Chapter 7

Damon took a slow sip from his wine, completely unfazed. His posture was relaxed, but there was an underlying tension in the way he held himself. He looked at Dean with a sharp intensity. "If you refuse my offer, then what's in it for me to help you?" His gaze pierced through Dean, exuding an almost predatory confidence. It was as if he had anticipated this very moment, already knowing the exact response he would get. His words hung in the air like a challenge, unspoken yet clearly present: You want my help? Then pay the price.

Dean gritted his teeth, feeling vaguely uneasy in his mind, but calmly asked, “What do you want?” He didn't like Damon's ambiguous attitude, yet he knew he had no choice at this moment. The prerequisite for going toe-to-toe with Leroy Tam was that he had to get Damon on his side.

Damon revealed a wry smile, his eyes gradually becoming dangerous and ambiguous. He whispered, “Sleep with you.” These three words just slipped out so easily, without a care in the world, as if it was his rightful right. Damon's tone was teasing, yet it also sent a chill down one's spine, like a predator with a tiger's eye.

“You’re shameless!” Anger surged across Dean's face in an instant, his eyes turning icy cold. He snatched the contract from the table and threw it at Damon with all his might, the force of his movement leaving no doubt about the fury that burned within him. “You’re even more despicable than Leroy Tam,” he spat, his voice low and venomous, dripping with an unmistakable disgust.

Damon, however, remained seated with an unwavering calm, watching Dean's flustered display with a growing, almost amused smile. He made no move to defend himself, nor did he seem particularly bothered by the accusations. It was as if this fiery confrontation, this eruption of anger, was something he had long since grown accustomed to. In his eyes, Dean's outrage was merely an expected “spice” to the game they played.

Seething with frustration, Dean turned on his heel and stormed out of the restaurant. His strides were fast and forceful, his heart pounding in his chest, and his fingers trembled ever so slightly, betraying the intensity of his rage. As he exited the restaurant, a storm of emotions raged within him—a mix of defiance, humiliation, and the bitter sting of being manipulated.

The problem wasn’t solved; it was only made worse. Alone in his empty office, Dean sat still, his fingers clenching involuntarily as waves of defeat and helplessness crashed over him. Just as he had convinced himself that the truth was still within his grasp, the law firm dealt him a crushing blow: an indefinite suspension. This wasn’t a temporary break—it was a verdict that closed all doors, leaving his career in suspended animation, locked in the very dilemma he had been struggling to overcome.

To make matters worse, Linda, the one person who had steadfastly supported him, was also caught in the fallout. She, too, was suspended for a week, stripped of her ability to continue defending him. It felt like a knife wound to his soul, cutting deeply, leaving a mark on his once unshakable faith in both his own cause and the system.

Dean was consumed by guilt. Every time he faced Linda, an inexplicable sense of remorse weighed heavily on him. She could have easily remained a bystander, choosing to distance herself from the storm. But instead, she had steadfastly stood by his side, unwavering in her support. And it was precisely this loyalty that had made her his most trusted ally—yet it was this same unwavering commitment that had led to her punishment. Unable to contain his sorrow, Dean quietly apologized, “Linda, I’m so sorry. I never meant for you to suffer alongside me like this.” He knew his words sounded hollow, even powerless, but he hoped they might bring her a semblance of comfort.

To his surprise, Linda simply gave his shoulder a reassuring pat and responded with a light, carefree laugh. “It’s fine, really. Think of it as a break. I haven’t had a proper vacation in ages anyway.” Her tone was so casual, as though she had just been gifted an unexpected holiday, without a trace of bitterness. Instead, she offered him solace, easing his burden with her calm demeanor, and in that moment, Dean felt a warmth he hadn’t expected.

Determined to lift Dean’s spirits, Linda took charge of planning their time off, arranging each day with thoughtful care. Massages, dinners, movies—every detail was meticulously crafted to offer a brief respite from the tension that had gripped their lives. She hoped that these small joys would soften Dean’s frustration, to help him forget, if only for a little while, the turmoil that had defined his days. The two of them wandered side by side through the city’s dimming streets, moving at an unhurried pace, as though they weren’t embroiled in the battles of the professional world, but simply two friends enjoying a rare moment of peace.

