A Taste Of Ruin

Damon didn’t sleep.

Again.

The sheets still smelled like her. Or maybe it was a memory. Either way, it strangled him.

That kiss…

It was nothing like before.

It wasn’t love.

It was punishment.

And God help him—he wanted more of it.

His lips still burned with the weight of her mouth. Her breath. Her words.

“This kiss isn’t forgiveness. It’s evidence.”

He replayed it a thousand times. And every time it ended the same — with her pulling away. And him… standing in the middle of everything he broke.

At 5:43 a.m., his phone buzzed.

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Ex-employee speaks anonymously: “It was all covered up.”

He slammed the phone against the table. The screen cracked. Didn’t matter.

What mattered was: the empire he built was bleeding.

And she was the one holding the knife.

---

In her penthouse, Ava sat in the dark, barefoot, wrapped in a silk robe.

The lights were off. The glass of wine untouched.

She wasn’t angry. Not tonight.

She was tired.

Exhaustion had found its way past her spine, into her bones, into her breath.

She had kissed him.

Her lips still remembered it — the hunger, the guilt, the need.

She hadn’t planned to. She hadn’t meant to.

It was a moment of weakness.

And it terrified her more than any headline.

She had become a ghost for five years.

But when his lips touched hers…

She felt alive again.

And she hated it.

Nari entered quietly, a file in hand.

“They’re folding,” she said. “Two of King Group’s smaller subsidiaries are declaring bankruptcy next quarter. You’ve struck hard, Ava.”

She nodded slowly.

But her mind wasn’t in the room.

It was still in his mouth. His hands. His voice, whispering her name like it still meant something.

She took the file.

“Keep going,” she said softly. “Don’t stop now.”

---

Later that week, Damon received a letter.

Not an email. Not a threat.

A handwritten letter.

From a name he hadn’t heard in years: Lena Trask.

His ex-legal counsel. The one who mysteriously resigned two weeks before the Aria scandal exploded.

He opened the envelope with shaking hands.

> Damon,

I know what you think happened. You were wrong. We all were.

They forged the leak. They wanted Aria gone. She was the shield for someone else’s sin.

I left because I was paid to stay silent. I’m done being silent now.

Meet me. Tonight. One chance.

—Lena

Damon dropped the letter like it was on fire.

---

They met in a quiet café in Harlem, far from the glossy towers of his empire.

Lena looked older. Sadder. Like secrets had aged her faster than time.

“I tried to tell you,” she said. “But you wouldn’t listen.”

“Tell me now,” he rasped.

She slid a USB drive across the table. “The emails. The bank records. The setup. Aria was framed. And you… you handed her to the wolves.”

Damon didn’t speak.

Couldn’t.

The weight of guilt was no longer emotional. It was physical. It pressed against his lungs. His bones.

He left without a word.

And drove.

Fast. Reckless. Nowhere.

---

Ava was brushing her hair when the knock came.

It was nearly midnight.

She knew it was him.

She opened the door slowly.

Damon stood there, wet from rain, jaw tight, eyes shattered.

“You were innocent,” he said.

She froze.

“I have proof. From Lena. From the people who ruined you.”

Her eyes filled. Slowly.

But she didn’t speak.

“I need you to know something.”

“No,” she said, voice cold.

“Ava—”

“No,” she said louder, stepping forward. “You don’t get to unload this guilt at my feet like it makes us even. You don’t get to cry now that the truth hurts you.”

“I want to make it right.”

She looked at him, eyes burning.

“You can’t.”

Silence.

She stepped back.

But then, for just one second, her voice softened.

“Why did you kiss me like that, Damon?”

His reply was instant.

“Because it felt like the only thing that made sense.”

She exhaled. Shaky.

“You’re five years too late.”

Then she shut the door.

But behind it — both of them were crying.