Chapter 22 Horace
THIRD PERSON’S POV.
Damian woke to an empty bed.
For a moment he lay still, staring at the ceiling, trying to piece together the night. The sheets beside him were cool, she’d been gone for a while. His jaw tightened as he checked the time.
7:14 a.m.
A hollow ache twisted in his chest.
Maybe he’d pushed too far last night.
Maybe she’d woken up, remembered the way he touched her, and panicked.
The possibility that he’d made her uncomfortable sent instant regret crawling up his throat.
He scrubbed a hand over his face, exhaled sharply, and forced himself out of bed. He saw the pack of medications she had laid out for him. He took them all in one gulp not wanting to waste her kindness.
A quick shower did nothing to settle the heaviness in his chest, but he dressed anyway and headed downstairs.
Edith was waiting at the bottom of the staircase.
“Good morning, Mr. Damian. Miss Serena asked me to tell you she had an early appointment and had to leave.”
He paused.
Serena didn’t have any appointments today, he knew the reason she left was because she didn’t want to face him. Still, he only nodded.
Edith hesitated, concern softening her eyes. “I like her, sir. She has a calm aura… but her eyes look heavy, like she’s carrying years of pain.”
Her gaze traveled to the bruises on his knuckles. “Maybe you can both help each other heal from your internal pains.”
Damian didn’t respond immediately. His expression barely changed, but something flickered in his eyes.
“Yeah,” he muttered softly.
He walked toward the dining table, settling into his seat just as Jake stepped inside from the patio doors.
Damian didn’t look up right away. His knuckles throbbed faintly, a reminder of the night before.
Because last night, when he burst into the warehouse expecting to walk in on a secret impeachment meeting, the entire situation had flipped.
Instead of board members sitting around plotting his removal, he and his guards walked straight into an assassination ambush.
It hadn’t been the first attempt on his life, but this one was by far the most organized.
They were prepared.
But so was Damian.
The confrontation turned violent fast. Metal clashing. Shouts. Gunfire.
And in the middle of it, Damian fought back with the same wild fury that built his empire. He never backed out of a fight,never had, never would.
By the time his men cleaned up the mess, two were injured, several attackers were dead, and the warehouse floor was covered in a trail of blood.
Now, sitting at the dining table with a fresh bruise blooming across his jawline, the memory hit him harder than the punches had.
“Jake,” he said finally, looking up, “we managed to stop the directors’ little stunt last night, but that won’t be the end of it. Yesterday was just a test. They’ll come back stronger.”
He took a gulp of water. “We have to be ready for whatever they plan next.”
“Yes, Mr. Damian,” Jake replied. “I’ve put all seven board members under twenty-four-hour surveillance. Any movement they make will be reported immediately.”
“Good.” Damian lowered his voice, checking the room with a quick glance. “Did you find out who hired the assassins from last night?”
Jake’s expression turned grim. “When we searched the bodies, we found IDs and passports. After running them, we discovered they were affiliated with the Signori del Sale cartel.”
Damian’s jaw clenched. Hard.
“Dominic,” he said under his breath. “He’s still out for blood. And now he’s working with members of my company.”
“Yes, sir.”
Damian exhaled slowly, the weight of betrayal and violence pressing into his shoulders. Then he nudged an empty chair beside him.
“Sit down, Jake. Join me for breakfast. We have a long day ahead.”
Jake obeyed without hesitation, taking the seat as the tension settled around them.
Serena pulled into the driveway, her stomach tightening the moment the house came into view. Horace was already outside, dressed for golf in a crisp polo, pressed khakis, his favorite club bag by his side. He paused mid-step when he saw her car.
“Serena,” he said, tone flat and disapproving. “You didn’t sleep at home last night.”
No greeting.
No concern.
Just accusation.
He stepped closer. “Don’t you know your actions have consequences on our family name?”
Serena shut the car door gently, refusing to let him see how tired she was.
“Clara sleeps out all the time,” she said evenly, “and you never say anything to her.”
“You are not Clara,” Horace snapped. “You are Serena. I expect more from you.”
For a tiny, pathetic second, her heart almost swelled but then she remembered who she was talking to. Nothing he said ever came from a place of love.
