Disgraced Heir Returns

8: VISITOR

Damian woke before the lights came on.

His body ached. His ribs still throbbed from the shower attack. But he pushed through the pain. Rolled off the bunk. Dropped to the floor.

Push-ups. One. Two. Three.

The concrete was cold against his palms. His arms burned. But he kept going.

Ten. Fifteen. Twenty.

His breathing was ragged. Sweat dripped from his forehead. But he didn't stop.

You're not going to break me. You're not going to break me.

He did a hundred push-ups, the first day. Then he added sit-ups to his routine. Then squats. Every day. Every morning. He felt his bones groan, but he ignored it, pushing his body to the limit.

But he did it in secret. In the shadows of his cell. When the guards weren't watching. When Cutter was asleep. When no one could see.

They don't need to know what I'm becoming.

Let them underestimate me. Let them think I'm still weak.

_____

The attack attempts didn’t end as Damian hoped.

Three more times. Three more groups of men. All of them sent by Viktor. All of them trying to hurt him. Tried to break him.

The first time, they cornered him in the laundry room. Four of them. Big. Mean. Damian didn't have the strength to fight them all. So he used what he had.

"You should reconsider what you are about to do or your daughter might not have it easy. Damian said. Looking at the man on his left.  His voice, eerily calm. Steady. The man hesitated, then he scoffed advancing forward. “I know your daughter.” Damian continued, "I know about the money you've been sending her. I know where she lives. I know who she's dating."

The men froze. Their faces went pale.

"How do you—"

"I have connections," Damian said. "Even in here. I know things. About all of you."

He looked at the man who had spoken. The one who seemed to be the leader.

"Your wife left you last year. She took the kids. You've been trying to get them back. But you can't. Because of what you did. Because of who you work for."

The man's eyes widened. His fists clenched. "You don't know anything."

"I know everything," Damian said. "And I know that if something happens to me, all of that information goes public. Your daughter's location. Your wife's new address. Everything."

The men looked at each other. Doubt flickered in their eyes.

"You're bluffing," one of them said.

Damian smiled. It was cold. "Am I?"

The leader cursed under his breath. He took a step closer. His face was twisted with rage.

"You've won this round, Cross," he growled. "But always make sure to watch your back. Because we won't go easy next time. No matter what you know."

He turned and walked away. The others followed.

Damian exhaled. His heart was pounding. But he had won.

_____

The second time, they came at him during work detail.

Damian was carrying a heavy load. His back was aching. His hands were bleeding.

Three men approached. Their faces were hard. Their eyes were cold.

"We heard about what you did," one of them said. "You think you're so smart now, don't you?"

Damian didn't answer. Just kept walking.

The man grabbed his shoulder. Spun him around.

"I asked you a question."

Damian met his eyes. "I heard you. I just don't think you deserve an answer."

The man's face turned red. He raised his fist.

But Damian was faster. He grabbed the man's wrist. Twisted. Hard.

The man cried out. His fist opened. Something fell to the ground. A shank. Homemade. Sharp.

"Your brother wouldn’t like it, if you knew you were causing trouble.," Damian said. His voice was low. "After all, it was the last deal, … the last trouble you caused that put him in prison. That put both of you in prison."

The man's face went white.

"He wasn't supposed to go to prison. He was supposed to take the money and run. But Viktor double-crossed him. And now he's rotting in maximum security."

"How do you—"

"I know everything," Damian said. "I know about the money. I know about the deal. And I know that Viktor is never going to help your brother. Because Viktor doesn't help anyone. He only uses people."

The man's eyes were wild. Conflicted.

"You don't know what you're talking about," he said. But his voice was weak.

"I know enough," Damian said. "And I know that if you come at me again, all of that information goes to the warden. People still don’t know the extent of what you did, the reason why you are here. I am certain you wouldn’t want that getting out.  Could get you in more trouble with your brother,... with Viktor, after all the stress he went through in making sure you got a lighter sentence."

The man stared at him. His fists were clenched. His jaw was tight.

"You've won this round," he said finally. His voice was a growl. "But I won't forget this, Cross. And next time, I won't give you the chance to talk."

