Damon's POV
After what happened with Lily, I went straight to the villa. I sat alone in the study, pouring glass after glass until the bottle was nearly gone.
The next afternoon, I woke to Natasha's voice echoing through the halls. She was scolding the maids for not waking me earlier. When I came downstairs, I saw how terrified they looked under her sharp tongue. Natasha—my cousin, not my sister by blood—was a control freak. But she loved me fiercely.
"You all know how important this party is! How could you not wake him up?" she kept repeating.
I stepped in to spare the maids. "Natasha, stop making such a fuss. It's nothing."
"Nothing?" She whirled on me. "This isn't some random gathering. It's important. And it's your first time attending in months. Why are you so careless?"
I glared at her, but she didn't back down. "I know how hard you worked to build the company, but why do you treat this lightly?"
I didn't answer.
She snapped, "Don't you dare tell me this is about Maria again."
Of course it was about Maria. She was the reason I once enjoyed parties. And now, without her, they all felt meaningless.
Natasha softened, just a little. "Damon, life doesn't stop when we lose someone we love. We have to move forward… for them."
I muttered, "I'll move on when I find someone like Maria."
Her patience cracked. "Enough nonsense. Go get ready."
By eight o'clock, we arrived at the venue—one of my hotels. My father looked pleased to see me, while Alex hovered protectively, still tense after what had happened with Lily.
As the elders spoke on stage, I sat at the bar with Natasha, who launched into another lecture about marriage. I ignored her, sipping my drink. That's when I noticed her.
A woman sat beside Natasha, drinking like she owned the place. She was stunning, yet clearly drunk—too drunk to speak properly with the bartender. Her beauty was magnetic: lips I longed to taste, a body that stirred something deep in me. Even fully dressed, she ignited my hunger.
The music started, and Natasha dragged me toward the dance floor. She noticed my gaze and whispered, "I can help you get to her."
I chuckled. "You noticed?"
She smirked. "Damon, whatever you set your eyes on, I'll get for you."
Soon enough, I found myself face to face with the mysterious woman. She was unsteady on her heels, head bowed as if hiding. I gripped her waist, pulling her close.
"Look at me," I murmured. "When a couple dances, eye contact is the rule. Don't you know that, honey?"
She opened her eyes, glazed but honest. "I know… I'm just too drunk. Normally, I'm a good dancer…"
Then she tripped. I caught her instantly. "Easy, honey." I held her close, too close. The scent of her hair intoxicated me more than the liquor.
She whispered, "I need some air… I'll be back."
I didn't trust her to walk alone, so I led her to a quiet room. My phone buzzed—it was Alex. "I'll be in my room. Don't disturb me," I muttered, cutting the call.
Inside, before I could speak, she kissed me. Surprised, I let out a low laugh and claimed her lips in return, my tongue dominating hers. She wrapped her legs around me, and I pressed her against the wall, lost in desire.
But then, she froze. Tears streamed down her face.
I pulled back, annoyed. "Why are you crying now?"
Her broken words stunned me. "I'm sorry, sir… I thought you were my boyfriend. Noah."
I laughed bitterly. "You mistook me for him?"
"Yes," she whispered, ashamed.
Her tears disarmed me. Against my instincts, I softened. "Fine. I won't touch you. Stop crying."
She asked timidly, "Who are you? Your name?"
I smirked. "Better if you don't know."
Frustrated, she turned to leave. I stopped her. "Wait. I ordered sober soup. Drink it. Rest. Then you can go."
When she resisted, I lowered my tone. "Don't be stubborn. You can't walk like this."
I left her under my guard's watch, ordering no one but her female colleagues near her. Yet, even as I returned to the party, I couldn't stop thinking about her.
Natasha teased, "I thought you wouldn't let her rest. Her name's Emily, by the way."
Emily.
Later, my bodyguard called. Emily had taken the soup, then left with a colleague. I immediately followed, tracking her cab to a modest house. I saw her enter, and then—another man climbing from the window. Noah.
My chest tightened with something I refused to name.
Back at the villa, I showered, smoked, and tried to silence my thoughts. But Emily lingered. She reminded me of Maria in ways I couldn't ignore.
The next morning, Alex's call jolted me awake. "Turn on the TV."
News headlines screamed my name—my picture with Emily, me carrying her, whispering to her.
I clenched my fists. How did this leak? No reporters could have gotten inside. My mind landed on one name—Emily.
Father called. His voice was iron.
"Should I step in, or will you handle it?"
"I'll handle it."
"Burn them alive if you must. Make them pay."
His words echoed my own fury. Whether Emily was guilty or not, she had become the center of my storm.