the billionaire’s shadow

Millicent’s pov

The town has began talking, no, whispering and every whisper has the same name wrapped in fear, awe, and a little bit of spice and venom. Damon Hale.

I hear it first from the baker two doors down, speaking in a hushed tone with her husband, like saying it too loud might summon the devil himself. Then from Mrs. Hernandez at the corner store, whose eyes widen like she’s repeating the name of a ghost, or an abomination. By noon, the entire main street knows who bought the block and by past noon, every rumor reaches me like blows to the under ribs.

“He buys land, tears everything it down, and turns it into luxury hotels, not caring who he destroys.”

“People say he’s ruined three small towns already. He’s moving fast and he isn’t stopping anytime soon. God help us.”

“I heard he bankrupts anyone who resists even a little, running them to the ground without mercy.”

“They call him the ‘shadow billionaire’ who strikes without warning.”

“Someone once went against him and their shop burned down the following week. He and his family are nowhere to be found till now.”

“He doesn’t blink, doesn’t smile and doesn’t even feel. Some say he considers himself a god on earth.”

The last one comes from the florist, who’s usually overly optimistic but today, her voice trembles.

I pretend it doesn’t scare me, pretend that nothing scares me, but the truth? I’m scared as shit. I don’t want to disappear, my Josh would have no one to care for him.

After Josh falls asleep for his afternoon nap, I sit at my tiny kitchen table with three stable legs and one wobbly, just like my life. I open my old laptop, and its fan wheezes like it’s dying, but it loads and I search Damon Hale. I wish I didn’t.

Thousands of results explode across the screen, photos, news articles, business reports, scandal accusations, interviews, financial magazines covers and exposés that didn’t dare expose too much information about him. The first picture steals my breath.

He’s definitely older with salt-and-pepper hair, he has sharp jaw, and cold eyes that looks like a man who negotiates with a stare, not words, the kind of stare that makes even grown men piss themselves.

Forty-seven, says one article, He’s double my age, double my experience, double my size and has triple my power. Then I find the thing everyone else mentioned. He has no known family except his mother, who hasn’t been photographed in over a decade. Nothing that screams warmth, no wife, no kids, no siblings, no scandals involving lovers or public display of anything resembling humanity. He really is the devil.

All there is, is a black-and-white photo of him standing at the top of a marble staircase, with a flat ass expression, like joy is something he’s allergic to. I scroll, and scroll, and scroll and every headline feels like a warning shot.

‘Damon Hale demolishes historic district to build luxury suites.’

‘Small businesses fall as Hale acquires riverside.’

‘The billionaire with no mercy; an empire built on ruins.’

‘Another town, another takeover; Hale strikes again.’

The truth chokes as I try to push it down my throat and my stomach twists, this… is the man who wants my studio.

my only income, my last piece of dignity, my legacy and my son’s future. The fear sits heavy on my chest, cold and thick and something hot rises underneath it, anger. He doesn’t get to take everything from me, not without a fight.

I click on a video interview titled: “Damon Hale: the man behind the empire.”

It’s a ten minutes video interview but he only speaks for two, and the rest is silence, while the reporter is fumbling, he stares straight into the camera with something in his eyes…dark and unreadable, like he’s the ‘James Bond type of man-for-the-job’.

I hate that it unsettles me, that it fascinates me even more, so I slam the laptop shut.

“No,” I whisper into the empty apartment. “You… you don’t get to scare me, you don’t get to take what little I have left.”

My voice breaks, but it’s still mine, Josh whimpers softly in his sleep, and that sound alone becomes my spine. I walk to the studio window and peel back the curtain. The demolition trucks are still parked down the street, ugly and hungry looking. Good, Let them wait.

Damon Hale can send whoever he wants, lawyers, workers, hell, even the grim reaper dressed in a fucking suit, but he’s going to face me eventually, and when he does?

I won’t be gentle, I won’t be scared, and I won’t break the way Brian broke me. I straighten my back, plant my feet, and whisper to the night:

“If he wants my land, he’ll have to meet me himself.”

That’s exactly what I’ve decided. Even If I have to walk into his damn skyscraper, into his office, into his world, I will because this isn’t just about a building anymore, it’s about survival, and I’m done losing. Tomorrow, I confront Damon Hale.