He walked away. The others followed.

Damian watched them go. His body was shaking. But he was alive.

_____

The third time, he fought.

No words. No deals. Just fists.

They came at him in the cafeteria. Three of them. Big. Mean. They didn't give him a chance to speak.

Damian fought with everything he had. Every ounce of anger. Every shred of pain.

His fists were bloody. His face was swollen. But he didn't stop. Couldn't stop.

When it was over, the men were on the ground. Groaning. Bleeding. Damian was standing over them. His chest was heaving. His vision was blurred.

But he was standing.

And he was alive.

_______

The prisoners started to avoid him after that.

They whispered about him in the cafeteria. Called him crazy. Dangerous. A man with nothing to lose.

"Did you see what he did?"

"He didn't stop. Even when they broke his nose. He just kept going."

"He's not human. He's a monster."

Damian heard the whispers. He didn't care. He just kept his head down. Kept working. Kept surviving.

The guards noticed his growing reputation. They were pissed. Victor had paid them to make his life hell. But Damian was making it hard for them.

"You think you're tough, Cross?" one guard said. He was standing over Damian's bunk. His face was twisted with anger. "You think you can just waltz in here and take over?"

Damian didn't answer. Just stared at the wall.

The guard grabbed his collar. Pulled him up. "I asked you a question, inmate."

Damian met his eyes. His voice was flat. "I'm just trying to survive."

The guard laughed. It was an ugly sound. "Survive? You won't survive. I'll make sure of that."

He shoved Damian back onto the bunk. The metal bit into his back.

From that day on, the guards made his life even harder.

Labor duty was brutal. They gave him the hardest jobs. The heaviest loads. The longest hours.

Some days, they "forgot" to give him food. His portions were cut. His water was rationed.

They set traps for him. Left broken glass on the floor. Spilled chemicals on his work station. Made him fall, slip, bleed.

But Damian didn't complain. Didn't break. He just kept going.

They want to break me. But I won't break.

I'll survive. I'll get out. And I'll destroy them all.

---

Cutter didn't say much. But his respect for Damian was growing.

The big man had started leaving books in their cell. Old novels. Biographies. History texts.

Damian read them all. Devoured them. Books were his escape. His way of staying sane.

One night, Cutter came back from a meeting. His eyes were thoughtful. Calculating.

"You're smart, Cross," he said. His voice was low. "Smarter than I thought."

Damian looked up from his book. "Is that a compliment?"

Cutter shrugged. "It's an observation."

He climbed onto his bunk. Didn't say another word.

But Damian knew what it meant. Cutter respected him. Not as a friend. Not as an ally. But as someone worth watching.

What he didn’t know was how long that respect was going to last, and if Cutter’s respect was worth earning.

_____

The guard came for him on a Thursday.

"Cross," the guard called. His voice was bored. "Visitor. Get your ass to the meeting room."

Damian blinked. "What?"

"Visitor. You deaf? Move."

Damian's heart started pounding. Who would visit me?

His parents? No. They had disowned him.

Aurora? No. She had fled the country.

His lawyers? They had abandoned him months ago.

Greg? He hadn't heard from Greg in weeks. Months maybe. Time was blurring in here.

It's Viktor. He's sent someone. To remind me that he's still in control.

Damian steeled himself. He stood up. Adjusted his grey prison wear. Walked toward the door.

The guard led him down the hallway. The whispers started immediately.

"Look who's got a visitor."

"Probably someone from the outside. Someone rich."

Damian kept his face blank. But inside, he was on edge.

They reached the visiting lounge. It was a small room. Plastic chairs on each side. A phone on each side of the chair.

Damian scanned the room. There was a man sitting at the far end. He was wearing glasses. He had a Walrus. A cheap suit.

Damian didn't recognize him.

Viktor's man. It has to be.

He walked toward the man. His shoulders were back. His jaw was tight.

Let him come. Let him try. I'll show him what I've become.

The man stood up as Damian approached. His eyes were bright behind the glasses.

"Damian," the man said. His voice was strained. "You look... bad. But not as bad as I thought you would."

