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Jackson

Damian’s words echoed in Jackson’s head as consciousness slowly returned. The pounding headache and the bitter taste in his mouth were stark reminders of last night’s breakdown. He groaned, attempting to piece together the fragments of his memories.

“Here,” a soft voice spoke, and he opened his eyes to find Elara holding out a glass of water and some aspirin. “This should help.”

Jackson accepted them gratefully, taking in his surroundings. He was in Damian’s guest room, still wearing his rumpled suit from the party. The events of the previous night came rushing back—his emotional outburst, the things he’d said to Damian.

“God,” he muttered, pressing his palms against his eyes. “What have I done?”

“You needed to let it out,” Elara said gently, sitting on the edge of the bed. “Sometimes pain demands to be felt.”

Jackson lowered his hands and looked at her. There was something different about her today. A sadness in her eyes that hadn’t been there before. He remembered her taking his win
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