AUTHORS POV:-
The door creaked open with a soft click, and Damien's right-hand man stepped inside. His presence was always calm, collected—except today, there was something in his eyes that made Damien tense. The man leaned in slightly, whispering something inaudible.
Damien's posture stiffened, his usually unreadable expression faltering for a brief second. Whatever the news was, it unsettled him.
He stood abruptly, the chair scraping against the floor as he moved toward the counter where Aaru stood, her back to him, engrossed in her task. The low hum of the café's background chatter seemed distant to him now, a far-off buzz he couldn't focus on. The air between them felt charged, like something unspoken hung in the balance.
He stopped just a few feet from her, close enough to feel the warmth of her presence but not quite touching. His voice was low, controlled as he spoke, his words carrying an edge he couldn't quite hide.
"Here's your book, little dove," he said, his eyes locking with hers.
Aaru turned toward him, her expression shifting from surprise to mild confusion. She opened her mouth to speak, but before she could, he added, his tone softer now but still laced with an unfamiliar intensity, "I'll read it next time... I'll come back for you."
Aaru's eyes widened, an unspoken question hanging in the air. "For me?" she asked, her voice quiet, yet sharp, a mixture of curiosity and something else—something Damien couldn't place.
Damien smirked, the tension in his chest building as he quickly corrected himself. "I mean... for the book, little dove," he said with a forced casualness, attempting to mask the brief slip in his control.
Her gaze lingered on him for a moment longer, her lips parting slightly as if weighing his words. But she said nothing. Instead, she took the book from his hand, her fingers brushing against his in the briefest of touches.
"Next time, Damien," she murmured, the faintest smile tugging at her lips.
He turned without another word, his pulse quickening as he made his way toward the door.
Damien's car sped through the empty streets, the tires humming against the asphalt, each second ticking by like an eternity. His hand gripped the phone tighter as he issued the command, his voice cold and devoid of any emotion.
"Take him to the basement. Shift to the penthouse—we'll stay longer."
The line went silent for a moment before the gruff voice of one of his men responded. "Understood, sir."
Damien hung up without another word, the weight of what was unfolding settling in. He had trusted his operation, believed the people under him were loyal, but this—this was a betrayal. The spy had been working within his company for months, feeding information back to enemies he'd long considered irrelevant. The attempt on Denis's life earlier that day was just the final straw. Damien's jaw clenched at the thought of it. If his brother hadn't been so damn quick to react, he might have lost him.
But now, there would be consequences.
The penthouse building came into view, its towering presence cutting through the night. Damien's pulse quickened, not from fear, but from the anticipation of what was to come. He had never been one to let things slide—betrayal always demanded retribution. He parked his car outside the entrance, the building looming above him like a silent sentinel.
As he walked into the basement, the familiar coldness of the place wrapped around him. The concrete walls were stained, the dim light casting long shadows across the floor. His men stood in a tight circle around the spy, who was now chained to the pillar in the center of the room. The man's face was battered, bloodied, his eyes swollen shut, and his breath came in ragged gasps. He had been beaten, and there was no mistaking the desperation in his eyes as he lifted his head weakly at the sound of Damien's approach.
Damien's gaze locked on the spy's face for a moment, cold and calculating. "You thought you could play me, didn't you?" he said, his voice low, almost soothing in its cruelty. "For months, you've been feeding information to my enemies. And for what? Money? Power? A false sense of security?"
The spy groaned, blood dripping from his cracked lips, unable to form a coherent response. His body trembled, chained and broken. Damien stepped closer, his boots echoing in the silence of the basement. He didn't flinch at the sight of the man's suffering. This was the price of betrayal.
"Do you have anything to say for yourself?" Damien asked, the question laced with mockery.
The spy, struggling to speak, managed to choke out a single word, his voice barely a whisper. "Please... spare me..."
Damien tilted his head, his lips curling into a tight, emotionless smile. "Spare you?" he repeated, stepping back slightly. "Do you think you deserve mercy?" He shook his head slowly, eyes narrowing. "You don't get to make that choice."
