2025-08-06 22:38:05Chapter 2: The Shadow of Voss
The sound of glass shattering was drowned by the thunderous snap of the bullet.
Damian didn’t flinch.
He turned slowly, scanning the broken windowpane of his penthouse, the red dot still visible against the jagged edges.
But it wasn’t on him anymore.
Cole Maddox lay on the floor, blood soaking into his shirt, eyes clenched tight.
Damian was at his side in seconds, pressing a cloth against the wound.
“Sniper,” Cole growled through gritted teeth. “Rooftop. Northwest angle.”
“I know,” Damian said coldly.
He didn’t panic. He didn’t call for help.
He stood, walked to the shattered window, and looked out at the city. Somewhere out there, a ghost had pulled a trigger and failed.
“Patch him up,” he ordered into his Bluetooth mic.
A hidden door in the wall slid open. Two men in black moved in—former special forces, handpicked for loyalty. They pulled Cole away into the shadows of the penthouse, moving with trained efficiency.
Damian turned back toward the skyline, the wind tugging at his jacket.
The game had officially begun.
Elsewhere…
The sniper disassembled the rifle with steady hands. He didn’t miss—he was never meant to kill Damian. Just to warn him.
Leave the message: We see you.
He climbed down the fire escape, blended into the crowd, and vanished.
His phone buzzed once.
[Message Received. Payment Processed.]
But before he could take another step, a gloved hand grabbed him from behind and dragged him into a service alley.
A soft voice whispered in his ear: “He doesn’t take kindly to warnings.”
And then the light left his eyes.
The next morning…
Voss International was in chaos.
Panic among shareholders. Furious calls from foreign partners. Headlines everywhere:
THE RETURN OF THE GHOST CEO?
CROSS GLOBAL TAKES CONTROL
INSIDER COLLAPSE AT VOSS INTL
In her glass office, Serena Voss hurled a crystal paperweight against the wall, shattering it into a thousand pieces.
“He can’t do this to us!” she shouted.
Victor Voss leaned against the doorway, arms crossed, watching his niece rage.
“He already has.”
Serena turned. “You told me he was dead.”
“I believed he was,” Victor said calmly. “I saw the blood. The river.”
“Well, it wasn’t enough.”
Victor poured himself a drink. “He’s not the boy you remember. That boy is long gone. What returned… is something else.”
He sipped slowly. “Which means we play the game his way now.”
Serena’s eyes narrowed. “You’re going to let him walk all over us?”
“No.” Victor set down the glass. “I’m going to cut off his legs first.”
Later that day — Underground Medical Facility
Cole Maddox winced as the stitching needle bit his skin.
“Damn,” he muttered. “For a dead man, he’s got great aim.”
Damian stood nearby, arms crossed.
“You were the distraction,” he said. “They wanted to see how I’d react.”
“Test shot?”
“No,” Damian said. “Message.”
Cole exhaled. “How long before they send another?”
“They won’t,” Damian said. “I already sent one back.”
Meanwhile — Elara Quinn’s Apartment
She couldn’t sleep.
Not after what she saw.
Not after that boardroom meeting… or the name.
Damian.
She’d heard rumors. Whispers. But no one believed them.
He had been declared legally dead. Buried in secret. Case closed.
But the man in that room wasn’t a ghost. He was real. Alive. And more dangerous than she remembered.
Her fingers trembled as she pulled open the drawer of her nightstand.
Inside: an old photograph.
Four people. Younger. Smiling. Naive.
Damian Voss stood beside her, his arm around a girl she barely remembered.
And behind them… Victor Voss, with his hand resting proudly on Damian’s shoulder.
Flashback — 10 years ago
Elara had been the intern. The orphan with nothing, taken in by the Voss family as a PR project.
Damian was kind. Curious. Protective.
But when the scandal hit—when money went missing and signatures pointed to him—Victor made it clear:
“Either testify, or you go back to the gutter.”
She’d chosen survival.
And she never forgave herself.
Present
Now he was back.
And he knew who she was.
Her phone buzzed. Encrypted signal.
A message from Victor:
“He’s vulnerable now. Find his weakness.”
She stared at the text.
Then, against every instinct, typed a reply:
“What if he doesn’t have one?”
Damian’s Private Office — Midnight
The city lights bled through the blinds, casting bars of gold across the dark leather desk.
Damian tapped the screen of his tablet. Photos loaded one by one.
Victor. Serena. Corrupt board members. Bribed officials. Offshore accounts.
Then, finally, Elara Quinn.
He zoomed in.
Her face.
Her expression at the board meeting.
She hadn’t recognized him at first—but she did now.
Cole entered, leaning on a crutch.
“She’s in play,” he said. “You sure you want to use her?”
Damian didn’t respond at first.
“She was part of it,” Cole added. “She helped destroy your name.”
“I know,” Damian said.
“But you still hesitated.”
Damian’s eyes darkened.
“I don’t hesitate.”
He closed the file.
“She wants a game? I’ll give her one.”
The next day, Elara receives an invitation.
From Damian Cross.
To a private dinner.
No security. No handlers. Just the two of them.
The message is simple:
“Let’s talk. One liar to another.”
