Damian Wayne Grandfather Novels & Stories

Damian sat frozen in the chair, staring at the old man who had raised him more than either of his own parents ever had, and found, for the first time in longer than he could remember, that he had absolutely no idea what he was supposed to say back. The housekeeper appeared quietly in the doorway. "He needs to rest now, sir." Damian rose slowly, his grandfather's eyes already closed, his chest rising and falling in the shallow rhythm of a man who'd given everything he had left to that one conversation. He stood there a moment longer than he needed to, some old, unfamiliar ache lodging itself behind his ribs. Then he walked out of the study, down the too quiet hall, and out through the front d

his late grandfather had warned him. "But, Papa, Damon is my brother, and it's not right that I don't give him anything in the Tucker's group," Damian asked, knowing that he has the bodyguards' support since he was a child. It was why he was able to control a large group, even after he succeeded his late grandfather. Damian's father wasn't the heir, but him, but his father made it look like he was the one who handed over.

But then, his parents died when there was an attack from the Old Council that was led by the old man who lived in the cottage in the neutral territory. The old man was Luna Marina’s grandfather. Damien unlocked the door before he went inside the room. He put the keys on the counter before he made his way to the kitchen to drink some water. The frappe was good and all but it was too sweet for his taste. Damien needed to cleanse it with some water before he made his way to the couch to watch some shows before his comic show tonight.

Damien leaned in and whispered loudly enough for me to hear, "The baby? Did I guess right, man? She's already knocked up?" Before I could fire a warning shot at Damien, my family finally noticed him. Their eyes lit up, transforming their expressions from excited conspirators to delighted hosts. "Who do we have here?" My grandfather said as he walked over to Damien with the aid of his cane. "Damien Kuroda? The young genius of the Kuroda family? Just like our Liam!" Damien chuckled, he instantly switched into his polished, charming corporate persona. He reached out to shake my grandfather's hand. "Hello, Sir. It's truly good to see you all again. It's been far too long."

"Damian offered us money to break Romero out of the castle. I thought that was it. I didn't realize there was something else going on until it was too late." "And that something had to do with Maeve?" I nodded, leaning forward and resting my elbows on my knees. "Damian knew my parents. Or, at least, he said he did. Romero was my grandfather, but I never knew him before I saw him in the tower for the first time. It was… not what I was expecting."

Financial records dating back seven years threaded through with his father's name like a wound that never properly closed. He looked at the photograph on the screen. Gerald Blackwood. Sixty one years old in that picture. Sitting at the desk in his home office, the same desk Damien had done homework at as a child, the same desk he had sat across from his father at for countless Sunday morning conversations about business and integrity and the particular responsibility that came with building something that lasted. His father had believed in those things. Had built his entire life and his entire company around them. Had trusted the wrong man because of them.

I pressed him to continue. “Well, not exactly,” Carter scratched the back of his head uncomfortably. “You see, even though Damien was born six years before me, our grandfather still refused to pass the title over to my uncle. He always said he wanted to wait until Damien’s first shift at the age of twelve to decide but I think he was just a power hungry old snake.” Carter huffed and clenched his fist. “After Damien shifted for the first time, that was when our grandfather decided… that it wasn’t enough. And that's when everything changed."

Michael, Damien's father, tightened his jaw, though his face remained expressionless. “Father, he’s young. Every heir goes through a wild phase.” “This isn’t wildness,” Edward growled, leaning forward. “This is deterioration. Every tabloid that prints his name erases the respect your grandfather and I bled for. Money is no excuse to waste a life.” The door suddenly opened then, and Damian walked in, tall, impeccably dressed, and radiating entitlement. He caught sight of the article and laughed. “Ah, you saw the show.” He dropped into a chair, entirely too casual. “Don’t worry, Grandpa. I’m just living like any twenty-six-year-old millionaire should.”

I kept my hands folded in my lap as we drove, wondering what I had gotten myself into by agreeing to this. Inside the car, it was quiet for a long time. I finally broke the silence. “Tell me about your family.” Damien’s expression changed right away. “There’s not much to tell.” “I doubt that,” I said. After a pause, he started talking. “My father remarried after my mother died. Victoria is my stepmother. She likes control.” I smiled a little. “That’s your warning?” “No.” He glanced at me briefly. “This is. Answer only what you’re asked. Don’t volunteer information.”

Damien went still. He had heard the name before, but he had never paid much attention to it. He remembered Sophia mentioning her father occasionally during their relationship. She rarely spoke about him. Damien had assumed it was because the subject was painful. “What about her father?” he asked His grandfather's eyes darkened. “He was one of the most important business partners this family ever had.” Damien stared at him. “That can't be right.” “It is.” “Why didn't I know?” “Because you never cared enough to ask.”