Damian pushed open the front door of his mansion, his steps heavy and uneven. Blood stained his shirt, a gash across his arm, and his knuckles were bruised and raw. He winced slightly as the pain shot through his body, but his expression remained hard. The dim lighting of the hallway cast shadows across his face, making him look even more menacing than usual.
Lina appeared at the top of the staircase, her eyes widening as she saw him. She hurried down the steps, her bare feet silent against the polished marble floor.
“Damian!” she exclaimed, her voice filled with a mix of concern and fear. “What happened to you? What have you done?”
He didn’t answer her. Instead, he walked past her, his focus on getting to his study.
“Damian!” Lina called again, rushing after him. She grabbed his arm, her touch light but desperate. “You’re hurt! Let me help you!”
Damian stopped abruptly, his head turning to glare at her. His piercing gaze made her flinch, but she didn’t let go of his arm. “What did you do?” she asked again, her voice softer now but still trembling.
He jerked his arm free from her grip, his voice cold and sharp. “Move, Lina.”
“You’re bleeding,” she insisted, her eyes flickering to the red stains on his shirt. “At least let me call someone-”
“Enough!” Damian snapped, his voice echoing through the grand hallway. He shoved her aside gently but firmly, his strength making her stumble. “I don’t need your help.”
Lina’s breath hitched as she steadied herself. Her lips trembled, but she refused to stay silent. “You’re scaring me, Damian,” she whispered. “Please, just tell me what’s going on. Where have you been?”
He turned to face her, his jaw tight, his eyes cold as ice. “Where I’ve been is none of your business,” he said. “And what I’ve done isn’t something you need to know.”
Lina took a step back, her shoulders sagging under the weight of his words. “You’re always like this,” she said, her voice shaking. “Always shutting me out. Always acting like I’m nothing to you.”
“Because you are nothing to me,” Damian replied bluntly, his voice devoid of emotion.
The words hit her like a slap, her eyes filling with tears. “I married you,” she said, her voice breaking. “I gave up everything for you. And this is how you treat me?”
Damian let out a bitter laugh, shaking his head. “Don’t act like a saint, Lina. We both know why you’re here. It wasn’t love that brought you to me-it was greed. You wanted power. You wanted my name. Well, congratulations. You got it. But don’t think for a second that I owe you anything.”
Lina’s tears spilled over, her hands clenching into fists at her sides. “You’re a cruel man, Damian,” she whispered. “A monster.”
Damian took a step closer to her, his presence looming. “You think I’m cruel?” he said, his voice low and dangerous. “You haven’t even begun to see the depths of it. Don’t push me, Lina. You won’t like what happens if you do.”
She swallowed hard, her heart pounding in her chest. For a moment, she thought about saying more, about yelling at him, demanding answers. But the look in his eyes made her stop. There was no reasoning with him tonight.
Without another word, Damian turned and walked away, leaving her standing in the middle of the hallway, her tears falling silently.
He entered the study, slamming the door behind him. The sharp sound echoed through the house, making the maids outside freeze. Damian leaned against the desk, his breathing heavy as he tried to calm himself.
The pain in his arm throbbed, but he ignored it. Instead, he grabbed the decanter of whiskey from the desk and poured himself a glass, downing it in one go. The burn of the alcohol was sharp, but it did little to numb the storm inside him.
He pressed a hand to the gash on his arm, hissing through his teeth as the pressure sent a wave of pain through him. Blood seeped through his fingers, staining his hand red.
A knock at the door broke the silence. Damian didn’t bother looking up. “Come in,” he said curtly.
A maid stepped inside, her hands clasped nervously in front of her. “Sir,” she said softly, her eyes flickering to the blood on his arm. “Do you need medical assistance?”
Damian set the glass down on the desk, his gaze sharp. “Get the first aid kit,” he ordered. “And send someone to clean the hallway.”
The maid nodded quickly, her footsteps retreating as she hurried to do as he said.
A few moments later, two maids entered the study, one carrying the first aid kit and the other with a basin of water and towels. They worked silently, their hands steady as they cleaned his wounds and wrapped his arm in clean bandages.
Damian didn’t say a word, his mind elsewhere. He thought about Lucas, about the look of fear in his eyes just before the end. He thought about Aurora, lying in that hospital bed, her life hanging by a thread. And he thought about the child growing inside her, a life he hadn’t expected but now felt desperate to protect.
“Is there anything else, sir?” one of the maids asked, her voice hesitant.
Damian shook his head. “No,” he said. “You can go.”
As the maids left the room, Damian sat back in the chair, his eyes staring blankly at the ceiling. The weight of the night pressed down on him, but he refused to let it break him.
Lina’s words echoed in his mind: “You’re a cruel man. A monster.”
Maybe she was right. But he didn’t care. He had done what needed to be done, and he would do it again if it meant keeping Aurora safe.
He reached for the glass of whiskey, his grip steady despite the storm inside him. “One battle down,” he muttered to himself. “But the war isn’t over yet.”