Chapter 31

Damian’s POV

The clink of silverware had long since faded. The polished dining room, with its bright chandeliers and centuries old oil paintings, had fallen silent except for the faint hum of the grandfather clock in the corner.

Mother’s pearls shimmered in the candlelight as she rose with her usual grace. She placed her perfectly manicured hand on Alex’s shoulder, then turned her gaze on me—steady, sharp, weighing me the way she always had.

“Goodnight, boys.” Her tone was cool, final, like the closing of a courtroom gavel. “Do not forget what I said. Appearances matter. The Marshall name matters. I expect to see both of you at the industry gala.”

Her heels clicked against the marble floor as she glided out, the faint scent of her perfume lingering in the air. We both waited until the sound of her steps vanished upstairs.

Then it was just Alex and me.

The silence stretched, thick and poisonous.

Alex leaned back in his chair, loosening his tie with a sharp tug. “She hasn’t changed, has she? Still playing queen in her cold little kingdom.”

I didn’t respond.

He chuckled, but there was no humor in it. “And you. Sitting there, soaking up her approval, acting like Father’s perfect heir. You’ve always been a kiss ass.”

My jaw tightened. “If you came back just to pick a fight, don’t waste my time.”

“Oh, it’s always about time with you, isn’t it?” He leaned forward now, eyes glinting in the low light. “Deadlines, contracts, power plays. You think being efficient makes you untouchable. But you’re not, Damian. You’re just a man. One mistake away from losing everything.”

I met his stare, my voice low and lethal. “You think you can threaten me?”

“No,” Alex said, a smirk curving his mouth. “Threatening you would be pointless. I’d rather remind you that you don’t own this family the way you think you do. Father may have chosen you, but blood remembers. And blood has a way of resurfacing when you least expect it.”

His words sliced deeper than I wanted to admit.

Blood. The one thing I could never escape.

I stood abruptly, the chair scraping back. “Enjoy your return, Alex. Just remember: this city, this company, it’s mine and I don’t intend to share.”

He rose too, stepping closer until our shoulders nearly touched. “We’ll see.” His voice dropped to a whisper sharp enough to cut. “Because if there’s one thing I’ve learned, it’s that every king eventually bleeds.”

The air between us was suffocating.

Without another word, I turned and left, my footsteps echoing down the marble hallway like the crack of gunfire.

The night outside was cold, the city skyline glittering against the inky sky. I slid into the back of the car, the leather seat groaning under my weight, and gave the driver a clipped order: “Home now.”

As the engine roared to life, I loosened my tie, tugging at it like it was strangling me.

Alex’s words replayed in my mind, each one a fresh blade. Blood remembers. He knew exactly where to dig, which scars to tear open.

Because he was right.

No matter how much I built, no matter how many billions I turned to my name, I could never sever myself from the foundation it was built on. A father who demanded perfection. A mother who dealt in control like currency. A brother who could never forgive the way fate tilted in my favor.

The city lights blurred past the tinted window. Glass towers. Neon signs. Streets alive with movement. Manhattan—the empire I ruled—and yet tonight, it felt hollow.

By the time I stepped into my penthouse, silence crashed over me like a wave. No chatter. No laughter. No warmth. Just glass, steel, and the faint hum of the city below. I felt an overwhelming sense of emptiness.

I dropped my jacket over the back of a chair and went straight to the bar.

The crystal decanter gleamed under the recessed lighting. I poured two fingers of whiskey, the amber liquid catching in the glass, and swallowed it down in a single burn.

It wasn’t enough.

I poured another. And another.

The sharp edges inside me dulled, but the demons didn’t disappear. They prowled closer.

Memories of Father’s voice barking across the dining hall—Damian delivers. Damian doesn’t falter.

The sting of Alex’s fists when we were boys, his rage always simmering just beneath the surface.

The suffocating silence of Mother’s approval—conditional, fragile, never enough.

And underneath it all… the thought of Kayna.

Thoughts of her continued to linger in my mind.

I leaned against the glass wall, the whiskey glass dangling from my fingers as I stared at the glittering sprawl of Manhattan.

She’d come back into the office yesterday with steady eyes and that notebook clutched to her chest, and something in me had exhaled for the first time in weeks.

She was supposed to be an assistant. Disposable. Replaceable. Yet she wasn’t.

The way she listened. The way she challenged me with quiet defiance. The way she smiled, soft but unshaken, as if she didn’t see the king of a billion-dollar empire but just… a man.

And God help me, I wanted to be that man for her. Just for one breath. One moment.

But I couldn’t. I knew better.

And yet…

I set the empty glass down with a sharp clink and reached for my phone.

Her name hovered at the top of my contacts, a single press away. Kayna Scott.

I stared at it, thumb trembling over the screen.

What would I even say? I can’t sleep. I can’t breathe. And I don’t know why the hell I’m telling you this, but you’re the only person I want to speak to right now.

The whiskey whispered yes. The man I was raised to be whispered no.

I pressed the phone to my forehead, eyes squeezed shut.

And for a heartbeat, I almost hit call.

Almost.

But I didn’t.

Instead, I set the phone down with enough force to rattle the glass beside it and dragged a hand through my hair.

The night stretched on, and I stood there at the window, Manhattan glittering below, knowing I was more alone than I’d ever admit.