Post Possession Damage Control Novel Novels & Stories

He spoke up. I just kept my mouth shut. Something told me to keep my mouth shut. His eyes trailed down my face, raking down my body. I stepped back a little out of discomfort. "You must be one of his new girlfriends." He added as his smirk widened. I was about to say something, anything, when Ace beat me to it. "Mind your own business, Daniel." I couldn't mistake the clear harshness in his voice. The guy, Daniel, grinned at that. "Right. How can I forget that?"

It's always a show. As time goes on, people starts to mingle. More of Robert's acquaintances are made known. Even the editor-in-chief of Vogue and her husband are part of it all. Others already clutching on bottles they have purchased. A few more, “who is this, Rob?” “Where did you meet this one?” “What happened to the other one?” The last one was my favourite. I wonder too. What happened to April Anderson? “Things didn't work out. Two polar opposite, it was bound to crumble,” that is always Robert's answer.

Hope nothing bad happens to Drake 😔😔 before they get help. Actually let's find out in the next chapter. Please tell me what you think about this chapter. Let me know through your comments.

“That might actually make things worse.” “Everything is already worse.” I snapped at Lydia as silence followed after, then she spoke up again. “Yes sir” she said. I rubbed my face, leaning back in my chair as another notification buzzed through my phone. It was another article and headline. Another version of the story, twisted in a different way. I didn't even need to open it. I already knew what it was. “Damage control is not working anymore.” Lydia said. I let out a dry laugh. “I don't actually give no shit about that.” I said.

Every blog. Every gossip channel. "The Billionaire Groom Requests an Instant Annulment." "Moretti Industries Is Rocked by a Corporate Espionage Scandal" "Insider Sources Verify Bride's Transfer of Private Documents." Insider sources. The phrase made my stomach twist. Lucian had moved fast. Of course he had. Damage control was instinct to him. Reputation was currency. And I had just been labeled the liability. The apartment belonged to my college friend, Mara. She was away on a work trip and had given me the spare key months ago “just in case.” Neither of us had imagined this scenario.

The question was quiet, but it filled the space between us like a shout. “Damage control,” he said flatly. “Damage control? You called yourself a petty, vindictive asshole on national television. You gave them a motive. You basically dared them to cancel you. That’s not control. That’s… self-immolation.” He shrugged, the movement stiff in the fine suit jacket. “It’s a version of the truth they can understand. A dumb jock seeking revenge. It’s simple. It’s salacious. It ends the ‘who-knew-what’ mystery. Now it’s just about whether people forgive a bastard, not whether they believe a victim.”

I turn back sharply towards the screen as pictures of Mason and Halloway come up. Mason looks heartbreakingly handsome as usual in a clean cut black suit, and Halloway…Halloway looks like the perfect partner for a billionaire. The tears I was trying so hard to hide falls freely now. I am not their class. I will never be worthy. Even the citizens of New York believe I am trying to ruin a "budding" relationship. Then it strikes me. Damage control. Mason said he was going to carry out damage control last night.

Then— He walked back toward me. Slower now. More grounded. “We need to go through everything,” he said. I nodded. “Yes.” Another pause. Then he looked at the phone again. “She talked like she wanted this to end,” he said. I exhaled quietly. “She didn’t want it to end like this,” I corrected. Damian looked at me. “What do you mean?” I hesitated. Because the truth was complicated. Not just emotionally—but structurally. “She didn’t want exposure,” I said. “She wanted control of the outcome.”

He had been like this for three days. It was subtle to anyone else. To Signor Moretti or the staff from the village, Damien looked like he always did: tall, composed, sharply dressed in dark cashmere and tailored trousers, completely in command of himself and his surroundings. But I knew him too well now. I saw the slight, almost imperceptible tension in his jaw when the house went still. I noticed how his eyes flicked toward the door whenever a floorboard creaked upstairs. I saw how he barely touched his food at dinner, his mind clearly pulled into some distant, internal storm. The high-stakes corporate war in New York was over. Victor Hale was stripped of his influence and buried under fed

My name is Jennie Dawson. I was just an ordinary college girl whose biggest achievement was pulling all-nighters to read smut novels. Then one night I dropped dead at my desk… and woke up inside the very book I was reading, as a pretty background character who happened to share my name. The heroine, Nancy Porter, was a transmigrator with a system. Her mission was to seduce my brother and turn him into her devoted plaything, living a life of indulgence with her day and night until she could finally return to her world.