DAMON

An air thick with loss surrounds me as the sun beats down on rows of headstones. It's unsettling for warmth and light to fill such a solemn and eerie place. The grass beneath my feet is soft and dewy, and the trees surrounding the cemetery rustle gently in the wind.

The sky overhead is a deep shade of blue, with a few scattered clouds casting shadows over the tombstones. It's a peaceful scene, but the tranquility is tinged with sadness, a constant reminder of the losses suffered by those who come here to mourn.

As I stand before the graves of my family, I am acutely aware of the stillness that hangs in the air. It's as though time itself has slowed down, the world holding its breath in anticipation of the emotions that will inevitably arise.

The silence is broken only by the distant chirping of birds and the occasional rustling of leaves in the wind. It's a stark contrast to the bustling chaos of the world beyond the cemetery walls. A world they'll never see again.

Because of me.

Because I started it all.

"Jesus Christ, Damon!" My father barks. I can barely see him through the tears as he paces in front of me, Charles Marquis by his side. "Do you realize what you've done?!"

"He'll be okay," I mutter, more so to myself. "He'll be okay."

"Maybe he will but—"

"I will handle it," Charles interjects, clearing his throat. "Take him to your house. He was there all night, yes?" He turns to his son. "And you say nothing, understand? Not a word."

"I want nothing to do with this," Quinton says. "Leave me out of it."

"Not a word," Charles grunts. "I mean it."

"I'll make it right," I whisper. "We'll make it right."

"Get up," my father demands, grabbing me by the arm. He winces as he smells me. "Jesus, you need a shower." My limp body follows my father out of Charles's office. "Your mother is..."

"Don't tell her," I say meekly. "Don't—"

"She knows."

I swallow. "I'm sorry."

"Sorry doesn't fix everything, son. Get in the backseat and sleep it off."

"I'm so sorry..."

The universe has a way of balancing the scales, of keeping a ledger of all our deeds and misdeeds. It's a cosmic law, an unwritten code that governs the ebb and flow of life. For every action, there is an equal and opposite reaction, a cause and effect that ripples through time and space.

Some call it karma, others fate. But regardless of beliefs, there's no denying that the universe has a way of realigning itself. The consequences of every choice and action may not always be immediate, but it is inevitable.

Like a stone thrown into a still pond, our actions send out ripples that spread far and wide. They touch the lives of those around us, shaping their destinies in ways we may never fully understand. And yet, we are all interconnected, a web of souls woven together by the threads of cause and effect.

It's easy to lose sight of this interconnectedness, to become blinded by our own desires and ambitions. We forget that every choice we make, every word we speak, has the power to create a ripple that will reverberate through the universe. And sometimes, when a crime is so egregious, the results are far beyond realignment. It's not a rebalancing.

It's revenge.

"Let me help!" I shout, unbuckling the seatbelt, the sound of the rotor blades erratic and unstable. The engine whines and sputters like a beast struggling to stay alive. The helicopter vibrates violently as if it's being shaken by a giant cosmic hand. "Let me—"

"Sit down!" Father growls, glancing at my mother as she prays under her breath. "Mi amor—"

"Dad!" Gabriella screams but the failing engine deafens her pleas, drowning out any attempts at communication. "Daddy!"

The scent of fuel and burning oil fills the air. A sickening smell that triggers a primal instinct to flee, to get as far away from the danger as possible. But there's nowhere to run, nowhere to hide.

"Jump!" I yell, glancing down at the Hudson River. "We need to jump!"

"We'll die!" Gabriella weeps. "It's too far—"

"Jump!" I state, begging, my heart racing, breath quickening as utter helplessness swallows me whole. "Please!"

It was too far.

For everyone but me.

Guilt seeps through me as I stare at the names etched onto the tombstones that seem to shimmer in the sunlight. I step forward, the grass crunching beneath my feet, and kneel down before each grave.

Jonathan Cavanaugh

1971-2021

Sera Sophia Vasquez

1973-2021

Gabriella Cavanaugh

1997-2021

I reach out and touch the cold stone of my mother's grave, the unkempt texture rough against my fingertips. The tears come unbidden, rolling down my cheeks in silent streams.

"I'm sorry," I whisper, my voice choked with emotion. "I'm sorry I haven't come to see you since—" My heart seizes. "I couldn't... I couldn't do it. I'm—"

A coward.

She sees that in me. She's seen it all along. I thought time would hide this timid beast. I thought space would silence its weak thoughts. I thought that I could move on. Forget. But I can't forget. And I can't forgive. Not myself. Not the world. Nothing is in my control. The more I try to control, the more I push away. It's a never-ending cycle.

My bruised knuckle clenches into a fist. She's right. There is so much anger inside of me. It's suffocating, violent, goddamn corruptive. I don't want to taint her. I don't want my past to envelope her present, her future. Our future. She can't see it. She can't see beyond the rage, beyond my actions, beyond her own roadblocks. Her darkness matches mine. Almost identical. It's like luring fire with fire. Dangerous. Destructive. And damaging. That's what I am to her. Damaged. And I am. She's correct.

"...but I suppose the barriers that were standing in your way are no longer with us."

