7. Chapter 7 Phoenix

Chapter 7 Phoenix

A phoenix is just a bird until it burns.

The thought seared through my mind as I stared at my reflection in the elevator doors, the gleaming steel warped by a spider web of cracks. A fitting metaphor for the fractures spreading through my carefully constructed facade.

The headlines had hit like a sledgehammer, shattering the illusion of control I'd clung to for so long. Grainy pictures of Damon and I, our bodies entwined, our faces painted with an intimacy too raw for public consumption.

And beneath it all, speculation. Lurid innuendo. The kind of salacious gossip that sold tabloids and destroyed careers.

Destroyed lives.

Fear clawed at my throat, tasting of bile and old wounds. I'd spent years building an impenetrable wall around my secrets, my scars. Brick by brick, I'd entombed the scared little girl who flinched at every raised voice, every cut-glass word from a father who claimed to love me .

But now, with a few keystrokes and a lascivious headline, it was all crumbling down. The past I'd tried so hard to outrun had finally caught me, its fetid breath hot on my neck.

And Damon...god. The memory of his face, those midnight eyes haunted by something I couldn't name, made my chest seize. He'd left so abruptly, his lean body coiled tight with a tension that had nothing to do with lust.

Had he seen the scars? The map of pain and degradation etched into my skin like a brand? Was that the reason for his sudden retreat?

Revulsion rose, thick and cloying. Of course he'd run.

What man wanted a woman so broken, so tainted by the filth of her own history? I was fooling myself to think I could ever escape it, ever be more than Cyrus Rowe's damaged goods.

The elevator shuddered to a stop, the doors yawning open to reveal the glossy expanse of the executive floor. I stepped out into the hush, my heels sinking into the plush carpet like quicksand.

Immediately, the whispers started. The sidelong glances from my father's army of sycophants, their eyes alight with a gleeful sort of malice. I could practically hear their thoughts, the sordid scenarios they were concocting behind their bland smiles and overpriced dental work.

Poor little Phoenix Rowe, finally showing her true colors. Like mother, like daughter, am I right?

I wanted to scream. To claw at their smug faces until the bone shone through. But I couldn't. I wouldn't.

Showing weakness was a cardinal sin in the world Cyrus had molded me for. And so I walked. Spine straight, head high. The perfect porcelain doll, hollow and hard in all the right places.

But with each step, the fractures spread. Slivers of the real me, the broken girl, the ravenous woman, peeking through the fissures. And when I reached my father 's door, my hand trembled as it closed around the handle.

I knew what waited for me on the other side. The same thing that always did when I failed to live up to the impossible standard he'd set.

Pain. Disgust. The cruel edge of his tongue, flaying me to the bone. An icy frisson of dread skittered down my spine, memory and premonition twining in a sickening double helix.

You're nothing. A disappointment. Weak, just like your whore of a mother.

"Ms. Rowe!" the receptionist called out, a hint of panic in her voice. "Your father...he's been looking for you. I think there's been some kind of emergency..."

Ice trickled down my spine, but I didn't let it show on my face. "I'll handle it," I tossed over my shoulder, jabbing the call button with more force than necessary.

The elevator doors parted with a pneumatic hiss, and I stepped inside, grateful for the momentary reprieve. But all too soon, I was striding down the hushed expanse of the executive floor, the muted clicks of my heels like a timer counting down.

I paused outside Cyrus's door, steeling myself for the impending detonation. The earlier taunts echoed in my head, a vicious chorus that only grew louder as I stepped into his office.

Cyrus was standing by the window, his back to me. A king surveying his kingdom of glass and greed.

"Close the door." His voice was soft. Conversational. The tone he used when he wanted me to know just how badly I'd fucked up.

I obeyed, the click of the latch obscenely loud in the charged silence. And then I waited. A child called to the principal's office, bracing for the blow .

"Imagine my surprise," Cyrus began, still not turning, "when I opened the paper this morning to find my only daughter splashed across the gossip pages. In bed with some washed up rocker with more tattoos than talent."

My nails bit into my palms, a bright flare of pain. "Damon isn't washed up. Coffin Cargo is about to explode, you've seen their numbers-"

Cyrus scoffed, finally turning to spear me with a cutting look. "Spare me the spin, Phoenix. This has nothing to do with that band's commercial viability and everything to do with your inability to keep your legs shut around a pretty face."

"This isn't about numbers." He stalked closer, his eyes cold and glittering. "This is about legacy. About the empire I've spent decades building, brick by brick. And you? You're pissing all over it for a quick fuck with gutter trash."

"You're out of line," I bit out, each word precise and brimming with barely-leashed violence. "My personal life is none of your fucking business."

"It is when you're dragging the Rowe name through the mud with your antics!" Cyrus snarled, slamming his hand down on the desk. "Do you have any idea the kind of calls I've been fielding all morning? The damage control I'm going to have to do to contain this little indiscretion of yours?"

