The Blackwood mansion's grand dining room was lit under the soft glow of crystal chandeliers. The long mahogany table was set with fine china and silverware, dishes of elaborate food spread across, filling the air with rich aromas. The family gathered, a mix of celebration and restrained tension hanging like a veil.
Damien sat at the head of the table, calm and composed, dressed perfectly in a tailored suit. His father raised a glass, voice strong with pride.
"To Damien —another successful deal securing the family's empire," his father announced. Glasses clinked as everyone toasted.
His mother smiled tightly but her eyes searched Damien's face with a hint of worry.
Once the clinking died down, she spoke gently yet insistently. "Damien, all this success —when will you consider settling down? We can't have you alone forever. I'm worried about you, son."
Damien's expression tightened for a moment before offering a curt smile. "Mother, business comes first. Marriage can wait and I don't want to marry for now."
His mother's gaze flicked to the woman seated beside her—her longtime friend's daughter—who had been quietly observing Damien all evening. The woman, graceful and poised, made a subtle move to introduce herself, her eyes hopeful.
"Damien, this is Ruby," his mother said with a forced casualness. "She's been looking forward to meeting you."
Ruby stepped forward with a soft smile and extended her hand. "I've heard much about you. It's a pleasure to meet you."
Damien's eyes barely flickered. He shook her hand briefly, voice cool. "Likewise."
Ethan, seated beside Damien's brother, chuckled under his breath. "Damien's cold as ice tonight. Nothing can happen to it."
Damien's gaze hardened as he replied quietly, "I don't do distractions."
Anara's smile faltered but she politely withdrew, moving back to her seat. The room's atmosphere held a fragile balance—celebratory, but with undercurrents of unspoken worries and ambitions.
Damien's father cleared his throat. "Let's enjoy the evening. We'll discuss the next steps tomorrow."
The garden was alive with laughter, but Lilly was in her own little world, chasing butterflies near the rose bushes. Her small hands clutched the hem of her frock as she twirled, sunlight catching in her hair.
From the upstairs window, eleven-year-old Damien leaned against the glass, watching her quietly. A faint smirk tugged at his lips, his dark eyes following her every move.
She was different from the rest of the noisy kids. Softer. Fragile. His.
He pushed open the window and slipped out, making his way down to the garden.
"Hey," Damien called, his voice steady.
Lilly's head turned instantly, her face lighting up. She ran toward him, giggling.
"Mien!" she called out.
Only his parents were allowed to call him by that nickname. But Damien never stopped Lilly. In fact, he liked it. It made her feel closer, like she belonged to him in some way.
"I have a gift for you," Damien said, his smile small but sure.
Her eyes widened. "Really? What is it?"
He held out a large box wrapped neatly with a red ribbon. "Here. Open it."
Lilly gasped and tore the paper quickly, her little hands trembling with excitement. Inside lay a porcelain doll, dressed in lace, its glass eyes shining.
"Wow!" she whispered, hugging it tightly. "It's so beautiful!"
Damien's smirk deepened, pride flickering across his face.
"Yes," he said softly. "A beautiful doll… for my cute doll."
The alarm clock buzzed sharply, breaking through the silence of Damien's bedroom. He opened his eyes slowly, the remnants of a dream still clinging to him — Lilly's laughter in the garden, her small hands clutching the doll he had given her.
A faint smile curved on his lips. He turned onto his side and reached for the drawer beside his bed.
Click.
Inside, neatly hidden away, was a single photograph. Damien pulled it out carefully, as if it were the most valuable thing he owned.
His gaze lingered on it — a little girl, no older than six, holding a porcelain doll almost as big as her. Her smile was wide, innocent, untouched by the world.
Damien's smirk deepened. His thumb brushed lightly over the picture.
"My cute doll…" he whispered, voice low, possessive. "Where are you?"
The morning light spilt into the room, but Damien's eyes stayed locked on that frozen moment in time — the image of the girl he had claimed long ago, even if she didn't know it yet.