Damian stared at him. Something was familiar. The voice. The eyes.

He sat down. The man sat across from him.

The guard was nearby. Bored. Not paying attention.

The man leaned forward. He glanced at the guard. Then he reached up. Removed the glasses. Peeled off the false beard.

Damian's breath caught in his throat.

Greg.

Greg Fish. His assistant. The only person that was proving to be a friend.

"Greg," Damian whispered. His voice cracked. "What are you—"

"Shh." Greg glanced at the guard again. "Keep your voice down. I'm here as your legal consultant. My name is Mr. Thompson. If anyone asks, that's who I am."

Damian stared at him. His heart was pounding. "How did you get in here?"

Greg's expression turned grim. "I've been trying to see you for months. Every time, they refused me access. At one point, they threatened to arrest me. Said I was your accomplice. That I was going to help you hide the money."

Damian's jaw tightened. "Viktor."

"Always Viktor." Greg shook his head. "So I had to get creative. The disguise. The fake identity. It took weeks to set up. But I'm here now."

Damian looked at his assistant. The young man who had refused to give up on him. The only person who still believed.

"Thank you," Damian said. His voice was raw. "For not giving up on me."

Greg's eyes were wet. But he blinked the tears away. "I made a promise. I told you I'd stand beside you, no matter what. I meant it."

Damian felt something shift in his chest. Something he hadn't felt in months.

Hope.

"You look different," Greg said. His voice was soft. "Harder. Like... like you've been through a war."

Damian nodded. "I have."

"What happened to you in here?"

Damian's eyes flickered. "I'll tell you another time. Right now, I need to know what's happening on the outside."

Greg nodded. He reached into his jacket. Pulled out a book. It was thick. Old. Leather-bound.

"I brought you this," Greg said. He slid it across the table. "It's a book on prison law. You'll need it if you want to appeal."

Damian took the book. It was heavy. He opened it.

Inside, there were pages. Thousands of words. A complete network of corruption.

Viktor's empire. All of it. Laid out in black and white.

Damian's heart started pounding. His eyes scanned the pages.

Shell companies. Offshore accounts. Bribes. Blackmail. It's all here.

He looked up at Greg. His voice was barely a whisper. "How did you get this?"

Greg leaned forward. His voice was low. "I've been digging. For months. Ever since you were arrested. I found someone who used to work for Viktor. A disgruntled employee. He gave me access to what eventually led me to get my hands on this."

Damian looked back at the book. The names. The transactions. The corruption.

It was deeper than he had expected. Viktor's network was huge. Complicated. Dangerous.

"I can't take him down with this," Damian said. His voice was hollow. "It's too big. Too deep."

Greg shook his head. "That's not all I have."

He reached into his jacket again. Pulled out a folded piece of paper. Slipped it across the table.

"Don't look at it now," Greg whispered. "Look at it when you're alone."

Damian took the paper. His fingers were trembling. "What is it?"

Greg glanced at the guard. The man was walking toward them.

"Names," Greg whispered. "The names of everyone who betrayed you. And the original names of Viktor's network. The real ones. Not the shells."

Damian's blood ran cold.

"The people who destroyed me. All of them."

Greg nodded. "All of them."

The guard reached their table. "Time's up, Cross."

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

Greg stood too. His eyes met Damian's.

"I'll provide the lighter that would help you burn the world," Greg mouthed. His gaze was firm. Steady.

The guard grabbed Damian's arm. Pulled him away.

Damian looked back over his shoulder. Greg was being escorted out. His disguise was back in place. His face was blank.

But his eyes were bright. Full of purpose.

Damian walked back to his cell. His mind was racing.

Names. All of them. Everyone who betrayed me.

He sat on his bunk. Pulled out the paper. Unfolded it.

The names stared back at him.

His fingers squeezed in anger. The paper crumpled in his fist.

He stared at it for a long moment. His knuckles were white. His jaw was tight.

They're all going to pay. Every single one of them.

After a while, his grip loosened. He straightened the paper. Folded it carefully. Tucked it into his pocket.