Chaper 2

The moment Damian stepped into his ex-girlfriend’s wedding, he knew he was going to explode.

Every passing second reminded him of her — of them. Lila had once been the woman of his dreams, the one he thought he’d walk down the aisle with. Until success took her away.

Collins had practically dragged him here.

“You’ve got to hold yourself together, man,” he said, adjusting Damian’s collar. “Be a man. Lila isn’t the only girl out there.”

That line hit Damian like a blade. His jaw tightened. Before he could stop himself, he grabbed Collins and slammed him against the wall, fury flashing in his eyes.

“Don’t say her name like that,” he growled.

Collins didn’t flinch. He knew Damian’s pain ran deep — deeper than he liked to admit. After a tense moment, Damian exhaled, releasing him. He turned to the mirror, his reflection a stranger in a designer suit.

“I’m sorry,” he muttered, voice shaking. “You know how I felt about her.”

“Feelings don’t last forever, Damian,” Collins said, resting a hand on his shoulder. “Now listen to me — not tomorrow, not next week, now. You walk out there, head high, shoulders squared, and remind everyone who you are. You’re Damian Cross — CEO of Cross Holdings. That woman should be paying you millions just for showing up.”

“Yeah,” Damian said under his breath.

Collins gave him a firm pat on the back. “Good. Now go out there and own it.”

When Collins left, Damian stood there for a moment, staring at himself. The confident billionaire the world saw was gone. All that remained was a man bleeding behind a smile.

He took a deep breath and walked into the hall.

Every kiss the couple shared stabbed him like a spear. Every cheer from the crowd sounded like mockery. His high school friends came over to greet him, but their voices were just noise. His pulse quickened, his chest tightened — and bitterness filled the spaces love used to live.

“Be strong, Damian,” Collins muttered from afar, keeping an eye on him.

Damian drifted toward the bar — his refuge.

“Whiskey,” he said, sliding into a stool.

The bartender, an older man with a bloated stomach, gave a knowing look. “Rough night, huh?”

Damian smirked bitterly. “You could say that.”

The man leaned closer. “Not everyone’s happy about what’s going on there. That groom? He was supposed to marry my niece.”

Damian raised an eyebrow. “Really?”

“Yeah,” the man grunted. “Life’s funny like that.”

Damian’s eyes darkened. He looked at the rows of wine bottles like they might hold the answers he was searching for.

“You need a drink,” the bartender said again.

“I need something strong,” Damian muttered.

Glass after glass, he drowned the pain — each sip burning away another memory. Lila’s laughter. Her touch. Her voice whispering his name.

After the fifth drink, he slammed the glass down. “I’m fine,” he said, though his vision was already spinning.

He stumbled as he tried to walk away, the floor tilting beneath him — but a strong arm caught him before he hit the ground.

“Easy there,” a deep voice said.

Damian blinked at the man holding him — tall, broad, his grip firm as steel. “Do I… know you?” he slurred.

“Far from it,” the man replied, steadying him.

He guided Damian into a guest room and helped him sit on the bed.

“Pain like yours doesn’t just fade,” the stranger said quietly. “Some men drown it. Others use it.”

Damian frowned. “Who the hell are you?”

“Name’s Evans,” the man replied. “Let’s just say… I help people rebuild.”

Damian gave a weak laugh. “And how exactly do you plan to rebuild this?”

Evans studied him for a long moment. “You could start by hiring someone who can fix what she broke.”

Damian’s eyes narrowed. “You mean a therapist?”

“No,” Evans said, a faint smirk forming. “Someone who can balance your world — or destroy it, if that’s what you want.”

There was something unsettling in his calm tone — something dangerous.

“Here,” Evans said, sliding his laptop toward him. “Follow that link. It’ll take you where you need to go.”

Before Damian could ask another question, Evans was gone.

Damian sat up, confused but driven by a strange sense of purpose. He opened the link on his expensive phone. After a few scrolls, he clicked Hire. The meeting place was a top hotel, at an odd hour of the night.

The touch of that screen could change his life — or destroy it.

Damian Cross had just hired someone without knowing what fate awaited him.

Could it be… an assassin?