POV: Selene Hart
Every predator I'd ever met smiled before they struck. Damon was smiling now.
New York's skyline sprawled behind him, the lights bleeding into the night like a city that refused to sleep. His penthouse was all glass and sharp edges, every surface polished to a perfect reflection — a place designed for intimidation.
He was leaning against the floor-to-ceiling windows when I walked in, black suit jacket open, drink in hand.
"Elena," he said, like my name was a dare. "You came."
"You summoned," I corrected.
He smiled again. The dangerous kind. "Sit."
I did, keeping my coat on. He stayed standing, the city lights framing him like a crown he didn't need to wear.
"There's a problem," he said. "A hostile takeover attempt. It threatens Veyenne and Blackwood Global."
I folded my arms. "And I care because…?"
"Because," he drawled, "if I go down, so does your access to what happened to Richard Hart."
The name hit like a gut punch. I kept my face neutral. "You're saying you have answers."
"I'm saying I can give them to you. But only if you help me stop this."
I let silence stretch between us, long enough for the city's hum to fill the room. Aligning with him felt like playing chess with a wolf — every move calculated, every risk personal.
"Why me?" I asked finally.
"Because you're good. Because you're not afraid of me. And because you're already in deeper than you realize."
The last part wasn't a compliment.
"See. I am very certain that you can help me do this. You can save me from this mess." He grabbed my arms, eyes locked on mine.
I avoided his eyes, removing his hands from my arms, "I am not the best, Damon. What you're telling me to do wasn't part of the job descriptions you employed me for."
"And who says it's not," he said, voice resonating in indifference, "Don't forget you father, Richard is a part of this."
For a moment, my eyes didn't leave his, "But wait."
I interrupted his movement as he turned to leave, "What is that," a smile tugged on his lips as though he was expecting me to call.
"How in the first place did you know my father?"
He smiled, "Is that really necessary?"
"Yes it is," I snapped.
"Do the job and you will know a lot." He said as he parted my shoulder.
My phone rang—it was an unknown number.
"Hello,"
"Hello," the voice on the other side was hoarse and thick,
"Who am I unto?" I asked.
"You're speaking with Victor. Victor Langston," he said, voice echoing in confidence, "Don't worry to rack your brain over who I am. Just know that am outside waiting for you."
I immediately ran to the window, looking down as I saw a man standing as though he had expected me to run out.
His coat collar turned up against the wind. He smiled like we were old friends.
"Now I see you. You can come downstairs."
"You've been spending a lot of time with Blackwood," he said without even a formal greeting.
"For how long have you been watching me?" I replied, brushing past him.
"Maybe using 'watch' might be sounding too desperate," He kept pace. "I have just been an observer."
"And why have you?" I asked.
"To help," he said, wincing his eye brows, "Just a warning. Damon doesn't save people. He uses them. And when he's done, they disappear."
"Like you?" I shot back.
His smile didn't falter. "I'm still here."
*****
The break-in happened three nights later.
Nothing was stolen. But in my bathroom, scrawled across the mirror in crimson lipstick, were six words:
Leave now or join your father.
My breath fogged the glass as I stared at it. My pulse was a drumbeat in my ears.
Owen Hale showed up within the hour. He scanned the apartment like a predator scenting blood.
"They've done this before," he said.
"To who?"
His jaw tightened. "To Damon. Years ago. Before an attempt on his life."
It didn't make sense — the note was a threat to me, but if Damon had received the same one… then maybe he wasn't the spider at the center of my web. Or maybe he was, and he wanted me to think otherwise.
By midnight, I was sitting on my bed, laptop open, when the email came.
No sender. No trace. Just an attachment.
The video was grainy, the angle bad. But the faces were clear enough. Damon. In bed with someone I knew instantly — Julia. My best friend from before everything burned down. The girl who vanished the night I was arrested.
Her laughter bled through the static. Then Damon's voice, low and certain:
"She's just a cute baddie. Hart means nothing to me."