Damien Ross: Wrath of the Warlord Chairman

02: Truth

Damien chose to follow his instincts and released his grip on the two men who were fighting for their breath.

Instantly, three smartly dressed bodyguards wearing impact-resistant safety glasses came out from two of the hypercars that had been in the alley all along.

The first thing Damien’s eye caught was a long, smooth foot, and from the flawless appearance, he did not doubt that it was indeed feminine.

With a soft, enticing voice, she chimed in, “The Martial Fortress- it's really a pleasure.”

“I really owe you my life, a debt I could never repay.”

The Goddess was once Damien's prison mate for about three months and was almost strangled to death by some prison thugs if not for his quick intervention that had her rescued.

Damien glanced in observation, as the last time he heard from her was when she presented a ridiculous, tempting offer to him during her release from the prison yard two months ago. But he refused to accept it for personal reasons.

The Goddess beamed gracefully: “I’d have known better than to expect the martial fortress wouldn't accept my offer that easily and shouldn't have had my men trailing him without approval.”

Damien’s expression turned serious:

“You wanted me to take charge of your multinational conglomerate worth billions of dollars? Just like that? That must be a bluff!”

“Even if you were serious. I’m Damien Ross and won't be anyone's lapdog. I care less how much wealth you possess or the enormous power you wield.”

The Goddess's heart skipped as she paced behind him, her words dripped with emotion:

“A lapdog? Huh? Why would I want my own son to be anything like that to me?”

Damien's feet froze at a spot. In slow motion, he turned, facing The Goddess with his breath hitching.

He widened his mouth a few times, but no words could escape from his lips.

The Goddess's expression whirled with tough emotions as she slowly moved towards him, her heart pounding with each step she took.

Then a soothing sound escaped her lips: “Yes. I'm your mother. You're my only son—”

Damien's face flushed with disbelief as he stamped his feet against the pavement and let out a shriek:

“No, I'm not! My parents are both dead! My mum died about a year ago from a heart attack.”

“Find another method to convince me to accept your offer, 'cause I'm not falling for this sick joke!”

Damien was almost storming off when her words halted his tracks once more.

“You were stolen from me! From birth, I lost you! I only found out a year ago that my son was alive all along. The midwife on duty lied to me about your death!”

Damien felt a surge of sweat drenching his forehead as those words sank into his heart.

With a shocked stare, he narrowed his eyes: “Huh? I need more facts to ascertain if you're bluffing or not.”

A glisten of tears clung in her eyes, her expression reeking of mixed emotions. With a bitter beam, she chimed in:

“Son, you'll be thirty in five days. I don't know what they told you, but you were born at Oakland Prime York Hospital.”

Damien’s eyes popped; the doubt once etched on his face slowly wavered as he swallowed.

The Goddess winked at the bodyguards, and they opened one of the supercars.

“Son, I know your mind is jumbled with questions. Please step into the car with me, and I'll feed your curiosity. I promise.”

Damien drew a steady breath and tried to settle his throbbing pulse. He wasn't a man to easily get rattled by anything, but this was deeper.

Damien nodded and walked behind the Goddess and joined her in the backseat. He noticed the bodyguards bowed their heads towards him and mouthed:

“Thank you, Martial Fortress, for agreeing to give the Goddess a listening ear.”

Damien didn't mutter a word, but could tell from their mode of operation how fiercely loyal they were to her.

There was an awkward moment between them as the Goddess didn't know how to stare into her son's eyes after the long-lost years, but managed to look up.

Damien cleared his throat: “I was really stolen at birth?”

She fought hard to hold the brimming emotions, but the relentless tears spilled through her eyes, with mucus dripping from her nostrils.

Damien found a handkerchief and gently cleaned off the tears while staring into her eyes with compassion.

The Goddess sniffled: “Yes, Son. Mrs. Ross connived with the midwife on that fateful evening after her son died a few minutes after birth. The midwife had me drugged and exchanged you with their dead son.”

Damien's pupils turned reddish in fury as he cursed under his breath. He couldn't believe the woman he learned had died of a heart attack wasn't his real mother, and wondered why she'd commit such an atrocity and lie about being his mother for over two decades.

“Holy shit! How did you find out I was alive after all?”

She let out an exasperated sigh: “It was the midwife who confessed on her deathbed after the weight of her evil deeds haunted her for years.”

Damien ran a finger across his hair with his mouth agape. If he didn't know better, he'd have thought the whole story was nothing more than a perfected K-Drama script.

She mouthed with keen observation:

“You must be wondering how I knew you were locked up in Ironcage, right?”

Damien's breath came in sharp gasps; he nodded, as that was one of the thousand questions swinging in his head.

The Goddess drew closer: “It was my goddaughter, Ms. Sheraton Miguel. She contacted seven skilled investigators who dug and discovered you were sentenced to seven years in jail for rape.” Her tone reeked of certainty: “But I didn't believe for a second that my son would ever do such a thing, not after his sacrifice for the country.”

A surge of beam dripped on Damien's face, and he couldn't hold the growing blush. That was the first time in many years that someone believed he was innocent, and hearing that from his newly found mother felt golden.

On having Damien's full attention, her lips moved for more information:

“Ms. Miguel has been the COO of NewYork Oil Gold Conglomerate for almost three years, doing all she could to keep our multinational businesses afloat.”

The Goddess’s expression fell for a moment, and Damien caught a glimpse of it:

“What’s it? Is her life threatened?” His tone laced with menace, “Tell me, and I'll go save her right away.”

She held onto Damien's hands: “Son, we really need you right now. NewYork Oil Gold has been under serious attacks by fierce rivals who are envious of our explosive growth and expansion, and the threat is rubbing off on Sheraton. She had been trying to swallow it in, but I know what's going on.”

Damien drew a deep breath in thought: “Why do you really want me to spearhead the conglomerate? Merely because I'm your son?—”

The Goddess didn't allow him to finish before interjecting:

“I know you, son! Why do you think I was in the prison center for three months?”

“I disguised myself as a prisoner to know you for myself, and I must confess: I haven't met a soul as determined and courageous as you.”

“Is it in the business world? You have done exploits. The investigators dug into your impact as the early funder and business strategist of Ocean's Jewellery Enterprise, and within twelve months, you revived the company from near ruin and set it on a path of elite recognition. The question is, why can't it be you?”

Damien's bloodstream tingled as her words reminded him of his impacts and what he was made of. He didn't forget, but hearing someone acknowledge that was a booster.

The Goddess unveiled a small burgundy glass box and brought out a shiny item impeccably adorned with white gold.

“Son, this is the Dracula Valmont Ring, made in ultimate gold, one of a kind, and the last of its kind. It has lived for over two centuries. It represents immeasurable power in its fullness. The last noble figure that graced his fingers with the ring was King Charles Alexander III, and after his death on the battlefield. The ancient ring has been rumored to be lost; well, that's not true.”

Damien narrowed his eyes and glanced closely at the Dracula Valmont Ring. He had heard of astonishing myths and legends about the most powerful ring with its dominance beyond the shores of Oakland.

The Goddess stared deep into Damien's eyes with her right finger trailing across the Ring's classic smooth texture:

“Please consider my wish and accept the task alongside the Dracula Valmont Ring, which will distinguish you from mere men. None other is worthy of this responsibility, except you.”

Damien blinked in brief thought. Afterwards, he smiled with intent:

“Of course, Mum, but first I would pose as your goddaughter’s bodyguard…”