Jean Claude Van Damme Joven の小説・ストーリー

I felt uneasy. Its timing coincided with the night we ran away. Damien was seen on film standing by himself, staring at Claire and her two men with a bloodied but stubborn visage. Although they surrounded him like wolves, Damien remained unflinching. I said in shock, "He didn't leave." "To repel them, he stayed." Vanessa cast a scowl. "He is not proven to be trustworthy by this."

Claude was already deep into the wine, and offered me a glass as I came near. “Ah, there you are, Damien. We were worried you might not attend this year,” he said. “Why wouldn’t I?” I asked. Claude laughed. “After the display at the capital, we all had our doubts. What were you thinking, man? Trying to die for a human?” “That was no mere human,” I said. “She’s my mate.” That made Claude laugh louder. “Ridiculous. Humans are no more than playthings. You are embarrassing yourself by saying something like that. You should have just let that bitch die, if that’s what the King wanted.”

"I have something of yours, Damien. Something from the years when we were close—back when you still thought you could buy your way out of the Maryland shipping pools without matching Victor’s body count. I haven't decided what to do with it yet." The hook was set, the hidden leverage of a twenty-year-old ghost suddenly materializing right as the Paris wire was heating up for the morning open. Damien didn't lean back, and his jaw didn't tighten. His response was entirely, terrifyingly calm. He slowly folded his large, calloused hands over his knee, his breathing dropping into a flat, rhythmic cadence that carried no corporate performance left in it.

He saw Elara’s downcast eyes when he passed her in the halls, and every night he found himself replaying the soft tremble of her lips. Damien, the second, was twenty-eight, golden and reckless. He had the body of a playboy athlete and the smirk to match, with women constantly parading in and out of his penthouse suite. But none of them made him burn the way Elara did when she bent to pick up a fallen glass, her skirt sliding higher than it should.

"Damien Moretti and Lady Natalia St Dumas." The applause that followed drowned my confusion as the spotlight flashed on Damien and his so called business partner.

"Damien believes that. But belief and truth are different things." I couldn't breathe. Everything felt fake again. "There's more," Rylan said. "More what?" "More videos. Want to see them?" I didn't answer. But he played another one anyway. This time it showed Damien. Age maybe sixteen. He was with his father. "The girl is getting too close," his father was saying. "I can't help that," sixteen-year-old Damien replied. "You were supposed to watch her. Don't fall for her." "I know." "Do you? Because if you can't do your job, we'll find someone who can."

Chloe said. "Sorry, but I will make it up to you when we see again" Ava said and ran to the payment section with it. "Who is she?" Chelsea asked. "I don’t know her, I’ve never met her before, but she has an annoying character like Damies" "Who’s Damies?" "That’s stupid Damien Walter" "Ah, Damies? You even abbreviated his name" Chelsea said smiling, but when Chloe shot her a glare she stopped smiling. "I will just go to another grocery store to get my dad his pineapple"

" So pretty girl , how old are you ? " Damien asks . " Just turned 18 . Why do you ask?" I cross my arms. " No reason . You are about the same age as our Mia here . You both should get along pretty well." He adds. " We already do , Damy." Mia adds and pulls me in for a hug. " Vlad and I are going to train you tomorrow , so I hope you are ready for it." Damien says. " Well , Damy , I am so gonna kick your ass." I say with a smug face. Both Mia and Vlad start hooting and laughing.

he said, so casually. My eyes bulged wide. “In front of you?” Damien leaned against the door frame, arm crossed across his chest and a faint smirk tugged at his lips. “We showered together when we were younger.” His voice came out low—lazy. The air in my lungs stilled as the memory hit me. The two of us, years ago, slipping into the shower like it meant nothing. Clothes flying off without a thought. A care. Damien was smaller then—smaller than me. So short for his age that he barely reached my shoulders. His body was small—too small.

He was older. Silver hair. Expensive suit. Cold eyes. I looked at Damien. "Who is he?" He stared at the photograph. "I don't know." Victor stepped closer. "Boss..." "What?" "I know him." Damien looked at him. "Who?" Victor swallowed. "Adrian Vasile." The name meant nothing to me. But Damien's expression changed. "That's impossible." "Why?" "He died twenty years ago." Victor shook his head. "Apparently not." I looked between them.