Twelve executives sat around the oval table in the conference room, all waiting for Damian.
The double doors swung open, and he walked in with his usual sharp dominance — tailored charcoal suit, silver watch gleaming, eyes cold. His secretary trailed behind him, carrying a stack of files.
His voice cut through the hum of whispers. "Let's not waste time. Report."
The CFO cleared his throat, sliding a report across.
"Our revenue in the European sector has grown eight percent this quarter, largely due to the Milan expansion. However—"
"However what?" Damian's eyes snapped to him.
The CFO faltered. "The South American division shows… significant losses. Distribution delays, tariffs—"
Damian's jaw tightened. He leaned forward, fingers steepled. "Unacceptable. I want solutions, not excuses.
If you can't control the distribution chain, I'll find someone who can."
The room froze.
Another executive jumped in nervously. "We've already prepared alternate partnerships, Mr. Volkov. If you approve, we can re-route shipments through—"
"Approve it." Damian cut him off. "And make it happen fast. This company doesn't survive on delay."
The secretary shifted closer, whispering as he handed him a tablet with projections.
Damian scanned, then addressed the room again, voice smooth but cold.
"Investors will expect reassurance in next week's conference. Prepare a revised forecast.
I'll accept nothing less than growth."
The executives nodded rapidly, scribbling notes.
The meeting ended as abruptly as it began, Damian rising to his full height. "Dismissed."
They scrambled out, some sweating, others muttering under their breath about his ruthlessness. Damian stayed behind, his eyes distant.
Later, Damian sat in his glass-walled office. His tie was loosened, jacket draped over his chair.
He skimmed through documents, scrawling sharp notes in the margins.
The door opened without a knock.
"Leonid Volkov."
"You handled them well," Leonid said with a smirk, dropping heavily into the chair opposite. "Just like your father would've."
Damian didn't look up. "What do you want?"
Leonid chuckled. "Straight to the point.
"I came to say I heard about the girl you've been hiding in your house and I also heard she went shopping with your mother".
The pen in Damian's hand snapped in two. Ink bled across his fingers. His head lifted slowly, eyes burning.
"Careful."
Leonid leaned back, unfazed.
"What? You think I'm wrong? Your mother's too trusting. That softness ruined your father. And if you're not careful—"
The next second, Damian was on his feet.
"You don't speak about my mother." His voice thundered through the office.
Leonid scoffed.
"Truth hurts, boy. You may run this company, but you still live under her skirts—"
Damian's fist collided with his uncle's jaw before he could finish.
The older man stumbled back against the desk, sending papers flying.
"You bastard—!" Leonid roared, lunging forward.
The two collided, fists slamming, chairs toppling, the office echoing with the brutal sound of flesh on flesh.
Damian's knuckles split, Leonid's lip bled, but neither stopped.
The door burst open.
"Mr. Volkov —!" his secretary gasped, rushing in just as Adrian strode inside, drawn by the noise.
Adrian's eyes lit up with wicked amusement.
"How dare you raise your hands on my father Damian?"
"Stay out of this," Damian growled, shoving Leonid back against the desk.
His secretary grabbed Damian's arm, trembling. "Please, sir, stop—this will get out—"
Leonid spat blood into a tissue, sneering.
"You're just like him. Hot-headed. Blind. Your father died because he—"
Damian surged forward again, but Adrian and the secretary shoved themselves between them.
"That's enough!" Adrian barked.
Damian's chest heaved, his fists clenched, eyes still locked on Leonid like a predator ready to kill.
But slowly, he straightened, wiping the blood from his knuckles with a calmness that was more terrifying than his rage.
"Get out," Damian said coldly. "Both of you."
Leonid smirked, still holding his jaw.
"One day, nephew, I will rule this place."
He pushed past Adrian and left.
The secretary lingered, shaken, his eyes flickering with worry at his boss.
Damian sank into his chair again, silent, but his fury simmered in the sharp twitch of his jaw.
He left his office and headed out, got the keys from his driver and drove away.
The engine roared like a beast as Damian tore down the highway, headlights slicing through the darkening sky.
His grip on the steering wheel was iron, veins standing out against the skin of his bloodied knuckles.
He didn't even notice the blur of the city passing by — he only felt the thunder in his chest.
His jaw locked so tight it ached. He pressed harder on the accelerator, fury boiling until it threatened to choke him.
Kill him. Kill him and drink yourself numb. That's what should happen.
He pulled into the driveway with a screech, the tires biting into the gravel.
Why was he even here? Why did he leave the office?
Why did he come back to this damned house instead of finishing what he should have done — putting a bullet in Leonid's head and ending the poison once and for
He slammed the door shut and stormed into the mansion, his strides heavy, purposeful,
He yanked off his jacket, tossing it carelessly on the marble floor, his mind already screaming for whiskey and s*x.
He needed to burn out the anger before it consumed him completely.
But then —
Soft footsteps echoed on the staircase.
He looked up.
Elena was descending slowly, her delicate frame wrapped in a pale silk dress.
Her hair framed her face loosely, eyes widening the moment she spotted him.
"Damian?" Her voice was cautious, laced with surprise.
Something in him cracked.
He didn't think. He just moved. In two long strides, he was across the hall, reaching her before she even touched the last step.
His arms wrapped around her tightly, crushing her against his chest as though holding her was the only thing tethering him to sanity.
Elena gasped softly, stunned. "Damian… what—"
She stilled, then her fingers brushed his chest. Her eyes lowered — and widened in horror.
"There's blood on your shirt."
His jaw brushed against her hair as he exhaled, rough and uneven.
"I fought with my uncle," he muttered, his voice hoarse, trembling with fury he hadn't yet released.
Her lips parted, but no words came. She pulled back just enough to look up at him, searching his hardened face, the fury still burning in his eyes.
He looked like a man at war.
Damian tore his gaze from hers and snapped over her shoulder, voice sharp. "Yuri!"
The butler appeared instantly, bowing his head.
"Bring me a bottle of whiskey," Damian ordered, his tone leaving no room for delay.
But before Yuri could leave, Elena's hand pressed firmly against Damian's chest again, stopping him.
"No." Her voice was soft, yet it held a firmness he rarely heard from her.
His eyes flicked back down to her. "Don't tell me what I—"
"You don't need that," she interrupted, her words gentle but steady. "You don't need to drown this with whiskey. Breathe, Damian."
His throat worked, swallowing the anger that refused to ease. His fists clenched at his sides, veins throbbing.
For a moment he thought he might snap at her, lash out at the softness she dared to offer.
But then he saw it — her eyes, wide yet brave, refusing to let him fall into his rage.
Slowly, painfully, he let out a long breath. His body loosened fraction by fraction, the storm inside dimming just slightly.
"Cupcake…" His voice broke slightly, the word a whisper instead of his usual teasing dominance.
"You have no idea what you're doing to me."
Elena didn't flinch.
"Please let me have you Elena" he uttered.
"Wha..
He cut her words as he placed his lips on hers devouring her, she responded to the kiss, he picked her up she spread her legs round his waist as they went upstairs.