“Well, I’m a human being too,” she said, walking past him. “And I slept at Trisha’s house. Relax.”
“Don’t tell me to relax, Serena,” Horace barked, eyes narrowing. “I am not one of your little friends. And I don’t care whose house you slept in, this behavior is not allowed in my house.”
“I’m an adult,” she said quietly, but firmly. “You can’t tell me what to do.”
Horace’s eye twitched, a sign she knew too well. Anger flared across his face. He opened his mouth ready to throw an insult, maybe several when the front door swung open.
Clara stepped out.
Her outfit was anything but decent, tiny pleated skirt, a top that was more “club night” than “golf morning.” A stark contrast to the saintly image Horace forced onto Serena.
“I’m ready, Father,” Clara said sweetly before turning her attention to Serena. “Serena, you didn’t answer any of my calls last night. I was worried about you.”
Serena gave a humorless laugh. “Why don’t you worry about yourself, Clara.”
Clara blinked. “Excuse me?”
Her tone sharpened, the fake concern dropping instantly.
Horace sensed the tension tightening between his daughters and, as usual, he redirected it toward control.
“Serena,” he said, adjusting his golf glove, “you monopolized the planning of Charles’ funeral, and you haven’t done anything since he died. You realize it has to be state-of-the-art, yes? I hope you don’t plan to embarrass this family.”
Serena’s jaw clenched. “Grandpa didn’t want a state-of-the-art funeral. He would have wanted something small. Close friends. Family.”
Horace scoffed, stepping closer. “Your grandfather is dead, and I could care less what he wanted. This funeral isn’t about him. It’s a statement. A reminder that just because the CEO of Gregory Empire is gone doesn’t mean the empire has lost its prestige.”
Serena stared at him, the words hitting like a slap.
“Can you even hear yourself, Dad?” she said, voice cracking with disbelief. “The funeral is about Grandpa. It’s his funeral, for God’s sake.”
Horace’s eyes sharpened. “The empire comes first. Always.”
Clara folded her arms, leaning casually against the car, clearly enjoying the spectacle.
“Serena, you’re blowing this out of proportion. Father is right. People need reassurance. A simple funeral makes us look weak.”
Serena turned to her sister, heat rising in her chest. “Weak? Honoring Grandpa’s wishes makes us weak?”
“It makes you look emotional,” Clara replied with a small, satisfied shrug.
Serena’s hands curled at her sides. “At least I still feel something, Clara.”
Clara’s smile faltered.
Horace cut in again, voice low and final. “You will organize the funeral I expect from you. Something worthy of our name. I’m not asking.”
“I know,” Serena said quietly. “You never ask.”
She walked towards the steps, then turned slightly.
“I’m honoring Grandpa’s final wishes and giving him the funeral he wanted. Whoever doesn’t like it… can simply not show up.”
She didn’t raise her voice. She didn’t need to. The quiet conviction cut deeper than any shout.
Horace blinked, stunned not by the words but by the audacity,her audacity to defy him in broad daylight.
Clara’s mouth fell open. “Serena, you can’t…”
But Serena was already turning away, climbing the short steps with a grace that made the entire moment feel cinematic. For once, she didn’t look back to gauge their reactions. She didn’t wait for permission or reprimand.
She simply walked inside, leaving Horace and Clara rooted to the driveway.
Horace’s jaw twisted furiously, but he said nothing more. Instead, he marched toward the waiting car, the anger radiating off him like heat. Clara followed close behind, muttering under her breath.
The driver opened the back door before they reached it, he knew better than to wait for them to cool off. They slid inside, slamming the doors hard enough to make the windows shudder. Within seconds the car pulled out of the estate gates, tires zooming past the quiet streets.
A tinted sedan sat parked a few houses away, its dark windows giving away nothing. Neither Horace, nor Clara, nor even Serena had paid it any mind.
They didn’t notice that the car was now empty.
Because the owner had moved quietly,closer to the Gregory house. They had watched everything. Heard everything. The argument. The cracks in the family.
And now, as the car carrying Horace and Clara disappeared around the corner, the unseen observer retreated just as silently as they had come… slipping back toward the sedan with footsteps too light to trace.