FURY

Damien POV

A quiet restaurant. White tablecloths. Expensive wine. Polished silverware.

It was supposed to be a calm, strategic conversation.

I didn’t come here expecting war.

Dex sat across from me, calm as ever, sipping his water like he wasn’t about to drop a bomb in the middle of my day.

“What do you mean they bought back the shares?” I asked, voice low but sharp.

Dex leaned back, his eyes cool. “Exactly what I said. Adrian got them back. Quietly. Efficiently.”

I felt it before it hit me—anger tightening in my chest, crawling up my spine like fire. My hand clenched on the edge of the table.

“He didn’t just get them back. You said there were layers. Shell accounts. No names. How the hell did he trace it?”

Dex folded his hands. “It’s not that he traced it. He went around it. They sold off portions of their holdings. A few branches, product lines, and old patents. Raised enough capital to buy back the controlling shares outright. Legally.”

I stared at him, stunned. “You told me they’d never see it coming.”

“He leveraged the company,” Dex continued, “cut his losses, and hit back with cash. All he needed was time—and you gave him a week.”

I slammed my palm onto the table. The loud crack of skin against wood silenced half the room. People turned to stare. Silverware paused. Conversations halted mid-sentence.

Dex didn’t flinch. He just looked at me like I was a problem to manage. Like, I wasn’t about to burn the entire world down.

“This was supposed to be done,” I seethed. “Elena had control. Eighty percent. You said it was alright.”

“I said it was smart. Not permanent,” he replied. “You want a scapegoat? Look in the mirror. You got cocky.”

I pushed back from the table, chair legs scraping across the floor with a harsh screech. I didn’t care who stared anymore. My blood was boiling. My jaw ached from how hard I was clenching it.

Adrian had slipped through my fingers.

Again.

I left the restaurant without another word, Dex’s calm indifference rattling in my head.

The ride back home was a blur. I don’t even remember the streets, just the feeling—this storm pressing against my skull, growing louder with every breath. I was walking a tightrope between control and violence, and I was about to fall.

I walked through the front door, the world around me tinted red with rage. One of the housekeepers opened her mouth to greet me—I didn’t even register what she said.

Then I saw her.

Elena.

She stepped out of her room in a loose blouse and jeans, brushing her hair behind her ear. Probably about to go somewhere trivial. She paused when she saw me, sensing something was wrong. Her eyes scanned my face, uncertain.

“Damien… what’s wrong? You’ve been brooding all day,” she said softly.

I stopped.

Something about her calm voice—about her thinking she had the right to ask me that—snapped the last thread of control I had left.

“How would you know what’s wrong?” I snapped, my voice cutting through the air like a blade. “You think standing in this house makes you part of anything real?”

She blinked, stunned, but didn’t back away. “I didn’t mean it like that. I just—”

“Just what?” I stepped forward. “You think this is a game? That you can play dress-up and pretend you’re not still a prisoner in silk?”

Her face changed. That looks like I’d kicked her pride. She hated being reminded of the truth. That she was here because I allowed it. That her freedom had conditions.

I didn’t let her respond.

In one fast movement, I grabbed her by the throat and slammed her against the wall.

Her gasp was sharp, fingers clawing at my wrist, but she didn’t scream.

“You want to know what’s wrong?” I snarled. “Dex just told me they bought back the shares. Adrian and Charlotte. The same people you swore you’d help me take down.”

Her eyes widened, fear flashing behind them.

“They played us. And you didn’t see it coming.” My grip tightened, her feet barely on the ground. “I trusted you. I let you into my home, and all you’ve done is sit on your hands while they turn the tables.”

She wheezed, lips trembling. Her fingernails scratched at my wrist, eyes watering.

“I’m done with excuses,” I hissed. “You want to prove your loyalty? Then prove it.”

I let go suddenly.

She dropped to the floor, coughing violently, gasping for air.

I stood over her, every muscle in my body tight with fury. I didn’t feel guilty. Guilt was a luxury I burned out of myself a long time ago.

“You have one month,” I said coldly. “Thirty days. I want hard evidence—proof—undeniable, concrete—that Adrian and Charlotte had something to do with my brother’s death.”

She stared up at me, face pale, hands still trembling. “Damien…”

“You find it,” I cut in, “or I send you back to prison. And this time, I’ll leave you there to rot.”

Her lips parted, but no sound came out. She knew I wasn’t bluffing. Not anymore.

I turned away, pacing across the room. My chest rose and fell like a war drum, my thoughts a hurricane of betrayal and memory.

Lucas.

My brother. My blood. The only person who ever truly understood me. Taken from me because he got too close to the truth. Because he wouldn’t stop digging.

I remembered the last time I saw him—laughing, teasing me about work, unaware he’d only have days left. I remembered finding him. Cold. Lifeless. Silent.

That day rewrote my soul.

I’d sworn on my knees beside his body that I’d burn the world down to find who did it.

And now Adrian—smug, calculating Adrian—had stolen back the shares I want to use as revenge. I wouldn’t let it go. I couldn’t.

Elena stood slowly, her hand pressed to her throat, breathing unevenly. She looked at me like she didn’t recognize me anymore.

Good.

Maybe she shouldn’t.

I went to the doorway, pausing for one last look.

Her eyes were still on me, but the fire I once saw in her had dulled into fear. I hated that. I needed her to be strong, smart, ruthless, and hungry for revenge. Not this.

“You want to stay out of prison?” I said quietly. “Then get to work.”

Then I said the only thing that mattered.

“Get out of my house.”