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Chapter 44
Chapter 44 – The Contract TrapThe leather-bound contract lay between them like a loaded gun. Its pages whispered of ruin, its seal gleamed like a brand. Damian didn’t touch it. He didn’t have to—the heavy signature at the bottom was his. Or at least, it looked like his.His chest tightened, not from shock, but from fury.“That’s not mine,” he said, voice low and measured, though the air around them vibrated with restrained violence. “The ink may be my name, but the hand isn’t.”Lucian leaned back in the velvet chair, eyes catching the crystal light overhead. He looked too comfortable in Damian’s world, as though the skyscraper’s steel bones had always belonged to him. His smile was the kind that carved scars.“Forgery is such a pedestrian word,” Lucian said, tapping one finger on the document. “This contract is flawless. Down to the pressure indentations of the pen. The legal system will eat it alive.”Damian’s jaw clenched. “You underestimate what I can prove.”“No, Damian,” Lucian
Chapter 43
Chapter 43 – Face to FaceThe limousine pulled away from the curb, its tinted windows reflecting the flood of camera flashes outside Damian’s old headquarters. From across the street, concealed in the shadows of a service entrance, Damian watched the procession of black cars glide up to the building’s marble steps. He recognized many of them—vehicles belonging to key shareholders, corporate partners, and political allies. Tonight was not just any event. It was a gathering of the company’s most powerful stakeholders, convened under the guise of an “emergency briefing” about the military tech scandal.In reality, Damian knew it was something far more dangerous.Lucian was inside.He adjusted the tailored tuxedo he’d borrowed from one of his underground contacts. The fabric smelled faintly of cologne and gunpowder, but it fit him well enough. His hair was slicked back, his jaw freshly shaven. He looked every inch the corporate titan he once was, save for the fire in his eyes—the fire of
Chapter 42
Chapter 42 – The Long GameThe night air smelled of gasoline and rain. Damian leaned against the hood of a nondescript sedan in a warehouse district no one with money or sense would step into after midnight. His suit was gone; now he wore a black turtleneck, a leather jacket, and the shadow of a man stripped of legitimacy. The city skyline flickered in the distance, indifferent to his exile.“They think they’ve cut me off,” Damian muttered, scanning the empty lot. “But I’ve survived worse.”Cole’s voice buzzed in his earpiece. “You’re sure about this? You’re asking men who’d slit your throat for half the price Lucian’s offering.”“That’s why they’ll respect me,” Damian replied. His tone carried that cold assurance that had once held boardrooms in rapt silence. “I don’t come begging. I come dealing.”The Underground MarketplaceThe steel doors of the warehouse creaked open. Inside, a dozen figures circled like sharks. Smugglers, arms dealers, data brokers—the kind of people Damian used
Chapter 41
Chapter 41 – ScandalThe kiss lasted only seconds.But in the world Damian lived in, seconds were enough to destroy an empire.By the time he had slipped out of the masquerade, mask discarded, anger simmering beneath his skin, the world already knew. Screens glowed in limousines outside. Phones buzzed in manicured hands. Every guest had seen the cameras, and every guest had whispered, texted, forwarded the image before the champagne had even gone flat.And by dawn, the kiss was everywhere.The FirestormThe first time Damian saw the image, he wanted to shatter the screen.There he was—or rather, the clone, perfectly posed in a silver mask, his mouth pressed against The Huntress’s as her hand curved around his jaw. Behind them, crystal chandeliers flared like coronas of fire. The caption beneath, courtesy of a gossip outlet that had been fed the picture within hours, read:Damian Kane’s Mask Falls: Secret Deal with Unknown Heiress Sealed with a KissThe photo had been doctored, of cour
Chapter 40
Chapter 40 – The Masked BallMasks had always been part of Damian Kane’s life.He’d worn them in boardrooms, on battlefields, in bed with women who thought they knew him. A smile when he felt nothing. Charm when he wanted blood. Control when his empire burned.But tonight’s mask was literal: black lacquer, edged in silver, sculpted into the sharp angles of a predator. It fit too well.The ballroom glowed beneath a canopy of chandeliers, every prism of crystal scattering light across velvet drapes and marble floors. A hundred conversations collided in the air—laughter behind feathered masks, whispers curling like smoke beneath the strings of the orchestra. Champagne glittered in flutes, jewels winked on throats and wrists, and every guest hid behind painted porcelain, as if anonymity were fashion instead of strategy.Damian threaded through it all like a shadow. He wore the mask, but his true disguise was the weight of his presence—controlled, invisible, unnoticed in a room that thrive
Chapter 39
Chapter 39 – Double CrossedThe Huntress always smiled like she was winning a game no one else could see.It made Damian’s skin crawl.He didn’t trust mercenaries, never had, and certainly not one who treated morality as a negotiable line item. Yet here she was, sitting in the corner of his penthouse’s war room, her booted feet propped on the polished steel table as if she owned the place. The skyline stretched behind her in a wash of glass and light, but all Damian could see was the glint in her eyes—sharp, predatory, self-assured.She had agreed too quickly, too easily. Claiming the role of buyer. Offering herself as bait. And while she had dressed it up as a tactical necessity, Damian knew enough about hunters to recognize the scent of personal prey. She wanted something out of this deal—something more than money, more than leverage.And until he knew what it was, she was as dangerous as Lucian himself.Elara paced the room, agitation bleeding through every gesture. “I don’t like t
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