He turned to his men. "Leave us. I'll handle him."
As they filed out of the room, Damien approached the spy, crouching down so that their faces were level. The spy's eyes were wide with fear, begging for anything that might give him an out. But Damien was beyond mercy. He'd been betrayed, and now, he would make sure there would be no escape for the traitor.
"You'll live," Damien said, his voice dripping with an icy promise. "But not for long. Every day you stay in this place will remind you of who owns you now. And if you ever think of crossing me again..." He trailed off, the implication hanging in the air like a sword ready to fall.
The spy's eyes shifted nervously, but Damien could see the realization settle in—the knowledge that his life was no longer his own. Damien stood and gave one final glance toward the beaten man. "We're not done yet," he muttered before turning on his heel, heading toward the door, leaving the spy alone in the cold basement, shackled and broken.
As Damien stepped out of the basement, he knew this was just the beginning. The game had only just started, and he would make sure everyone knew the price of crossing him.
Damien's mind buzzed with the weight of the night as he stepped into his penthouse. The doors of the elevator slid open with a soft whoosh, revealing the sleek, luxurious interior of the penthouse he owned—the entire building was his, a testament to his power and dominance. Every inch of the space exuded wealth: polished marble floors that gleamed under the soft lighting, walls adorned with contemporary art, and the scent of expensive perfume lingering in the air. His life was built on control, and this penthouse was a reflection of that.
Damien sighed and made his way toward his room, pulling off his jacket and tossing it aside. The shower would help clear his head, or so he hoped.
The water was hot, cascading over his tense muscles, steam filling the room, but it did little to ease the storm raging in his mind. The memory of Aaru lingered, her eyes, the way her fingers brushed against his. He could still feel the faint warmth of her skin, the way her breath had caught when he had spoken to her. He didn't understand it. He didn't let people get under his skin. He never had.
But she was different. Something about her drew him in, something that had quickly shifted from curiosity to obsession. It wasn't just her beauty or her composure. It was something deeper. He couldn't place it, but he needed to know more about her. He needed to understand what it was about her that had such a hold over him.
As the shower ended, Damien stepped out, towel draped around his waist. He stared at his reflection in the mirror, his mind racing. He had to have answers. And if there was one thing Damien Volkov was good at, it was getting what he wanted.
He walked toward the bed, the soft sheets crinkling under his weight as he laid down. The city lights filtered through the floor-to-ceiling windows, casting a glow on the darkened room.
The memory of Aaru replayed in his mind—her smile, the way she had said "Next time, Damien." The way her lips had curved ever so slightly. It haunted him. He had never been this intrigued by anyone before, and it unsettled him even more that he couldn't just ignore it.
His phone vibrated beside him. He reached for it, eyes narrowing as he found the name of his assistant flashing on the screen.
"Yes?" he answered, his voice low and sharp.
"Sir," his assistant said on the other end. "I've gathered the information you requested on Aaru".
Damien leaned back against the headboard, his gaze sharp. "Go ahead."
"She's 24 years old," his assistant began. "She owns a small, single book café. It's quite popular, though—it's the only one she runs. The café is her life, and she's built a solid reputation for herself in the community. Apart from the café, there's nothing much on her. She lives in an apartment at XYZ location. Her parents died when she was young, and she seems to have no other family. It's all very... isolated."
Damien's mind absorbed the information quickly. A 24-year-old girl with no family, running a café alone—this was the woman who had piqued his interest. It wasn't just the café or her business acumen; it was her quiet strength, the way she held herself, that made her so intriguing. He needed to know more, needed to understand what drove her.
"Keep monitoring her," Damien said, his tone sharpening. "I want more. Every detail you can find. Nothing is too small."
The assistant paused for a moment before responding. "Understood, sir. I'll keep digging."
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HELLO ANGELS I HOPE YOU LIKED THE CHAPTER
THANKYOU ALL🎀