a woman stood holding a recorder microphone towards the podium.
"There's been speculation about why your father chose you over your older brother, Demetrius, who has been involved in the company for years. Can you shed some light on that decision?"
Well. He knew that question would come up sooner or later. It was another one that he had practised with Mr Handel, and with the media training instructor guiding him all the way.
Shoulders back. Don't forget your confidence posture. Keep your facial expression smooth and calm. Do not show surprise at the questions.
"I understand the curiosity around this, however I would like to provide reassurance that Mr Handel and I have had thorough discussions about the future of the company, and he entrusted me with this responsibility. Demetrius has been a valuable part of the Desmond Group, and I will be working closely with him and the entire team to ensure a smooth transition."
Did it matter that it wasn't entirely true? Probably not, but it sounded true, and according to Becky, that was half the battle with press conferences.
Another hand, another reporter.
"Lord Desmond," he said, and Damian winced at the title, "at eighteen years old, you must know that you are widely considered too young to lead a major corporation. How do you plan to prove to shareholders and stakeholders that you're up to the task?"
Mr Hendel's voice played in his head: Stay respectful. Hear their worries as questions, and answer them.
"Age is just a number, but I acknowledge the concerns. I may be young, but I am committed to learning and collaborating with the experienced professionals within the company. We will continue to focus on the values and principles that have made the Desmond Group successful."
He had barely finished talking when more hands clamoured for attention, and Mr Hendel selected the next speaker.
"What are your immediate plans for the company, considering the legal challenges your father is facing?"
Damian's thumb slipped slightly on the cards in front of him, and when he glanced down, he noted that the ink had smudged slightly.
Stay calm. You knew this one was coming.
It was the hardest question, and one that Damian knew was the most important.
He straightened his shoulders, and made sure to project his voice so that it could be heard clearly by everyone.
"Our first priority is to ensure the stability and continuity of the Desmond Group," Damian said carefully, knowing that whatever he said next would be vital. One hundred and thirteen companies were dependent on the direct success of the Desmond Group - and he hadn't forgotten what Becky had said when she had wrangled Ewen and Emile to intervene:
The Desmond Group is a business partner with Blackbell Heavy Industries, so if you're so set on captaining a sinking ship, then you're going to take me down too!
The success of the press conference would be just the start, but Damian couldn't forget just how much was riding on it. He had to earn the trust of the public, as well as the shareholders, so that they could all stay afloat.
From the corner of his eye, Damian saw Mr Handel's urgent nod. Go on.
"We'll be conducting a thorough internal review, and I'll be working closely with our legal team to address any issues." Deep breath. "Rest assured, the company remains dedicated to its employees, shareholders, and the communities we serve."
Sweat continued to prickle at his skin, and his heart continued to hammer in his chest, but no-one could deny that Damian Desmond was the picture of young confidence at that very moment in time. He had managed to hold his ground against the questions so far, but he knew that it was far from over.
Damian swallowed, trying to restore the moisture in his mouth.
Another hand, another question.
And so it continued.
Anya and Becky had barely left the vicinity of the Eastern Auditorium, when something pricked at the back of Anya's mind, and she stopped walking.
"Did you hear something?"
Becky eyed her best friend, knowing better than to dismiss her fears. "What did you hear?"
Anya looked into the distance, concentrating. As far as she could tell, she and Becky were the only students around, with everyone else in classes, or spectating in the upper level of the Eastern Auditorium. Damian's press conference had attracted quite the crowd, even from within Eden, but Anya knew that whatever she sensed was coming from a different direction entirely.
She didn't yet know what it was, but it set off all of her alarms, flashing red in her mind and prickling goosebumps on her skin.
"Anya?"
"Wait, give me a minute, I think I can feel somethingā¦"
Since Damian's outburst, Anya had been trying more and more to shut her powers off. If Damian wanted her to get out of his head, then she needed to respect his wishes, even if it was hard, even if it completely went against her instincts, because she needed to prove that she could. Her entire relationship was hinging on that one little change, even though it felt like she was blocking off a part of herself. But she needed that part now.
