Damien lifted the cigarette to his mouth for a second drag, but Victor slapped it out of his hand before he could take a puff.
"Are you losing your mind already?"
Damien growled low, eyes flashing as he glared at him. Under the harsh streetlight, Victor's gold hair fell over his face, his blue eyes sharp and glinting.
Damien's car was parked crooked on the roadside, exactly where he had called Victor to meet him. He had waited, boiling with fury. When Victor finally showed up in his pressed suit and briefcase, Damien had planned to punch him square in the face. But he knew it would change nothing. It wouldn't fix the gnawing complication tearing at him.
And Victor—Victor was the damn cause of it.
"If my mother needed an upgrade, I'm well damn capable of giving it to her!" Damien roared, voice crashing against the still night. Victor flinched, stepping back instinctively.
They had grown into something like friends after Damien hired him as the company's lawyer, but Victor had never faced his full rage, mainly because Damien rarely lost control. Before prison, he had been easygoing, composed—the kind of boss everyone wished for.
Now? Freedom tasted like a nightmare, and Victor couldn't blame him. He would have lost his mind too if he'd been locked up even for a year.
But this. This crossed a line. Damien had talked about the hospital bills. How the hell did he even know?
"What do you mean?" Victor asked, voice cautious, eyes narrowing. That information was supposed to be a secret. Not even the hospital had the right to disclose it.
Damien snorted, eyes narrowing. "You know damn well what I'm talking about," he said, breathing hard, struggling to keep control. He could—control was the only thing he had mastered—so why? Why had one glance at Alina shattered him into a thrashing, pouting child?
Victor shifted uncomfortably. He didn't like where this was heading.
"I told you," he muttered, "the person didn't want to be known."
"Oh well," Damien's lips curved into a cold smile. "Turns out I found out anyway."
Victor facepalmed himself. Of course Damien would figure it out, but he hadn't expected him to find out this soon.
"I'm sorry," he said. "I knew if I told you who it was, you would've declined."
"Of course you knew," Damien growled. "I can pay for it. I could've handled it myself."
He tilted his head, eyes glinting. "But instead, you allowed Alina to help."
Victor sighed, raking a hand through his hair. "Not like that, Damien. You were in prison. All eyes were on you. If I had made a move, they would've found your hidden real estate, and that would've been the complete end for you."
He was right. Damien hated to admit it. But as the cool night breeze brushed his skin and made him shiver, his mind drifted to Alina—and the way she made him feel—and his hatred only grew sharper.
"Oh well, it could've been anyone. Anyone but the Graves," he muttered bitterly. What had Victor been thinking? That he'd be happy finding out Alina had helped him? How could he bear it—that Alina had a better relationship with his mother than he did? That all these years, she had stayed by her side when he hadn't?
If it had been anyone else, he could've handled it.
But this was Alina.
Daughter of Walter Graves.
How could he?
His jaw tightened. He stamped his foot hard against the marble ground.
"You know how much I hate the Graves," he hissed.
"Of course I do," Victor said tightly. "But the man who put you in prison is dead. His daughter is nothing like him. You don't have to punish her for sins that aren't hers."
A slow, dangerous smile tugged at Damien's lips.
Let her beg. Let her suffer.
Someone had to pay, and it sure as hell was going to be her.
"Someone must bleed for what he did," he said, voice low and deadly. "And right now, she's standing in my way."
Victor stiffened, stunned into silence. He knew convincing Damien would be impossible. Still, he tried.
"Alina's not an easy heiress to break," he warned. "You really think you can win this?"
No. He knew he was already losing.
Because she had offered herself to him, and he was losing his damn mind craving it.
Her heart? He didn't even want it.
Yet if he couldn't conquer that too, what was the point?
That was why he would never marry her. The lust would burn out eventually.
And when it did, he would shatter her—
And watch the entire Graves family fall at his feet.
A satisfied smile crossed Damien's face. He knew exactly what to do.
Seven years in isolation hadn't gone to waste. When it came to strategic thinking and manipulation, he was top tier—and he was going to use Alina's offer against her.
He hadn't paid attention to her body language when she spoke those words. He had been too lost, too consumed by the possibilities—by what it would mean if they married. But now, looking back, he saw it clearly. She had been uncomfortable. She had offered more than she could bear to give—something that could shatter her.
Damien pulled a cigarette from the pocket of his blue jeans. This time, Victor didn't stop him. He lit it, inhaled deeply, the smoke cooling his tongue before he exhaled a thin, lazy cloud.
He cast a brief glance at Victor.
"I know exactly how to break her," he said. "The heiress might not be as strong as you think."
"And how do you plan to do that?" Victor asked, confused.
Damien only smiled. He flicked the half-smoked cigarette onto the paved ground, crushed it under his boot, and strode to the front seat of his car.
"You're leaving? Where are you going?" Victor called after him.
But Damien didn't answer.
He turned the steering wheel sharply
and roared down the road.
His mind was clear. His path set.
And he wasn't wasting another second.