Bound by Fire, Broken by Blood

POV: Damian Voss “Smile, Damian,” Elena whispered, her lips always beautiful as usual. “Lovie…The press is watching.” It was always smile. Smile, but I had built an empire of steel and fire, but no one ever saw the man beneath. And no one cared. “Babe... Babe, am smiling.” I said, shooting a forced smile as the flashes stroke. “Hello sir,” Jake my HR called from behind me. I turned immediately. His eyes in panic as though we had just lost a ten billion dollar deal. “What’s it Jake?” “We received this a letter at our post box today.” “Okay…Then why bring it to me now?” “I think this really is an urgent treat.” “From who, that would make it that urgent.” He whispered to my ears, “Amara sir.” “Enough of that Jake.” Elena intercepted, yelling at him as though she forgot we were in the middle of camera flashes, “You mean whatever that could be can’t wait.” Jake could only remain frozen. “But ma…..” “Ma what. You keep getting to my nerves, Jake and I hate it.” “It’s okay Elene. Possibly there might be a very solid point in the message.” My voice low, “Hand it over.” I unfolded it under the table, the words scrawled in ink sharp enough to cut me. Dear Damian, I am writing to you about your seed. The seed you planted on our night together. Ohh…. So just you seem to forget-- the Eve of Christmas. The growing seed is doing just fine, but he might be needing his father anytime soon. Stay safe lovie. Bye! My chest tightened. I read it again, and again, the words bleeding through the thin parchment until they branded themselves into my mind. I lifted my gaze and, as though fate planned it, I caught sight of Amara across the ballroom—her lips painted scarlet, her glass raised in a toast, her eyes glinting with something dangerously close to triumph. Elena noticed. Of course she did. She always noticed. “What is it?” she murmured this time, leaning closer, her perfume suffocating. She plucked the letter from my hand before I could stop her. “Elena—” Her eyes scanned. Then she laughed. Loudly and sharply with the kind that silences a room. “Oh, Damian.” Her voice cut, venom sugar-coated. “A child? With her?” Heads turned. Conversations faltered. I saw my board members exchanging looks, investors whispering behind champagne flutes. The orchestra stumbled over a note before recovering. “Elena,” I hissed, low, dangerous. “Not here. I can explain.” But she was already in full performance. “Explain my foot.” “You humiliate me behind closed doors,” she spat softly enough for only those closest to us to hear—though in a ballroom this tense, whispers traveled like wildfire. “You make me a fool before the world.” “Elena—” I called, loud above a whisper. Her hand flew before I could stop it. The sound of the slap cracked through the music, through the chatter, silencing everything. If one thing was Elena’s greatest weapon—it was her slap. I felt my jaw burn, but the sting was nothing compared to the public humiliation. I was Damian Voss. No one dared slap me. No one humiliated me. Except her. “Enjoy your empire, Damian,” she hissed, her eyes blazing, her mask cracking into shards of fury. “Because soon, you’ll be nothing but a scandal in a suit.” The ballroom erupted. Gasps. Murmurs. Camera flashes almost blinding my eyes. “What could cause the great Voss publicly humiliated?” “What are the stakes for the wedding between Damian and Elena Voss coming up in three weeks?” “Will the Voss Company still flourish in company shares if there is a self-mismanagement from CEO Voss.” My pride shattered into pieces. I stormed out. Past the violins, past the gasps, past the eyes that feasted on my downfall. Out into the night where the city roared louder than my own fury. Whiskey burned my throat, glass after glass until the sharp edges of my furred thought dulled. Elena had not only humiliated me, but also the empire for something a stupid b***h framed. I sat slumped in the corner of a hotel lounge, shadows swallowing me whole. A murder case wouldn’t be bad for CEO Voss if I should lay my hands on that b***h that called herself Amara. I hated her. But seems as though I hated myself more. The monologue looped in my skull like a curse: You own everything, Damian, but you don’t own yourself. I still swam in my pool of relaxation when a voice cut through the fog of alcohol. A soft feminine voice. “Rough night?” I lifted my gaze, and with confidence I would say that she was beautiful. She stood there like the universe had crafted her to wound me. A woman with eyes that burned with something ancient, something familiar that clawed at a memory I couldn’t reach. Dark hair tumbled in loose waves over her shoulders, lips curved in hesitant kindness. “Who are you?” I asked, my voice hoarse. She smiled faintly. “Does it matter?” “I have been watching you from my sit and I will say Mister that you are really going through a lot.” “Nah…..” I whistled, “I am a big man. A big man.” “Oh mister, I think you need to take some time off not drinking yourself to death.” “And how dare you advise me,” My eyes heavy as I staggered font and back where I stood. I gestured to the seat across from me, still fumbling with my blurry eyes. She sat. And just like that, the chaos of the world dimmed. “I don’t usually do this,” she said, fingers tracing the rim of her glass. “Neither do I.” My words slurred, but the truth was sharp beneath. She looked at me like she could see past the armor, past the billionaire, past the mask. And for the first time in years, I wanted to be seen. “I don’t even know your name,” I murmured. “You don’t need to,” she whispered. “All you need is proper rest.” The silence between us grew heavy, charged. Her eyes held mine, and although still in my state of cloudiness, something in me cracked open. And that was when I made the decision-- For one night, let me be human. For one night, let me forget I’m Damian Voss. I reached for her, but she didn’t resist. Passion collided with despair, and fire with whiskey. My hands trembled as I traced her skin, her softness tearing through my hardness, her lips breaking down the walls I had spent decades building. Every kiss tasted like salvation and sin. Every breath beating against my skin whispered promises neither of us dared to speak. In her face, in her touch, I saw freedom. The freedom of a virgin giving up herself to a man she never knew. And I took it. ****** The dawn was cruel. I woke to silence, sheets tangled around me, the taste of her still lingering on my lips. My head throbbed with the weight of alcohol and regret. The room was empty. She was gone. On the pillow beside me, faint as smoke, her whisper like a ghost lingered in my memory: “One day, you’ll remember me.” My chest tightened that I pressed a hand to my forehead, cursing myself, cursing the night. Just a mistake and a weakness no one would ever know. But deep inside, I knew the truth. It wasn’t a mistake. Possibly what I had just done was the beginning of my ruin