The Billionaire

Damien’s POV “You bastard!” Her voice cuts through the penthouse like glass shattering on marble. Loud. Furious. Predictable. I don’t flinch. Instead, I lean against the minibar and pour myself a drink. Neat, of course. Always neat. I don’t even bother looking at her. “That’s a little dramatic, don’t you think?” I say, taking a sip. I hear her breath hitch between sobs. The heartbreak. The betrayal. The explosion. Same scene. Different woman. “Dramatic?” she chokes out. “I should have listened to the rumors! Everyone warned me about you, but I was stupid enough to believe you actually cared.” I glance at her then—red eyes, trembling hands. The silk sheets are crumpled around her like she’s gripping on for dear life. “I never lied to you,” I say simply. Her face twists. “You never answered my calls! For weeks, Damien! I meant nothing to you, didn’t I? You got what you wanted, and now I’m just another number on your list.” I place the glass down with a soft clink. “Abigail, we had fun. That’s all it was.” Her voice drops, quieter now. Hurt. Raw. “Fun? I gave you everything. My time, my body—” “Your choice.” My voice stays even. Cold. Controlled. She laughs, but there’s no humor in it. “God, you’re disgusting.” She charges toward me. I don’t move. And then—slap. My head turns slightly from the force of it, but I stay rooted. Still. Unbothered. “I hope you rot alone, Damien Blackwood.” I say nothing. I’ve heard worse. The door opens. Cole steps in, composed as ever. “Miss Sinclair, it’s time to leave.” Abigail yanks her arm free from his gentle grip and throws one last look at me. “I curse the day I met you.” The door slams. The echo lingers for a beat too long. Cole adjusts his cufflinks. “That’s the third one this month.” I lift my glass again, sip. “She’ll get over it.” He doesn’t argue. He knows better. “Your meeting is in twenty minutes.” I nod. “Let’s go.” Later – The Blackwood Estate Ballroom The scent of expensive cologne, aged whiskey, and power is heavy in the air. The chandelier glitters above us like it knows too many secrets. Around me, the elite laugh too loud, drink too fast, and gamble like gods. I’ve won three rounds of poker tonight. I could buy a private island with the chips in front of me. But none of it moves me. Across the table, Victor Langley watches me with that damn smirk of his. “You’re getting bored, aren’t you, Blackwood?” he drawls. I let the corner of my mouth lift. “Always.” He pulls a sleek black envelope from his inner pocket and slides it across the table like it’s the winning hand. I don’t touch it yet. He wants me to. “There’s a deed inside,” he says. “Private estate. Upstate. Comes with one condition.” I raise an eyebrow. “Which is?” “You spend one month there. No money. No assistants. No tech. Just you—and whatever’s waiting.” Laughter bubbles up around us. They think it’s madness. Maybe it is. My fingers brush the envelope. Cool. Weighty. One month with nothing? It’s reckless. Stupid. Exactly my kind of gamble. I meet his eyes and smile, slow and dangerous. “You’ve got yourself a deal.” Victor chuckles. “Careful, Blackwood. You might regret it.” I down the last of my whiskey and give him a mock toast. “I never regret anything.” But as I swallow, something in his eyes shifts. Amusement… or warning? Either way, I’m already in. Three Days Later – The Estate Rain hammers the roof of the black town car as it pulls up to the estate. The second I step out, the cold hits me like a slap. My breath fogs in the night air. The car doesn’t wait. The driver takes off before I even close the door. I adjust the collar of my jacket and sling the duffel bag over my shoulder. Welcome to hell. The place is massive. Dark stone. Twisting ivy. No lights. No staff. No warmth. Just me and the silence. I start toward the front steps—and freeze. Movement. A shadow flits behind one of the stone columns on the porch. My hand tightens around the bag strap. My muscles tense. I know what I saw. The wind picks up, rattling the trees like bones. For a moment, everything is still. Watching. Then, from somewhere inside— A floorboard creaks. Not wind. Not imagination. Someone’s here. I exhale slowly, centering myself. Maybe it’s paranoia. Maybe I’m just on edge from the isolation. Or maybe Langley knew exactly what he was doing when he sent me here. And whatever’s inside… It’s not just solitude.