Chapter 4
I didn't sleep. Not a single minute.
My mother's face played behind my eyes all night — her laugh, her perfume, the hospital room where Dad told me she was gone. He'd been crying. I remember his tears.
Were they real?
At exactly eight, I entered the dining room. Damien was already seated, dressed in black, looking like sin carved into human form. A single candle flickered between us.
"Sit," he commanded.
I sat. Not because he told me to — because I needed answers.
"Tell me about my mother."
Damien studied me for a long moment, swirling wine in his glass.
"Your mother didn't die of heart failure, Vivian. She was poisoned."
The room tilted.
"That's — no. The hospital — there were records—"
"Fabricated. Paid for." His eyes held mine without blinking. "By your father."
"You're lying!" I slammed my hand on the table, silverware rattling. "My father loved her. He cried for months after she died—"
"Your father took a fifteen-million-dollar life insurance policy on her three months before her death. He was already in debt to my family's operation. He used the payout to cover part of it." Damien leaned forward, candlelight playing across his sharp features. "She was worth more dead than alive to him."
My hands trembled. "Even if — even if that were true, what does it have to do with you? Why do you care?"
Something cracked in Damien's expression. Just barely.
"Because your mother was the only person who ever showed me kindness."
I blinked. "You knew her?"
"She volunteered at a group home when I was seven. I was nobody — a throwaway kid, half-starved, beaten by every foster parent who took me in." He paused. "She used to bring me books. She told me I'd be someone important."
His voice didn't waver, but his knuckles were white around the glass.
"When I found out what Richard did to her, I swore I would destroy him. It took me twenty years. Forty million in debt, his business in ruins, his reputation gone." His eyes met mine. "And then I took the thing he valued most."
"Me," I whispered.
"You."
My chest tightened painfully. "So I'm just — revenge?"
Damien didn't answer immediately. His gaze traced my face in a way that made my skin burn.
"You were supposed to be," he finally said. "Things have... complicated."
Before I could process that, the dining room door burst open. A guard rushed in.
"Sir — there's a security breach. Someone's trying to enter the building. He says—" The guard hesitated.
"Speak," Damien commanded.
"He says he's her fiancé. Ethan Cole. And he has a gun."
Damien's expression went cold as death. He rose slowly from the table and looked at me.
"Stay here."
My heart hammered. Ethan was here?
The question was — was he here to save me, or was there something far worse behind that door?
My mother's face played behind my eyes all night — her laugh, her perfume, the hospital room where Dad told me she was gone. He'd been crying. I remember his tears.
Were they real?
At exactly eight, I entered the dining room. Damien was already seated, dressed in black, looking like sin carved into human form. A single candle flickered between us.
"Sit," he commanded.
I sat. Not because he told me to — because I needed answers.
"Tell me about my mother."
Damien studied me for a long moment, swirling wine in his glass.
"Your mother didn't die of heart failure, Vivian. She was poisoned."
The room tilted.
"That's — no. The hospital — there were records—"
"Fabricated. Paid for." His eyes held mine without blinking. "By your father."
"You're lying!" I slammed my hand on the table, silverware rattling. "My father loved her. He cried for months after she died—"
"Your father took a fifteen-million-dollar life insurance policy on her three months before her death. He was already in debt to my family's operation. He used the payout to cover part of it." Damien leaned forward, candlelight playing across his sharp features. "She was worth more dead than alive to him."
My hands trembled. "Even if — even if that were true, what does it have to do with you? Why do you care?"
Something cracked in Damien's expression. Just barely.
"Because your mother was the only person who ever showed me kindness."
I blinked. "You knew her?"
"She volunteered at a group home when I was seven. I was nobody — a throwaway kid, half-starved, beaten by every foster parent who took me in." He paused. "She used to bring me books. She told me I'd be someone important."
His voice didn't waver, but his knuckles were white around the glass.
"When I found out what Richard did to her, I swore I would destroy him. It took me twenty years. Forty million in debt, his business in ruins, his reputation gone." His eyes met mine. "And then I took the thing he valued most."
"Me," I whispered.
"You."
My chest tightened painfully. "So I'm just — revenge?"
Damien didn't answer immediately. His gaze traced my face in a way that made my skin burn.
"You were supposed to be," he finally said. "Things have... complicated."
Before I could process that, the dining room door burst open. A guard rushed in.
"Sir — there's a security breach. Someone's trying to enter the building. He says—" The guard hesitated.
"Speak," Damien commanded.
"He says he's her fiancé. Ethan Cole. And he has a gun."
Damien's expression went cold as death. He rose slowly from the table and looked at me.
"Stay here."
My heart hammered. Ethan was here?
The question was — was he here to save me, or was there something far worse behind that door?