"I'm not some problem to be managed," I snapped, taking a step toward him. "I'm your daughter. Or have you forgotten that in your perpetual quest to control every narrative, every angle?"

Something ugly and knowing flickered in Cyrus's gaze. "Ah, there it is. The righteous indignation of the wounded ingenue. Tell me, Phoenix, does Damon know about your sordid little history?"

Rage flickered, hot and heady. "Don't talk about him like that. You don't know the first thing about Damon. About what we-"

The slap cracked across my face like a whip, snapping my head to the side. I tasted blood, felt it well hot and thick against my teeth.

"I know enough." Cyrus loomed over me, his breath fetid with scotch and old sins. "You're making a fool of me, Phoenix. Just like she did. Parading around with scum, dragging our name through the filth."

His fingers dug into my chin, forcing my gaze to his. "Is that what you want? To end up like your mother? Used up and discarded by whatever miscreant catches your eye?"

Tears burned like acid, blurring the edges of his merciless face. "I'm not her," I whispered, hating the broken tremor in my voice. "I'm not."

"No?" His lips curled, a gruesome approximation of a smile. "Prove it. End this sordid little dalliance. Cut Cross loose before he drags you down to his level. And I might just forget this unfortunate lapse in judgment."

Mutely, I shook my head. I couldn't. I wouldn't. Not even to save myself from the beast masquerading as my bloodline.

Damon was...he was everything. The missing piece of my fractured soul. My wings, the spark that could immolate the dross and transform me.

Cyrus's eyes went flat. Reptilian. And I knew, with a sudden crystalline clarity, that he would grind me to dust before he let me have this.

"Does he know what could happen to him, Phoenix?" Cyrus taunted, his eyes never leaving mine. "Or have you conveniently omitted the fact that this isn't your first rodeo with a guitarist?"

All the air left my lungs in a rush, my blood turning to ice in my veins. He couldn't mean...he wouldn't dare…

But the cruel curve of his mouth told me everything I needed to know. Cyrus had been hoarding that particular skeleton, waiting for the perfect moment to use it against me. To remind me just how far his reach extended. Just how much I had to lose if I defied him.

My nails dug into my palms, desperate to cling to the ashes of my facade before I could speak. A seething retort brewed on my tongue like acid. But the office door slammed open, cutting me off.

Then Damon burst in, white hair shaking with manic energy, like an avenging fallen angel. Cyrus's assistant trailed closely behind.

"Sir! You can't just barge-"

But Damon paid the protests no mind, his molten stare locked on my father and me. Electricity crackled, raising primal awareness. This was between Damon and Cyrus now. My Nemesis and my savior.

Cyrus straightened up taking his hands off me, shoulders rigid, face pulled into a cold sneer. "Give me one good reason why I shouldn't call security, Cross."

"Call them. You might need some protection," he growled, a feral animal, as he prowled closer, pointing his finger at Cyrus. "I know you're behind this, you son of a bitch!"

Cyrus stared at him, momentarily stunned by the interruption. "I beg your pardon?"

"Cut the bullshit!" Damon raged, closing in until he was nose to nose with my father. "The studio trashing, the threats, the fucking media circus - it all reeks of your brand of corporate fuckery!"

I watched the scene unfold, too shell-shocked to intervene. What the hell was happening? What did Damon mean, the studio had been trashed? What threats?

Cyrus's face had gone an alarming shade of puce, but he didn't back down from Damon's onslaught. "I don't know what you're babbling about, you talentless parasite, but I suggest you get out of my office before I have security escort you out."

Damon laughed, the sound jagged and unhinged. "Oh, I'll leave. But not before I tell you this - I know you sicced Storm and Rafe on me. Set them up to sabotage my band, my fucking career. And I'm not going to rest until I prove it and bury you."

My heart stopped, then started again at a gallop. Sabotage? Rafe and Storm? No, that couldn't be right.

But even as the denial formed, insidious whispers began to slither through my mind. Storm's sudden interest in getting Artificial Hearts on the Miami Mayhem lineup. Rafe's escalating aggression toward Damon and everything Coffin Cargo related.

Had it all been a ploy? A trap set in motion while I'd been too preoccupied with my own selfish desires to see the danger lurking in plain sight?

Cyrus's barking laugh jolted me from my daze. "You're delusional, Cross. Deranged. And if you think anyone will take the word of a gutter rat like you over mine, you're even dumber than you look."

Damon snarled, veins bulging in his neck, in his forehead. His hands flexed at his sides, those brutal, talented fingers curling into fists. For a terrifying moment, I thought he might actually lunge at Cyrus, consequences be damned.

But then his gaze cut to me, and it was like all the oxygen had been sucked from the room. In his eyes I saw the maelstrom of emotion I'd glimpsed that morning - the fury, the fear...but beneath it all, the searing truth I hadn't had a name for until that very moment.

Love.

