Disgraced Heir Returns

6: CONVICTION

Damian released everything.

Every piece of evidence. Every bank statement. Every connection to Victor Hartwell. He sent it to the media. Posted it online. Leaked it to every journalist who would listen.

He waited for the backlash. For the public to turn on Victor. For someone—anyone—to believe him.

But nothing happened.

"Damian Cross tries to deflect blame"

"Desperate fraud points fingers at rival"

"Pathetic attempt to save himself"

The evidence was twisted. Turned against him. The media called it a desperate ploy. A last-ditch effort to escape justice.

Damian stared at his screen. The headlines blurred before his eyes.

Nobody believes me. Nobody will ever believe me.

Greg tried to reassure him. "Sir, we just need to find the right angle. Someone out there has to see the truth."

But Damian knew the truth. The truth didn't matter anymore. Only perception mattered. And everyone perceived him as guilty.

---

The trial continued. Each day was worse than the last.

More witnesses. More lies. More accusations. The prosecution painted him as a monster. A greedy, corrupt businessman who had stolen from the innocent.

And the jury ate it up.

Damian sat in his chair. His face was a mask. But inside, he was collapsing.

This is it. This is the end.

Greg sat beside him. The young assistant's face was pale. His eyes were red. But he kept fighting. Kept whispering encouragement.

"We'll appeal," Greg said. "We'll find new evidence. We'll—"

"Greg," Damian said quietly. "Stop."

Greg fell silent.

It's over. Everything is over.

_____

The verdict came on a Thursday.

The jury filed in. Their faces were grim. Their eyes were cold.

Damian stood. His legs were shaking. His heart was pounding.

"On the charge of fraud... guilty."

The word hit him like a physical blow.

"On the charge of money laundering... guilty."

His vision blurred.

"On the charge of corporate espionage... guilty."

The courtroom erupted. Journalists scrambled. The gallery exploded with whispers.

Damian stood there. Frozen. His limbs felt like liquid. His ears were ringing. He couldn't hear anything. Couldn't see anything.

Someone was talking to him. Greg. His assistant's voice was distant. Muffled.

"Sir, I won't stop searching. I won't give up on you. I promise. I'll find something. I'll clear your name. Just hold on. Please."

Damian turned to look at Greg. The young man's face was wet with tears.

Damian tried to speak. Tried to say something. Anything. But no words came.

The judge's voice cut through the ringing in his ears.

"Damian Cross, you are hereby sentenced to five years in federal prison. All assets are forfeited. The court is adjourned."

The gavel came down. The sound echoed through the courtroom.

Five years. Everything I built. Everything I loved. Gone.

_____

The public humiliation began the moment he stepped outside.

The courthouse steps were swarming with people. Journalists. Protesters. Strangers who had come to watch him fall.

They screamed at him. Cursed him. Called him every name in the book.

"FRAUD!"

"THIEF!"

"YOU RUINED MY FAMILY!"

Someone threw an egg. It hit his shoulder. The yolk ran down his suit.

Another person threw a tomato. It splattered against his back.

Damian kept his head down. Kept walking. The guards pushed through the crowd. Their hands were rough. Their faces were cold.

"Move. Keep moving."

He stumbled. Someone spat at him. The saliva hit his cheek. He didn't wipe it off. Didn't react. Just kept moving.

This is what I am now. A monster. A criminal. A cautionary tale.

The crowd was jubilant. Celebrating his fall like it was a holiday. Some were crying. Others were laughing. All of them were enjoying his pain.

He scanned the crowd. Desperate. Hoping for a familiar face.

Where is she? Where is Aurora?

He wanted to see her. Wanted to know if she had come. If she had watched. If she felt even a shred of remorse.

But she wasn't there.

Of course she wasn't there.

_____

He was being escorted toward the van when someone stepped in front of him.

Sarah. Aurora's sister.

Her face was blank. Her eyes were cold. She held up her phone.

"Damian. Aurora asked me to make sure you saw this. She said it would help you rest easy knowing she's fine."

She pressed play.

Damian looked at the screen. Aurora was there. Laughing. Having the best time of her life. She was on a beach somewhere. Sun was shining. Drink in her hand. A man's arm wrapped around her shoulders.

She looked happy. Free. Like she had never known him at all.

Damian's jaw tightened. His hands curled into fists.

She didn't even wait. She didn't even care.

He looked away. His eyes burned. But he refused to cry. Refused to give them the satisfaction.

Sarah lowered the phone. Her smile was thin. Cruel.

"She said to tell you... good luck in prison. You'll need it."

She walked away.

Damian stood there. The guards were pulling at his arms. The crowd was screaming. But he didn't hear any of it.

Aurora. My Aurora. She's gone. She's been gone for a long time. I just didn't want to see it.

____

He started moving again. Down the steps. Through the crowd. Toward the van that would take him to prison.

And then he saw them.

His parents. Marcus and Isabella Cross. Standing at the edge of the crowd. Watching him.

Their eyes met. Damian's heart stopped.

They came. They actually came.

For a brief moment, hope flickered in his chest. Maybe they had changed their minds. Maybe they had come to apologize. To say goodbye.

But then someone stepped beside them. A journalist. The woman's voice was loud. Eager.

"Mr. and Mrs. Cross! How do you feel about your son going to prison? How do you feel about him being a criminal?"

Damian watched his father's face. The man's expression was blank. Cold. Like he was looking at a stranger.

Marcus turned to the journalist. He didn't look at Damian. Not even once.

"I do not know how to answer that question," Marcus said. His voice was steady. Unfeeling. "As I do not have or know anyone related to me that is going to prison. I do not know anyone being accused of being a criminal."

He placed his hand on Isabella's shoulder. The woman's face was a mask. No tears. No emotion.

"Come, my dear. We have better things to do."

They turned. Walked away. Their backs were straight. Their steps were unhurried. Like they had just dismissed a stranger. Like Damian had never existed.

Damian watched them go. His chest was hollow. His heart was dead.

They didn't come to say goodbye. They came to make sure I knew I was alone.

And I am. Completely. Utterly. Alone.

______

The guards pushed him into the van.

The door slammed shut. The crowd's screaming faded. The world went dark.

Damian sat in the back of the van. His hands were cuffed. His eyes were dry. His face was blank.

He thought about everything. His company. His reputation. His family. His fiancée. All of it. Destroyed.

Viktor did this. Viktor took everything.

And he's out there. Right now. Celebrating. Enjoying his victory.

The van started moving. The city blurred past the tiny window.

Damian closed his eyes. His hands were trembling. But his mind was clear.

I will survive this. I will get out. And I will make him pay.

One day. One day, Viktor Hartwell will know what it feels like to lose everything.

And I'm going to be the one who takes it from him.