My jaw ticks, tears threatening to once again spill over. Coward. He knows it too. Maybe everyone can see it. Sense it within me. Weak. So fucking weak. So—

"Finally." My body jerks, muscles tensing as Javier stops behind me. "Only took two years." Clearing my throat, I subtly wipe my cheeks and stand up. "I've been calling you for hours. Why is your phone off?" He shoves a rolled-up newspaper into my chest when I don't respond. "You made it to page six. Congratulations." I refuse to hold it, and he doubles down, growling, "Open it, Damon. Open it and read it. Read what the world thinks of you right now."

Begrudgingly, I flip open the newspaper, scowling as I read the headline again. CEO Unhinged: Damon Cavanaugh Sucker Punches Man of the Year at Charity Gala. Another case of cause and effect. I'm haunted by my actions, in all aspects of my life.

"I'll handle it," I state, tossing the newspaper back at Javier. "It's fine."

He chokes out a baffled scoff. "Fine? You think this is fine?" He opens the paper, reading, "The incident has left many stunned, with some questioning the CEO's mental stability and ability to lead the company." He glares up at me. "Does that sound fine to you?" I bite my tongue, settling the anger within me. Javier shakes his head, his disappointment palpable. "You know, Damon, given your behavior these past several weeks, the tabloids aren't the only ones who are questioning your ability to lead."

My eyes narrow. "What is that supposed to mean?"

"It means the board has lost faith in you," he says, sighing. "It means that—"

"They want me to step down?" I ask through restrained emotion. "Is that what they want?"

"Maybe it would be best." Javier peers down at my father's grave. "Maybe it's time to pass the reins to someone else. Someone who..." Javier clicks his tongue. "Someone who cares." He looks back at me. "It does not appear that you have any desire to see this company prosper."

"I made one mistake," I grunt. "And I will fix it. The board has no right to ask me to step down. I still hold the majority of the voting power."

"Fix it?" Javier asks. "How to plan on fixing it, Damon?" He waves the paper in front of me. "Unless you have the ability to go back in time, this is not something you can fix. It's out there, printed for the whole world to see. It's a PR nightmare."

"Well, it's a good thing we have an entire department dedicated to dealing with shit like this, isn't it?" I say, fishing my phone out of my pocket. "I will handle it, Javier. Trust me, okay? I will handle it."

Javier looks at me skeptically but nods. "Alright, Damon. I will trust you. One more time. But if you don't fix this, if you don't turn things around, then it will be time to step down. This is a priority, understand? It takes precedence over everything." His dead-set eyes piece mine. "And everyone. You need to keep your personal life away from this company. Is that clear?"

"This wasn't her fault," I state, straightening my shoulder. "She didn't—"

"This is not a time to play the knight, Damon," Javier says. "Whether you like it or not, her presence is affecting you. So deal with her. I don't care how... just do it. I'll see you in the office on Monday. I expect you to have a plan by then."

As I head back to my car, I turn my phone back on, dredging the phone calls I'll need to make. The scandal has gone viral. Every outlet has picked up on the story, each spinning its own version of the intent behind my actions. Half of them are calling me a belligerent alcoholic, others think it's due to jealousy, and a few are saying it was a lover's quarrel. A mess. A giant fucking mess. Javier thinks I don't care. But I do. I read every article this morning. Every single one until my eyes started to glaze over.

My phone dings and vibrates as dozens of missed calls and text messages appear on my screen as I hop into my car. I peer down at the screen, and my stomach drops, a lump forming in the back of my throat. Five missed calls from Emery. Something happened.

With trembling hands, I dial her number and wait anxiously for her to answer. "What's wrong?!" I blurt out as soon as she picks up. My nerves are shot, my concern for her safety and well-being is almost too much to bear. "Is everything alright? Are you hurt?"

"What?" she asks. "Me? I'm fine, Damon." She swallows. "Are you... Are you okay?"

Her question acts like a fucking torrential downpour, flooding my fickle dam, the structure collapsing under her words. I gasp for air, drowning in all of my mistakes.

"No..." I choke out. "I'm not. Everything..." I struggle for breath. "Nothing is okay, Emery. It should've been me, not them... Why?"

I sound pathetic, a broken shell of a man. My voice crackles through the phone, stripped bare, naked, disgustingly vulnerable. I should hang up. I should end the fucking call. She can't see me like this, hear me like this. Weak. So goddamn weak. What will she think of me? How could she look at me like ever again knowing the havoc that lies behind my manufactured exterior? The charade is up, gone, my cover blown.

This is me.

God... is this really me?

"Where are you right now?"

"Cemetary," I murmur, my voice wavering and pained. "I'm at—"

"Take a moment to breathe, Damon," she says, gentle and soothing. I feel a flicker of relief at the sound of her voice, a tiny beacon of hope in the midst of my turmoil. She pauses for what feels like hours. "I... Can you meet me somewhere?"

"I don't think now is a good—"

"Damon."

It's all it takes. My name slipping off her tongue. She could command an entire army with just one word. Gain control of every country, every continent, and I'd fight for her. For her voice. For the momentary peace it brings me.

"Where?"

She swallows. "Meet me at the Manhattan Children's Hospital in an hour."

"Why?" I manage, controlling my breathing, the tears subsiding.

"You'll see," she says. "Just trust me, okay?"

And I do, more than I trust myself.