But no matter how many distractions Linda offered, Dean could not escape the relentless tide of guilt that consumed him each time he thought of her suspension. Her outward calm and lightheartedness masked a deeper cost—a price he was acutely aware of. She could have stayed detached, could have kept herself out of the mess entirely, but her choice to stand by him had led to her own sacrifice. The thought of her loss, the injustice she now faced because of him, gnawed at him relentlessly. He couldn’t help but ask himself, during countless sleepless nights: *If I hadn’t dragged her into this mess, would she still be working, still handling cases with ease, still secure in her role?* This thought clung to him, suffocating him with its weight.

At one point, Dean even entertained the idea of resigning. If he stepped down voluntarily, the firm would no longer have to protect him at the expense of their own interests, and Linda would be spared any further fallout. Yet, the mere thought of such an action repulsed him. Deep down, he knew that giving in to this sense of self-doubt was not only irresponsible but utterly against everything he had ever stood for. He wasn’t just a lawyer; he was *Noah Leslie*, a name that had once struck fear into the heart of the business world. He had built his life on principles and convictions, not on the flimsy foundation of avoidance. Running away wouldn’t solve anything; it would only make the sacrifices he and Linda had endured seem in vain.

No, he couldn’t let himself give in. No matter how difficult, he needed to find a way out of this, a solution that would allow him to overcome this impasse without compromising his integrity. He couldn’t afford to fall into self-pity or despair; there had to be a way forward, even if it meant confronting uncomfortable choices.

After much deliberation, the only solution that seemed to offer any hope was to seek Damon’s help. Yet, the thought of meeting Damon again left a sour taste in his mouth. The shameless demand Damon had made the last time they met still burned in his memory, and the very idea of having to rely on him again filled Dean with both shame and anger. If he were to approach Damon now, he knew he’d have to walk a tightrope—he couldn’t let Damon take advantage of the situation, but how could he navigate this without being manipulated? The tension within him was almost unbearable: on the one hand, he didn’t want to owe Damon anything; on the other, he had to admit that Damon’s influence might be the only thing capable of tipping the scales in his favor.

With a deep breath, Dean steeled himself. Perhaps this meeting would require him to tread carefully, to be diplomatic, and to take things one step at a time. There was no room for missteps, no room for further embarrassment. He had made his decision, and now he had no choice but to face Damon again, hoping that somehow, despite the discomfort, it would lead him to the answer he so desperately needed. With resolve, he unlocked his phone and slowly dialed the number.

The day of their meeting, Dean was consumed by a whirlpool of conflicting emotions. Dressed in a simple yet immaculate suit, his face set in grim lines, he walked into the restaurant with the weight of uncertainty pressing down on him. As he entered, his eyes immediately found Damon, already seated at a corner table by the window, waiting for him with that unmistakable smile—half amusement, half anticipation. Damon’s presence seemed effortless, as though he had already foreseen this moment, and his gaze held a hint of playful arrogance, as if he knew exactly why Dean had come today.

Damon broke the silence, his lips curving up into that signature smirk, his voice laced with teasing mockery. "So, have you made up your mind? Should I go ahead and book the hotel?" His eyes locked onto Dean’s, the suggestion in his words clear, and his gaze held that unsettling mixture of amusement and something darker, as if he were enjoying the discomfort of the situation.

For a moment, Dean was struck by an overwhelming wave of frustration and helplessness. Every fiber of his being wanted to lash out, but he knew better than to give in to that impulse. Instead, he steadied himself and, with a cold edge to his voice, countered, “Is there any other way?”

His words hung in the air, heavy with the weight of the question, as he looked into Damon’s eyes, hoping for something—anything—that didn’t involve the twisted game Damon seemed intent on playing. But deep down, Dean knew that Damon’s response would never be straightforward, never as simple as a yes or no. Every part of this meeting felt like a calculated move in a chess game, with Damon already five steps ahead.

Damon’s reply came as effortlessly as ever, dripping with that familiar arrogance. “Oh, sure, there’s another way—sleep with you twice.” He took his time, raising his glass of red wine to his lips, clearly savoring the moment, as though the flicker of anger and restraint on Dean’s face was an amusing spectacle. His gaze remained fixed on Dean, as if he were enjoying every ounce of the tension building between them.