She toured round the mansion then walked to the garden She pulled out her phone, thumb hovering over her aunt's number.
Her fingers trembled when she dialed; the ringing inside her sounded like someone else's panic. The call went straight to the cruel silence of no signal—the phone was switched off.
She tried again, hands clumsily fumbling with her phone as if the device might betray its silence at the next push. But nothing. No answer.
She sank onto a bench beneath a tree and plugged in her earphones. Music streamed into her ears—some old ballad she had loved as a child, its melody a thin rope leading her back to memory.
She closed her eyes and let the notes wash through. For a while, the sound blocked the edges of panic.
She thought of her aunt in the hospital, of doctors with their practiced faces, and of the paper she had signed. Her chest constricted.
***
He stepped into the boardroom where the executives were already waiting, their chatter dying the moment they saw him. No one spoke as he crossed the room, coat swaying like a shadow trailing a storm.
He dropped into the leather chair at the head of the table, not needing to announce his authority—his presence did it for him.
Halfway through the meeting, the door opened without a knock. Damian didn't need to look up to know who dared enter. The air shifted with that grating arrogance only one man carried.
His uncle, Leonid Volkov, strolled in with his son, Adrian—Damian's cousin. The same cousin who had once been his friend, until Isabel had cheated with him. Until betrayal had cut deeper than blood.
"Leave" he ordered with his voice icy and the executives left the boardroom immediately .
"Still running the empire like it's your playground, Damian?" Leonid's voice carried the bitterness of a man who had tasted power once and never gotten enough. He sat without invitation, his cane clicking against the table.
Adrian leaned back in his chair, smirking. "Some would say it's reckless to let a boy who's only good at breaking things manage a company like this."
Damian finally looked up, his gray eyes sharp as blades. He didn't raise his voice—he didn't need to. "And some would say it's pathetic to be a man in his fifties still whining about the throne he couldn't claim."
Leonid's jaw tightened. "Careful how you speak to me, boy."
Adrian's smirk faded, anger flashing. "Don't talk to my father like that."
Damian chuckled low, the sound cold enough to frost the windows. He leaned back in his chair, tapping his fingers lazily against the polished table.
"Your father doesn't need a guard dog, Adrian. Sit. Stay. Good boy."
Adrian shot up, fists clenched, ready to swing. For a moment, the entire room held its breath. Damian didn't move, didn't flinch. He almost looked amused.
Before Adrian could land his blow, the heavy doors slammed open again. Grandfather stepped in, his presence enough to make even the executives stiffen. His cane struck the floor once, silencing the room.
"Enough." His voice was thunder wrapped in steel. "This is one family. We bleed the same blood, we carry the same name. I will not have the boardroom turned into a gutter fight."
Adrian lowered his fist reluctantly, though his glare never left Damian.
Grandfather turned his cold gaze on Leonid. "And you—why waste your breath sniping like an old crow? If you had the strength to lead, you would have proved it decades ago."
Leonid's face reddened with fury. "Why haven't you done anything about him, Father?" His hand shot out, pointing at Damian like an accusation.
"You sit there and let this...this cold bastard tarnish everything we built. You handed him the reins and act as though I don't exist."
The old man's expression didn't change, but the silence that followed was sharper than any insult.
"One day, you'll regret ignoring me." He stormed out, Adrian following close behind with murder still simmering in his eyes.
Damian didn't move. He only smirked faintly, swirling the untouched glass of whiskey by his hand and left the boardroom to his office.
Damian sat in the silence of his office, the walls closing in around him. His rage from the earlier confrontation still simmered under his skin, pulsing like a second heartbeat.
He clenched his jaw, gripping the armrest of his chair so hard the leather almost creaked.
But then—like a shadow in the firelight—another image intruded. Elena.
Her curvy body and moans from last night . The hesitant tremble of her lips. The curve of her waist under his hands. His chest tightened, he was actually happy he was her first and also her first kiss.
He looked down and saw he was hard already from his thoughts with Elena.
Damian cursed under his breath. "Shit."
His control snapped for a heartbeat, and he leaned forward, running a hand through his hair.
The door broke the dangerous thread of his thoughts.
"Enter."
His secretary stepped in, careful, holding a neatly wrapped package with a red silk ribbon. "Sir, this just arrived. From your mother"
Damian's icy expression melted ever so slightly, his lips twitching at the corner. His mother. She never forgot him—not his favorite dishes, not the smallest detail. Her love was the only soft thing in his brutal world, and he let it show, just for a second.
"Leave it," he said quietly.
The secretary nodded and slipped out.
But before Damian could open the package, the door burst open again without warning.
"Damian!"