His Contract, Her Revenge

The Past Never Died

Sleep didn’t come easily that night.

Arielle tossed and turned in her penthouse apartment, the city lights bleeding through her window like ghosts of her past. Every time she closed her eyes, she saw Damon’s face — not the ruthless CEO from today, but the man who once smiled at her like she was the only thing that mattered.

It made her furious.

That even now, he could still haunt her like this.

Her phone buzzed.

Unknown Number: Dinner. Tomorrow. 8PM. Don’t refuse.

Her breath hitched. Damon.

Of course he didn’t ask. Damon Steele never asked — he commanded.

She typed back only two words:

Business only.

He replied instantly:

Then wear red.

⸻

The next evening, she walked into Elysium, the most exclusive restaurant in the city. Heads turned as she passed — elegance and danger wrapped in silk. Damon was already waiting, his suit dark as midnight, his eyes unreadable.

He stood when she approached. “You came.”

“I was hungry,” she said coolly, taking her seat.

“Hungry for revenge?” His lips curved slightly, mocking.

“Maybe. Or maybe just for answers.”

He poured wine into her glass, his movements controlled, precise. “Answers to what?”

“To why you destroyed me,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper. “I was loyal to you, Damon. I loved you. And you—”

She stopped herself, forcing the tears back.

He looked away, jaw tightening. “You think I wanted to do that? You think it was easy for me?”

“Don’t you dare pretend you cared,” she snapped. “You accused me without proof. You watched as everything I worked for burned.”

For the first time, his mask cracked. “I had proof, Arielle. Or so I thought.”

Her eyes widened. “You… thought?”

He exhaled, leaning back in his chair. “It was a setup. Someone framed you — and I was too blinded by pride to see it.”

Her chest tightened painfully. “You ruined me because you thought?”

He didn’t answer — just stared at her, guilt flickering behind those cold grey eyes.

Arielle stood, clutching her purse. “You’re a little late for regret, Mr. Steele.”

But as she turned to leave, his hand brushed hers — brief, electric, forbidden.

“Arielle,” he said quietly, “I may have made a mistake once. But I won’t lose you again.”

She froze, her heart betraying her with its wild rhythm.

Then she whispered without turning, “You already did.”

And she walked away, unaware that Damon’s expression had darkened — not with anger this time, but something far more dangerous.

He wasn’t going to let her go. Not again.