Anya closed her eyes, and allowed herself finally to tap fully into her mindscape.
Streams and rivers floated like ribbons around her, each one a link to a different person's mind, and she waited to see if any of them feltā¦ off. If anyone asked her, she wouldn't have been able to describe it; just that since she was young, Anya had always intuitively known how to tell good minds from bad, how to notice a threat as soon as she needed to.
Something rippled in the stream around her, and she followed it, noticing how strange it felt to follow a mental path that took her somewhere else entirely.
The mind was fuzzy, as though their thoughts were muffled behind layers and layers of something that absorbed the sound and the feelings of the thoughts, but if she focused, if she concentrated hard enoughā¦
Just stick to the planā¦ Don't make any unnecessary movesā¦ Prepare the key vantage pointsā¦
"It's a man," Anya said quietly, and tried to picture exactly in her mind where she could locate his thoughts from.
"Is it bad?"
Anya's eyes flashed open, and she met Becky's concerned stare with alarm in her eyes. What could she say? She didn't have time to describe the situation: there was a man, he had weapons, he was preparing something, but the only words that fell out of Anya's mouth was:
"He's on the roof."
It didn't occur to Anya to explain any more than that, because in an instant her instincts had awoken inside her and took over her entire body. Her muscles tensed, crackling with energy waiting to be released, and Anya pivoted to the direction of the man, pulling herself down into a running crouch - only to be yanked back at the last second.
"Let go of me - I have to stop him - !" Anya tried to pull herself out of Becky's grip, but she only held tighter.
"Don't you remember your promise, Anya?" said Becky, her voice quiet and threatening, and the tone of it flooded Anya with guilt.
A memory from months before resurfaced, and Becky's words hit Anya all over again:
Please. Please don't shut me out any more.
Anya relaxed her muscles, and Becky took her cue to let go of Anya's sleeve.
"I told you before, right?" Becky said, and though there was a slight crack in her voice, her eyes flashed with indignance. "You're not alone anymore, Anya! Whatever you need to do, we can do it together!"
Anya's mouth fell open at that, and her entire body filled with a strange and glittering mix of shame, guilt, hope, relief, and gratitude.
Of course. How could she have forgotten? It was the entire reason that Becky had confronted her in the first place, and the entire reason that she pushed Anya to tell her the truth. Because Anya had spent too long pushing her friends away, intent on taking the world on her own shoulders without asking for any help at all.
Anya had spent her entire life listening out for threats, and solving them all on her own, without anybody noticing or knowing about her feats, but Becky was right. She wasn't alone anymore.
Tears stung at her eyes, and she blinked them away, her chest expanding with gratitude towards her best friend.
She had half-thought that Becky didn't really mean the words she had said back then. Because while she was scared of being pushed away, Anya was terrified of being rejected, of getting things wrong and potentially hurting the people she loved most in the world. (And yet, didn't all her secrets do just that, without her being able to stop it?)
Hadn't Becky tried to prove herself to Anya so many times? Hadn't she tried her best to convince her that she could be trusted?
Anya pushed her shoulders back, and returned Becky's stare with determination.
You're not alone anymore, Anya!
Becky was right. Anya wasn't alone. None of them were.
"Alright, I have an idea. But I'm going to need to borrow your phone. I need to make a call, andā¦"
Anya took a deep breath. Now for the truly hard part.
"I need you to do something for me."
.
.
.
.
.
Ahhhh these two make me cry, constantly. Damian's working so hard. They're so close to a resolution but it's not quite time yet š
If you miss the fluff, I have started writing a short story specifically to be an antidote the angst that is SSS: It is called "Starstruck"
The first two chapters are already out, so I hope you enjoy them!
Next chapter: Saturday 27th July 2024 (hopefully)
It's the part that's keeping me awake at night š All this extrra time I took to plan it properly was NEEDED, I tell you that much! I've got the bones of it, but I think I've written it in the wrong POV, so I'll need to redo that...