She glanced at Tatiana, who was humming softly, sipping her tea as though nothing unusual had happened. Elena hesitated before speaking.
"Tia," she said quietly. "Who's… Isabel?"
Tatiana's humming stopped. She set her teacup down, studying Elena with wide, curious eyes. "You don't know?"
"How would I?" Elena muttered, lowering her gaze. "It's not like your cousin shares his personal life with me."
Tatiana leaned forward, her lips curving into a mischievous smile. "Isabel was his first love. Back when he was a teenager, before he turned into… well, this."
She gestured around, as if Damian's empire and cruelty were just furniture to point at.
Elena blinked. Her fork stilled.
"His first love?"
Tatiana nodded, enjoying the little piece of gossip. "The girl who managed to thaw the iceberg Damian Volkov—for a while.
They were inseparable. Everyone thought they'd end up married one day."
Elena's brows furrowed. "So… what happened?"
"She cheated," Tatiana said simply, her voice flattening. "With our cousin."
Elena's lips parted in disbelief. She looked down at her plate, then muttered under her breath with a tiny, incredulous snort, "So the moron was once in love."
Tatiana caught it and burst into laughter, clapping her hands together. "Oh, I like you, Elena. You've got a tongue sharper than his.
The heavy oak doors of his study closed behind him with a thud, sealing Damian into his sanctuary of shadows.
He dropped into the leather chair behind his desk, his hands curling into fists as he stared at nothing.
Isabel.
The name echoed in his mind like a gunshot.
He tried to push it down, bury it beneath the walls he'd spent years building, but memory clawed its way to the surface regardless.
He saw her—golden hair flying in the wind as she laughed, her arms wrapped around his neck as teenagers.
He remembered sneaking out to see her, the first girl who had ever made his heart pound, who had made him think—stupidly, naively—that love was worth weakness.
Then the betrayal.
Walking in on her with his cousin. Her lips on another man. Her soft laughter that wasn't for him anymore.
That was the day Damian Volkov buried whatever softness he had left. That was the day he swore love was poison, and power was the only thing that mattered.
His jaw clenched, a bitter taste on his tongue. He hated himself for still remembering the sound of her voice.
The door creaked open without a knock, breaking his reverie.
"Brooding doesn't suit you," Viktor's lazy drawl filled the room as he stepped inside, hands in his pockets. "You'll get wrinkles."
Damian shot him a cold look. "Get out."
"Can't," Viktor said easily, sprawling into the armchair across from him. "You'll thank me later.
You were one second away from drowning in teenage heartbreak memories."
"I said—"
"—Get out, I heard you," Viktor interrupted, waving him off. "But no. I came here, remember? So let's talk business.
The shipment in Morocco—it's getting restless. Word is, the rival family wants to intercept."
Damian exhaled slowly, forcing himself back into the present. Work. Cold. Safe.
"Let them try," he said flatly. "They'll bleed for it."
Viktor smirked. He had succeeded—pulling Damian out of the spiral Isabel's name had sent him into.
Then they left the mansion together.
***
His business face was as cold and sharp as always, he spent his day in meetings with investors, phone calls about shipments, and a lunch with an old associate that stretched too long.
The investor's palms were damp as he smoothed his napkin over his lap. He had dealt with powerful men before, but none like this.
Damian didn't speak right away. He cut into his steak with a slow, deliberate precision, as if every movement was a reminder of who controlled the room.
When he finally spoke, his voice was low, almost lazy. "You asked me for this meeting. Tell me why I should waste my time."
The investor cleared his throat. "Mr. Volkov, the proposal I've prepared—it's solid. The returns are guaranteed. If we join forces, your empire will—"
Damian raised his hand, cutting the words short. His eyes, cold and gray as steel, locked onto him. "Don't insult me with guarantees.
There are none in this world. What you're really asking is for me to trust you with what's mine."
The man shifted, suddenly very aware of the sweat beading at the back of his neck. "I assure you, I have the experience—"
"I don't care about your experience," Damian interrupted, his tone sharp as a blade. "Experience doesn't keep men loyal. Fear does. And I don't see fear in you yet."
The investor's stomach turned. He forced a smile that faltered almost immediately. "You can trust me, Mr. Volkov."
Dominic leaned forward slightly, resting his elbows on the table, his stare unrelenting. "No. I don't trust. I control. That's why I win, and men like you beg."
The silence followed heavy on the room. The investor couldn't bring himself to touch his food.
Damian finally leaned back, sipping his wine with a calmness that made the man's nerves fray even further. "Eat," he ordered softly, as though testing obedience.
The investor scrambled for his fork, his hands shaking as he forced down a bite. Damian's lips curved, but it wasn't a smile—it was the satisfaction of watching another man bend.
For Damian Volkov, business was never about money. It was about power, and reminding everyone who sat across from him that they would never walk away as equals.
By the time night covered, his driver pulled up to the gates of the mansion. Damian stepped inside, shrugging off his coat, his tie slightly loosened.
The butler informed him Tatiana was still with Elena. He hummed in response, his boots echoing against the marble as he walked down the corridor.
He stopped at the doorway to the lounge.
The sight hit him like a strange ache. Elena sat cross-legged on the sofa, her face painted with a mint-green mask, laughing at something Tatiana had just said.
Her laugh—bright and unguarded—was not the usual nervous, tear-filled voice he was used to. And it made his chest tighten unexpectedly.
"Admiring her from afar?" Tatiana's voice chimed suddenly as she walked towards him. She had gone to fetch a drink and caught her cousin standing like a statue.
Damian turned his head sharply, his usual mask sliding back into place. "Mind your business, Tia."
But she only smirked knowingly before slipping past him, leaving him no choice but to enter the lounge.