REVENGE AND DESIRE

Damien's P.O.V

The private jet touched down smooth at JFK, the hum fading into the runway noise.

Damien Lancaster sat in the cabin, fingers curled around a glass of whiskey — a quiet show of dominance. Still, he made sure the moment felt true. Real. Lived-in.

Barely a sway in the golden liquid.

Life felt completely under his thumb.

Everything else? Maybe.

But not what’s gone.

His gaze locked on the skyline in the distance — New York City. The same city where he built an empire… and lost everything in one single night. The same city that held her betrayal.

His lips twisted in a slow, humorless smirk — maybe recalling old times. Maybe not.

He mashed those memories the same as always.

But this time?

This time, love didn’t bring him back.

He returned a feared man now. A ruthless billionaire. The kind who turns dreams into nightmares — and he likes it that way.

For weeks now, the media buzzed about his return.

Most figured Damien Lancaster came back for business.

And that’s all there was to it.

They were wrong.

Revenge.

That’s what brought him.

“Mr. Lancaster?” A crisp voice sliced through his thoughts.

Damien turned slightly.

Logan Pierce. His assistant. Efficient, discreet. A man who’d stuck by him from the beginning — one of the few Damien trusted.

No words needed.

Damien stood, adjusting the cuffs of his charcoal-gray suit. Italian fabric. Tailored like second skin.

Stepping off the jet, cameras flashed from a distance — reporters eager for a quote, a glance, a soundbite.

He gave them none.

Just slipped inside the waiting black Rolls-Royce.

Once the door shut, the air grew thick. Like it could be cut with a knife.

“Got it?” Damien asked. His voice smooth — but sharp enough to slice skin.

Logan gave a single nod, handed over the manila folder.

“There’s everything you asked for.”

Damien took it, flipping it open.

Blue eyes scanned line after line.

Each word — a small, quiet victory.

> Broke ain’t fun for nobody.

Feels like I’m underwater. Bills piled high.

Eviction notices. Lawsuits. Just barely getting by.

A soft chuckle escaped him.

Selene Carter.

Once… everything.

She was the woman he wanted a future with. The one he trusted — with his heart, his secrets, his soul.

She went and ruined him.

When he needed her most?

She vanished. Left him for dead.

And now?

Now she was just… trapped. A woman struggling to breathe. Looking for a way out.

“What’s she doing now?” Damien asked, eyes still flicking over the documents.

Logan paused.

“She’s working at a diner. Brooklyn. Small place.”

Damien’s smirk deepened. “Perfect,” he muttered.

That’s exactly how he wanted to find her — small. Weak. Desperate.

Totally at his mercy.

He wasn’t the same man anymore — not after she shattered his world.

“What about family?” he asked.

“None. No real support,” Logan replied, voice low. “She’s keeping it casual. Just surviving.”

Damien hummed — pleased.

The file snapped shut.

He leaned back in the leather seat, city lights washing over his face as the car glided along the highway.

He’d pictured this moment for years.

Now that he was back — strong, untouchable — Selene Carter would finally pay.

He wouldn’t just hurt her.

He’d own her.

“Perfect,” he murmured again. His voice sounded darker this time. Edged with something cold.

The tinted window caught his reflection — and the lights of New York gleamed in the background.

He sat in silence, fingers tapping on the leather armrest, his mind replaying every detail from the file.

Selene’s downfall felt like a symphony.

Each note — a piece of his justice.

She wrecked him.

Then disappeared.

Left him with a shattered empire and a bleeding heart.

Years passed.

He never stopped searching.

Why did she do it?

Why the woman he loved — the woman he trusted — betray him and vanish like smoke?

Maybe guilt drove her to run.

But now?

Now she had nothing.

No more safety nets.

No more escape.

He gripped the file tighter.

He should have felt satisfied.

He didn’t.

Victory tasted different.

What burned inside him now wasn’t triumph — it was anticipation. Slow. Dangerous.

“So… where is she now?” he asked, casually.

Logan checked his phone. “Just got off the late shift. Still at the diner.”

Damien’s smirk returned.

The driver veered off.

The city changed around them — Manhattan’s glass towers gave way to Brooklyn’s cracked sidewalks and flickering street lamps. Less luxury. More struggle.

The car pulled to a slow stop outside the diner.

Damien stared out.

The place looked… forgotten.

A small, outdated building — like no one had touched it in years.

Through the front window, he saw her.

Selene Carter.

The woman who haunted his nights — in dreams and in nightmares.

She stood behind the counter.

A plain waitress uniform masked what used to be elegance.

Her long brown hair tied back in a lazy ponytail, with loose strands falling onto her face — a face now shadowed by dark circles and exhaustion.

She looked… worn.

Damien watched. Quietly. No expression.

This was the same woman who once walked beside him in boardrooms, whispered promises into his ear in the dead of night.

Now?

She was nothing.

He should’ve felt good about that.

He didn’t.

“Just stay put,” Damien said, handing the file back to Logan. His voice had lost all warmth.

He got out of the car.

His expensive shoes tapped the pavement.

The bell over the diner door jingled.

Selene looked up, smiling automatically — the tired, polite smile of someone who’d served one too many customers in a long shift.

“Welcome to—”

She froze.

The words died in her throat.

Her face went pale.

Eyes widened.

Her lips parted like she might say something — anything.

But Damien didn’t give her the chance.

He stepped forward slowly.

“Hi, Selene,” he said, voice low… almost a growl.

She swallowed hard. “Damien?” she breathed — barely a whisper.

Her voice cracked.

Her hands trembled slightly where they clutched the counter.

And Damien?

He tilted his head just slightly.

And kept watching.