It blazed there, raw and unfiltered, stripping me bare to the marrow. Damon Cross loved me, god help us both. And he was going to raze this tower to the ground to protect what was his .

What we could be, if only...

Cyrus, true to form, ruthlessly exploited the sudden shift in the room's atmosphere. "Ah, I see what this is really about," he purred, satisfaction dripping from every word. "Poor little rock star, all twisted up over the girl he can never truly have. How pathetic."

Damon stiffened, his jaw clenching so hard I swore I could hear his molars cracking. But when he spoke, his voice was eerily calm. Controlled in a way that shot dread straight down my spine.

"You don't know a goddamn thing about me, or Phoenix. About what we have, what we mean to each other."

He took a step back, those fathomless eyes still locked on mine.

And I? I could only stand and watch. Mute.

The perfect porcelain girl. Frozen by the fear that had ruled me for as long as I could remember. As my father and my love tore at each other's jugulars.

Nothing happened in this world without Cyrus's say so. The blood money, the soul crushing manipulations. Everything I had ignored for years because he was my father.

Because I was too much of a coward to look the devil in the eye.

"You are delusional," Cyrus barked, cruel amusement dancing in his eyes. "I deal with talent. Real talent, not gutter rats that style themselves revolutionaries."

Damon's hands curled into fists, body shaking with repressed violence. "I know what you are. And what you've done to keep your power. But I swear to god, if you come after the people I love, if you so much as breathe in Phoenix's direction..."

"You'll what?" The shark smile widened. Cold. Empty. "You have nothing. You are nothing. Just like every other piece of trash I've scraped off my shoe over the years. "

Damon lunged, a blur of fury and flesh. Without any thought, I threw myself between them. Between their egos battering each other in a misguided attempt to own me.

No one owned me. And I would ignite us all to make them understand that.

"Enough!" The word tore from my throat, a guttural roar that rang with unleashed hurts. They froze. Shocked by my transformation from fragile bird to incandescent fury.

My legs trembled but I kept my place, my eyes searing my father like Icarus who flew too close to the sun. "This ends now," I hissed. "No more threats. No more using me as a pawn in this sick game."

"Phoenix-"

"No," I cut off softly. "You don't get to talk. You've said quite enough, don't you think?"

The silence could shatter glass, the weight of their stares pressing on my skin. But I refused to waver. Not this time. "Damon didn't attack the company. Why would he jeopardize the only chance Coffin Cargo has?"

Cyrus opened his mouth to interject, but my raised palm stopped him. Raw, naked shock. No one silenced the king of thorns.

Except me. His mortal sin. His undoing. "As for the headline? That's your mess to clean up."

He blinks. Caught off guard by my sudden back bone. "Excuse me?"

I smile, slow and brutal. "You're so concerned about the family name? Fix it. I quit."

"You can't-"

"I just did." It was heady, this power. Intoxicating.

Damon...

His face was a mask of warring emotions and I swallowed back the words crowding my throat. The explanations, the proclamations.

They could wait. I would make them wait. Because right now? I needed to burn.

"Security will see you out, Mr. Cross," I said cooly, my eyes never leaving Cyrus. "I have personal matters to discuss with my father."

He stiffened, betrayal flaring hot and bright. The urge to go to him, to smooth the wounded look from his face was a living thing. But I stood firm.

Watched as he was escorted out, a muscle jumping in his jaw. Felt the weight of his stare, heavy with questions and all the things left unsaid.

Soon. I willed him to understand. Soon I would explain. Offer up the tattered remnants of my soul and pray he found me worthy.

But first, the phoenix had to rise.

Had to set this gilded world ablaze and dance on the ashes of her former self.

Starting with the man who sought to cage her. Who'd willingly sacrificed her on the altar of his own hubris.

"You realize," Cyrus said slowly, his face mottled with rage, "that this little tantrum could very well be the end of your career."

I laughed. A high, brittle sound. Talons and teeth. "Oh, Father," I crooned, "Don't you see? My career was over the moment you decided to use it as a weapon."

He stepped back as if slapped, eyes wide. "You can't do this, Phoenix. I've given you everything-"

"You've given me nothing!" I roared, twenty five years of pain and terror pouring out like bile. "Nothing but a legacy of blood and the back of your hand! You aren't my father, you're my warden. And I'm done being your prisoner."

I whirled away, ignoring his blustering protests. The impotent fury of a man robbed of his favorite toy.

Because that's all I was, in the end. A puppet. A doll to be dressed up and paraded out when it suited his needs. Not a daughter. Not even a human fucking being.

But that ended now. The girl who would flinch from his blows, his barbs, his frigid displeasure was gone. Immolated on the pyre of my own making.

What rose from the ashes was something new, something untamed. A force of nature hell-bent on regaining what had been stolen from her agency. Pride. Love.

And god have mercy on anyone who stood in my way.

Because a phoenix?

Well, a phoenix is just a bird. Until it burns.