chapter four
1176 Words
Damon stood in his study,breath uneven, his chest rising and falling as if he’d just come out of a fight. His entire body was wound tight, every muscle pulled taut with anger he couldn’t release. He dragged a hand through his hair and tugged hard, frustration burning in his veins.
He had let his temper get the best of him. Again.
And now... now her face haunted him.
The way she had looked at him, wide-eyed and terrified, replayed over and over in his mind. Damon didn’t know anymore who he was truly furious with. Was it her? Or was it her father, the man who had destroyed his family?
The moment he realized who she was, rage had flared so violently he hadn’t been able to control it. He’d wanted a civil conversation, a restrained exchange where he could dig for answers. But the second she looked at him and asked if he was just one of her father’s debtors… he snapped.
Debtor.
As if that word could even touch the truth.
Yes, he had been one of Nicholas’s debtors, but not in the way she thought. Nicholas owed him his life. Owed him justice. And now the man was dead. How could Damon exact revenge on a ghost? How could he punish someone who was already six feet under?
The helplessness only fueled his fury. He groaned and pressed a palm to his forehead, staring at the hand that had been wrapped around her throat. For a moment, guilt seeped into him, sharp and cold. His chest tightened. He closed his eyes, inhaled deeply, and forced air into his lungs.
“I have to find out where it is first,” he muttered under his breath.
He crossed the room and reached for the whiskey. The glass clinked as he poured, then he downed it in one swallow. The burn did nothing to ease the storm inside him. He poured again. And again.
He didn’t even notice when the door opened, when footsteps sounded behind him.
“Do you have to do this, sir?”
The voice was calm, weathered by years of loyalty. Damon turned slowly, glass still in his hand. John, the man who had opened the door when Lana was first dragged in, stood there, worry etched into every line of his face.
Damon downed the whiskey in one gulp and slammed the empty glass onto the table. “What do you advise I do then, John?” His voice was rough, almost mocking, but beneath it lay a thread of desperation.
John had been with him since he was a boy. He had seen everything, every rise, every fall. And now, the butler’s eyes carried more concern than Damon wanted to face.
“Revenge is a poison, Damon,” John said quietly. “You know it better than most. She isn’t to blame for her father’s wrongdoings.”
Damon scoffed, a bitter sound. “Then am I to blame, John? I watched everything fall apart. I watched, and I couldn’t do a damn thing to stop it. But Nicholas, he was let off easily. He walked away after betraying my father. My father trusted him, and he...” Damon’s voice cracked, the weight of betrayal grinding down on him. He dragged his hand through his already disheveled dark hair, pacing.
John’s tone remained steady, though sorrow threaded through it. “I know, Damon. Nicholas broke your father’s trust. But she didn’t.”
The words hit harder than whiskey. Damon froze. His jaw clenched. That flicker of guilt that had been gnawing at him since he let go of her neck suddenly deepened, coiling tighter around his chest. He let out a long, unsteady sigh.
“I need to be alone,” he said, voice low, almost hollow.
John studied him for a moment, then inclined his head. “As you wish.” With quiet steps, he left the study, the door clicking shut behind him.
Silence rushed back in, heavy and suffocating. Damon sank into his chair, elbows resting on the desk. His pulse still raced with anger, but beneath it was something worse, exhaustion. He felt trapped, caught in a loop of rage, guilt, and helplessness he couldn’t claw his way out of.
How could he ever be free of this? Especially with her under his roof. Especially after what he had just done. He had nearly killed her, and now he couldn’t stop replaying the scene. The sound of her broken voice. The terror in her eyes.
Damon reached for a frame on his desk, fingers brushing against the photograph inside. Her face stared back at him.
Lana.
Every inch of his desk was covered with photographs of her. They had been arriving for weeks, slipped into his office, delivered to his estate, tucked into envelopes without a name. Each one was a slice of her life. Walking down a street. Leaving her workplace. Standing in line at a*****e.
And then came the documents. Records of how she had been living since her father’s death. Every detail, every struggle, delivered right to him.
At first, Damon had tried to trace the sender, but they were careful. Too careful. No trail, no signature, no mistakes. Whoever was doing this wanted him to look at her. To find her.
And against his will, he had begun to anticipate the next delivery.
He had expected her to be thriving, to live a happy, sheltered life off the back of her father’s sins. He had wanted that image of her to fuel his rage. To justify his hatred.
But what he found instead only stoked a different fire.
She wasn’t thriving. She was drowning. Nicholas had left her with nothing but debts, debts his debtors were cruel enough to enforce. She was barely surviving. Each picture showed the quiet suffering she tried to hide.
Damon’s grip on the photograph tightened, the paper bending slightly between his fingers.
Why? Why had she been left to suffer if her father had hidden away embezzled wealth? Why hadn’t she used it to free herself? Unless… she didn’t know.
“I found her,” Damon muttered to himself, setting the photo down with a hard thud. “What next?”
The last letter he’d received had been different from the rest. It had mentioned a document. A document that Nicholas had left behind. And if Damon wanted to find it, she was the key.
But what kind of document was it? Another record of betrayal? Another stash of stolen money? It wouldn’t surprise him if Nicholas had squirreled away more embezzled funds.
And yet… if she truly knew where it was, why had she been living like this?
Damon leaned back in his chair, exhaling deeply. The whiskey buzz did nothing to still the questions clawing at his mind.
He had too many doubts. Too many suspicions. And one truth he couldn’t deny: he needed answers.
Even if it meant the daughter of the man he hated most was the only way to find them.
- Writer
