Behind closed doors

The city was alive with the hum of luxury—the sound of fast cars, clinking champagne glasses, and whispered secrets behind velvet curtains. Beneath the glimmering skyline, Damien Carter sat in a dimly lit VIP lounge, his fingers wrapped around a glass of golden whiskey, the ice clinking softly as he swirled it. He was ruthless. Dangerously intelligent. Undeniably powerful. But tonight, his thoughts weren’t on business or power. Tonight, he was thinking about love. A rare emotion for a man like him. But she made him believe in it. Layla. For months, she had consumed him—her touch, her laughter, the way she melted beneath him in the dead of night. He had convinced himself that she was different, that she saw the man beneath the power. And tonight, he was ready to claim her forever. But fate had a cruel sense of humor. Sitting across from him was Zane Knight, his closest friend, a man as ambitious as him but far more naïve when it came to love. Zane laughed, swirling his drink, his smile carefree. "I need you to meet my girl," he grinned, excitement gleaming in his eyes. Damien smirked, tilting his head. "Funny. I was about to say the same thing." Zane raised an eyebrow. "Since when do you fall in love?" Damien chuckled, leaning back. "Since I found someone worth it." Zane clinked his glass against Damien’s. "Then we both got lucky." Did they? Because neither of them knew they were talking about the same woman. The after-party was in full swing at Zane’s penthouse, a gathering of the city’s elite. Champagne flowed like water. Secrets were exchanged under dim chandeliers. Damien arrived later than expected, a bouquet of black roses in his hand—a symbol of his dark, intense love. He had planned everything. Tonight, he would take Layla away, whisper promises into her skin, and make her his forever. He stepped inside, his gaze scanning the crowd, searching for her. But Zane was already at the entrance, waiting for him. "Come on," Zane grinned, gripping his shoulder. "Time to meet the love of my life." Damien smirked. "Same here." But the moment they stepped into the room, the world collapsed around them. Layla stood with her friends, a glass of wine in her hand, completely unaware that her game was about to end. "Zane is rich. He’s the one I’ll marry," she smirked, twirling her hair. "Damien? He’s just… for fun. He knows how to handle me in bed, but let’s be real—he’s not husband material." Her friend giggled. "What if Damien proposes?" Layla scoffed. "Please. He’s good for pleasure, but I’d never marry a man like him. He’s too rough, too intense. Zane is a golden ticket. Damien is just a toy." Silence. The air turned suffocating. Layla’s voice had been too loud. Too careless. She turned, her smile fading as she met their gazes—two men standing in the doorway, frozen. Zane’s face twisted in disbelief, his hand curling into a fist. Damien? He didn’t even blink. His expression was eerily calm—too calm. Layla’s breath hitched. "D-Damien… Zane…" Zane let out a bitter laugh, shaking his head. "Unbelievable." "Wait, I can explain—" Damien stepped forward, his towering presence suffocating. He reached into his jacket, pulled out the bouquet of black roses, and dropped them at her feet. "You're not even worth these," he said, his voice like a blade slicing through the air. Layla swallowed, panic filling her eyes. "Damien, please—" He leaned in, his breath brushing against her ear. His voice was a whisper of ice. "You should’ve learned not to play with the devil." Then he turned and walked away, never looking back. Zane followed, his face cold, his voice final. "You're dead to me, Layla." Zane left the country the next day, needing distance from the betrayal. But Damien? He changed. The man who once believed in love no longer existed. He buried himself in business, built an empire, and drowned himself in pleasure. Love was dead. Lust was all that remained. No woman would ever fool him again. And if they tried? They would burn. A month passed. Damien stood in the middle of a five-star hotel, surrounded by flashing cameras and high-profile guests. His company had just hit a billion-dollar valuation. The world saw him as a prodigy, a visionary. He saw himself as a man who had everything—except the ability to feel. A woman approached him, all red lips and expensive perfume. She whispered something in his ear. He didn’t listen. He didn’t care. He simply nodded, finished his drink, and walked toward the elevator with her. This is his life now. Love was a fairytale. And he had burned the book. Forced Into Marriage Then, tragedy struck. His older brother, Thomas, the family’s golden child, was in a devastating car accident. The crash left him permanently unable to father children, crushing their parents' hopes of continuing their bloodline through him. And just like that, all eyes turned to Damien. His father, Richard Carter, didn’t waste time. "You’re the only one left, Damien," Richard said sternly. "You will marry. You will have children. That’s final." Damien scoffed, swirling the whiskey in his glass. "Marriage? Father, have you lost your mind?" "This isn’t about love," Richard snapped. "It’s about legacy. The business, the family name—everything we’ve built cannot die with you. You’ve spent years running from responsibility, Damien. It’s time to do something that actually matters." His mother, Vivienne, chimed in, her voice softer but firm. "We’ve already chosen the girl. Sophia." Damien’s grip on his glass tightened. "Sophia?" "Sophia Laurent," his father continued. "Daughter of Elijah and Margaret Laurent. We’ve known their family for years. They are good people, and Sophia is the perfect wife for you." A bitter chuckle escaped Damien’s lips. "Perfect wife? You mean obedient? Someone who will bear my children and stay silent?" "She’s a smart girl," his mother corrected. "She runs part of her family’s business, and she’s well-educated. But yes, she understands family duty." Damien exhaled sharply, rubbing his temples. "And if I refuse?" "Then you leave us no choice but to strip you of everything," his father warned. "No company. No power. No wealth." Silence. Damien knew his father wasn’t bluffing. After a long pause, he sighed. "Fine," he muttered. "I’ll marry her." His mother smiled in relief. His father simply nodded. "Good. The wedding will be in two weeks." Two weeks. That was all the time he had before he would be shackled to a woman he didn’t know, didn’t love, and didn’t want. Damien didn’t believe in love anymore. And Sophia? She was just another pawn in a game he never wanted to play. The next day was his wedding, a cold, looming event that felt more like a business transaction than a union. Damien had spent the night in his penthouse, drowning in expensive whiskey and fleeting pleasures. As the morning sun peeked through his floor-to-ceiling windows, he sat on the edge of his bed, his fingers running through his messy hair. The woman beside him stirred, stretching lazily. She was just another face in a crowd he never bothered to remember. No names, no emotions. "Time to leave," he said with a finality in his voice that cut through the air. She pouted, but there was no appeal in her voice. "Don’t you want breakfast?" Damien chuckled, though there was no humor in it—only emptiness. "I don’t do breakfast." Minutes later, the woman was gone, leaving him alone in the sterile silence of his penthouse. Today, the ceremony awaited, the beginning of a chapter he hadn't chosen but was forced into. His life was a cycle of work, money, and fleeting pleasure—no room for attachments, no place for weakness. The routine of it all had become his prison, his comfort. He didn’t seduce women; he bought them. No kisses. No staying. Just transactions. When the night ended, so did they. Nothing lingered. Standing in front of the full-length mirror, Damien picked up the tailored suit laid out for him. His hand hovered over it for a brief moment, a twinge of disgust crossing his mind. He hated it. But he had no choice. He was a man of duty now, bound by chains of legacy and family expectation. His reflection stared back at him—cold, distant, a man who had long abandoned hope of ever being saved. No love. No redemption. He buttoned his shirt with robotic precision, his expression as cold as the suit that clung to him like a second skin. This was the life he had chosen—or rather, the life that had been chosen for him. And just like that, Damien Carter walked out the door, stepping into the future he had been forced into, knowing full well that today, like every other day, would be just another empty performance.