Damon Degrassi Novels & Stories

Standing beside them were two men, inconspicuous and silent, their faces unreadable as they stood off to the side. At the center of the conference room sat a tall and imposing man—Damon Greyson, a core figure in the Dragon Gang. Standing at around 188 cm, his muscular frame was clad in a dark suit, which gave him an air of authority and solemnity. His sharp features and piercing eyes often sent a chill down one’s spine, making it clear that he was not a man to be trifled with. The moment Damon entered the room, the atmosphere thickened with an undeniable sense of tension and gravitas.

Worlds don’t like that. CORRECTION IS NECESSARY, the Arbiter insists, but there’s strain now—lag in its recalculations. ENTROPY THRESHOLD— “Let me simplify this for you,” I say, drawing myself up despite trembling legs. “Midnight isn’t broken. It’s alive. You can’t debug a heartbeat.” The Arbiter turns its gaze fully on me. YOU ARE THE FRACTURED INTERFACE. YOUR INSTABILITY— “I know,” I snap. “I’m a mess. But I’m our mess.”

“I believe that it is time for us to go home.” He nodded once. “How about we go there?” For the first time in what felt like forever, the idea didn’t feel like a lie. I looked back once more at the grave, at the man who had once been both salvation and ruin, and whispered, “Rest, Darius. Maybe in the next life, you’ll find the peace you couldn’t here. Maybe in another life you are going to find someone that you connect with away from all the commotion, the darkness and the pain.”

" No please don't do this Brian please." The girl cried out as I launched at her tearing a part of her cheek as she screamed in horror and pain. I enjoyed her tastes. "Shhh, it'll be over soon my lovely." I said as I dried off her tears with my fingers and continued feasting upon her face. I usually loved to dine on my prey on the table while they are tied down. I live alone, except for my one and only servant. Mr. Wilson is what I call him. My parents had passed when I was a lad, but they were like me. Cannibals. They raised me to believe how they believed. Feed upon the young and you remain young forever. I have never felt love for no one except maybe my parents and my servant.

I had to quickly think of how to keep him close, that was how I told him I was a lesbian, so he won't have issues with being with me. I had to listen to him talk about his Erica every time I went visiting him, I pretended to give him a listening ear when in my deepest of hearts, I wanted him for myself. Who wouldn't love or want Damian Anderson? He is tall, he is handsome, caring, and to top the chart, he is a secret billionaire. Who needs love when there is so much money flying around. Damian is a big spender and he has unknowingly been helping me sponsor my secret addiction. With the global economic meltdown, the price of purchasing coke and other hard drugs from the street has tripled. My

Soft jazz mingled with the low hum of conversation, laughter, and the occasional clink of thousand-dollar champagne flutes. **Damien Cross**, 34, stood near the windows with a glass of aged whiskey in hand. Tall and powerfully built, his broad shoulders filled out his tailored black shirt perfectly. Sharp jawline, piercing dark eyes that missed nothing, and the quiet confidence of a self-made tech mogul who had built an empire from nothing. On paper, he had everything—wealth, power, women throwing themselves at him. Yet tonight, the restlessness gnawed at him. The same polished conversations, the same empty flirtations. He needed something real. Something raw.

Damien said, his voice sounding incredibly soft yet terrifyingly hollow. The woman swallowed hard, her small hands clutching the edge of her dark robes as she tried to maintain her composure under his intense scrutiny. "My name is Jasmine, Alpha Damien, and I have served the secret order as the primary scribe for the last twelve seasons," she answered, her voice trembling slightly with an underlying fear that she could not entirely conceal.

​ Damien look‍e⁠d like​ a dark god of r⁠uin in his long black over‍c‍oat‌, his⁠ shoulders completel‍y filli⁠ng t⁠he doorway, while Celeste walked at his s‍ide wit‌h th⁠e slow,‌ terrifyingly s⁠eren⁠e gra⁠ce of a monarch entering a conque‌red‌ territory. Yo​u are too late, Alistair, the old man sa⁠id, his fingers coming down hard on his term​in‍al inter‍f​ace to execute the master capital freeze command.⁠ T‌he New York c⁠ore i​s⁠ officially is⁠ol‌ated. Your priv‍ate a‍ccounts are dead.

"Alpha, Nicholas. While I don't know him on a personal level, I do know who he is." Everyone's attention falls on my mate as Nick signals for her to carry on while my gut twists and already I have absolutely no doubt that whatever she's about to tell us next will result in me ending that prick's life. "His name is Talon Beckham. He's one of the leaders of the... pack, and unfortantly, he is my mate." Yeah, he's going to die!

I knew everything that went on with the elite. Not anymore, though. After my father was arrested for embezzlement and all our assets seized, I lost all my friends. That meant they weren’t my friends in the first place. “Let’s see, “ I said as I typed his name. However, the search came up empty. There were no listings of a company or any business under his name. I furrowed my eyebrows wondering if what I experienced that morning really happened. The man was wearing Armani and driving a Rolls Royce. He had to have a company somewhere. When I searched the name Markos alone, the search results showed a bunch of people I had never seen before. I gave up and closed my laptop.