Novel & Cerita Damien Knight

Rose came back and stood on her previous position like she didn't moved an inch from there. Damian took out his gun from his waistband and pointed towards Johnathan... "Please don't kill me, I am sorry, it won't happen again Mr. Knight, please..." He pleaded but everyone standing there knows that begging won't do anything, Damian is heartless and he never shows mercy on people who disrespects him... "I don't like when someone touches what's mine..." Damian made him kneel in front of him and shot straight in between his eyes... No one dared to utter a word, two men came and took his deadbody with them...

I followed his gaze to see Knight who had just stepped out of his car, walking towards us in all his perfection. His curly hair was fallen behind his shoulder, his arm tattoos adding to the dangerous aura emitting from him now. He also had a black pants and black boots. He looked like the mafia man he was "W-who did you say he was again?" Damian muttered laying back on his seat. What a coward? Damian was a gym freak and had the perfect body with muscles at the right places. He was the catch of many girls at campus but he had eyes for only me, unfortunately for him.

"We destroy her before she can destroy us." The next morning, I sat in the private dining room of the Ritz-Carlton, waiting for Damian Kane to arrive. Damian was a journalist for one of the city's most influential gossip magazines, and he owed me several favors from information I'd fed him over the years. He walked in precisely at ten o'clock, his expensive suit and perfectly styled hair making him look more like a corporate executive than a tabloid reporter. But appearances were deceiving, Damian was as ruthless as they came when it came to destroying people's reputations.

Then the double doors at the back of the briefing room slammed open. Every camera whipped around. He walked in. Damien. No cuffs. No prison jumpsuit. Just gray joggers, a plain black t-shirt, hair a mess like he’d been running his hands through it for hours. His eyes were dark, stormy..,equal parts fury and something rawer. Worry. Exhaustion. Jaxon and Gerald flanked him, plus three other men I didn’t recognize, and a woman trailing close behind. We all screamed his name at the same time, hugging each other in celebration.

And if the agency found her first, they would never give her another chance to escape. Damien lowered his eyes briefly toward the note still resting in his hand, his thumb brushing softly over her handwriting. Then he reached for his phone. The call connected after a few seconds. A calm male voice answered from the other side. “Mr. Knight.” Damien’s gaze remained fixed on the city lights below. “I need a discreet nudge placed.” A short silence followed. Then the man asked carefully, “How sensitive?” Damien’s jaw tightened slightly. “Very.” He lifted his eyes toward the skyline again, his voice quieter this time.

Like I am not just a waste of air in a world filled with people with purpose. I had no purpose a few days ago. And now… Now, I have a princess, and I am a knight in shining armor. “No, you’re the dragon,” Damien cuts in, his voice deadpan and when I look at him, he sighs and blows out smoke, “You said it out loud,” “Ah,”

I staggered, almost collapsed, my notebook leaping off my hands and shooting across the floor. I had already reached the street when I could even begin to chase after it. Behind me, the doors slammed shut with a harsh snap, the reflected glass revealing that I was---outside, unwanted. I stood outside for what seemed like forever, even the dark sky and sign of heavy did not make me lose sight of what brought me here. “Damien knight.” I kept repeating the name like it was a savor. And then coming out of the revolving doors, Damian Knight. He glittered beneath the rain pounding down. Hands reached out and clutched him, paparazzi shouting his name, and flashes of

The night air outside Jaxon Tower shimmered with summer heat, but inside the Knight penthouse, it was cold. Not from the AC—but from the silence of a man who hadn’t spoken in nearly two hours. Who was trying to figure out exactly where he had gone wrong. Damian Knight sat alone in his office, one hand on a tumbler of bourbon, the other dancing across his custom-built encrypted workstation. His eyes didn’t blink. The bourbon glass in his hand remained untouched, its amber hue catching reflections from the city skyline beyond the window. Lights blinked like stars—but none of them eased the pressure building behind his eyes.

If Kieran died tonight, the Northern Pack would split down the middle like a log, and I would be standing in the cracks with a brewhouse full of secrets and a hundred enemies. I needed him alive. I needed him alive until the plan was complete. It was simple. It was clean. I did not believe a word of it. “Miss Vale.” Damien stood in front of me. I had not heard him come. He was gray with ash and fatigue, one sleeve torn away, a long scorch mark running up his forearm. His eyes were rimmed with red. His face, for the first time since I had known him, was not a mask.

Standing tall in the dim hallway, wearing a dark wool overcoat smelling of cedar, cold night air, and old-world Nightfall pack dominance, was my worst nightmare. Alpha Damien Knight. His eyes didn't look at Asher first. They locked straight past my captain’s shoulder, boring laser-sharp holes directly into me, standing frozen by the kitchen counter. Damien’s jaw tightened, his voice dropping into a low, dangerous command that made every instinct I had scream: "We need to talk."