Damian Vance Novels & Stories

“Not everyone can handle passion, sweetie.” I gave her a dead-eyed stare. “Not everyone has dignity either, but here we are.” “Don’t talk to me like that,” Vanessa snapped, offended. Lucian slowly turned his head and stared at her. She shut up instantly. His gaze shifted to me. Firm. Commanding. Direct. “Get ready,” he said. “We’re going out in an hour.” I blinked. “We?” “Yes.” “…Where?” He didn’t answer. He just went back to eating like he owned me.

A gossip blog posts a photo of Damian holding my hand outside the clinic, captioned ‘Proof the affair continues! My phone buzzes again: Vanessa Moore: Hope the money’s worth it. I stare at the text until my vision blurs. Damian’s voice cuts through. “What did she say?” “Nothing.” He strides over, reading the screen before I can hide it. His entire body goes still. “She texted you?” “It doesn’t matter.” He grabs his jacket. “It does now.” “Where are you going?” “To remind Vanessa Moore that her relevance expired months ago.”

Ava and Damian Disagree Ava seethed at the list of donors and supporters Vance had gathered in the last two months on the wall of the safe room beneath the house. She turned to Damian. "You knew Vance was a danger?" "I thought he retired." "You thought wrong." Damian took a step closer. "So what do we do?" Ava nodded. "We expose them." "No. Not yet. That'll break the board—" "They already burned your name, Damian." "You think I don't know that?" He snapped. Ava blinked. "I've lost everything once. I won't lose her too." "You won't." A beat of silence occurred between them.

She banged on the window as he shifted the gear. “Damien, you arrogant prick! You can’t leave me here all by myself!” His eyes flicked up to the mirror once—and then he stepped on the gas. The engine roared as he sped off, Cleo’s voice trailing behind in the rearview. “Damien Voss!” ** The lobby of Voss Holdings smelled like polish and perfection. Damien strode through the gleaming glass doors, face unreadable. Sharp suit, sharper eyes. The morning had left a bitter taste, and he was dangerously close to snapping.

“Damien, I’m so sorry.” He shrugged, trying to appear nonchalant, but his voice cracked slightly. “It was a long time ago. I just... I miss her, that’s all.” Blaire stepped closer, placing a comforting hand on his arm. “You don’t have to go through everything alone, you know. It’s okay to let people in.” Damien looked at her, his usual guarded demeanor softening. For a moment, the vulnerability in his eyes was raw and unfiltered. He nodded slightly, offering her a small, grateful smile.

It was the physical heart of my foundation, rooted permanently on the land Damien and I had chosen as our home. The sound of footsteps crunching over the gravel path made me turn around. Damien was walking down from the main house, wearing a dark wool coat over a navy sweater, sturdy leather boots on his feet, and a heavy iron spade resting casually against his shoulder. His dark hair was brushed back by the morning breeze, his expression relaxed, grounded, and devoid of the hyper-vigilant tension that had once shadowed his brow. Matteo looked up, offering a respectful nod. "Morning, Mr. Vance."

Adrian POV Patterns hide inside numbers. People lie. Money rarely does. The office floor of Cole Group is almost empty when Damian enters. The glass walls reflect the city lights behind him, turning the room into a floating grid of blue and silver. He shuts the door quietly. “That contractor you asked about,” he says. I don’t look up from the tablet immediately. “Continue.” Damian walks to the desk and sets a folder down. “His name is Gregory Vance. Independent security installer. Small firm. Mostly private residential work.”

He turned and looked at Sheina one last time before heading for the exit. "Camila Wilson may be dust," Damian said, his voice heavy with a looming threat. "But dust always leaves a trail. And I have only just begun to follow yours." After Damian stepped out and the door clicked shut, Sheina slowly sank into her wooden chair. The hands that had been so steady moments ago were now trembling violently. She pressed a hand against her chest, struggling to regulate her breath as the overwhelming emotions she had been suppressing began to surface. On the other side, as Damian climbed into his limousine, Mark was already waiting with a phone in hand.

"Are you out of your mind? She could have looked back at any second! We could have been completely busted!" ​Vance didn't flinch. He just took a slow step closer, a dark, arrogant smirk spreading across his face. ​"But we weren't," he pointed out smoothly. ​"That's not the point!" I shot back, my chest heaving. "You took a massive risk just to prove a point. It's sick." ​Vance stepped right into my space, boxing me in against the rough bark of the tree. He reached out, his thumb dragging aggressively across my bottom lip.

The exhaustion. I had no choice. I never had a choice. With a shaking hand, I lowered the pen to the paper. The ink flowed smoothly, black and permanent. *Elara Vance.* As soon as the last letter was formed, Damian snatched the paper away. He didn’t celebrate. He didn’t hug me. He didn’t even look at me. He just pressed a button on his intercom. “Marcus. Send the car around. And call St. Mary’s Hospital. Tell them Mr. Vance’s bill has been paid in full.”