"What do you mean, Damien Cole wants to see me?" she asked over the phone, her voice thick, trembling for the first time in years. That couldn't be right. She had no unfinished business with Damien. She'd done everything to set him free—what more could he possibly want?
"Revenge," Victor said, the word landing with brutal clarity.
Revenge? On her? But she hadn't been the one who sent him to prison. Would he now turn on her, now that her father was gone?
A stifled moan escaped her lips. This was what she should've prepared for. Of course no man spent seven years in prison and simply let it go. Not a man like Damien Cole. And forgiveness? That was never in his nature. She had known this—seen it night after night as she stared at his face on magazine covers, in newspaper spreads, those cold grey eyes burning through the page. She'd always known he'd come for someone tied to Walter Grey. And now, the reality of it—being the target—was nothing she could ignore, no matter how much she'd tried to steel herself.
Still, her voice held steady, sharp and unyielding when she said, "Let him."
She had prepared for this moment. For him. If he ever showed up at her doorstep, she knew this would be her battle. A war her father left behind—and one she had no choice but to fight. If she didn't, she'd fall.
On the other end, she heard Victor exhale deeply before speaking again. "Are you certain, Miss? The Damien Cole we're talking about... it's risky being anywhere near him. He's dangerous now. Cold."
"If Damien Cole wants to meet," she said, her voice clipped and calm, "then I won't stop him."
But deep inside, she flinched. Could she really face him now?
There was silence on the other end. But on her end, Mya busied herself scraping the wall with a pen cap, pretending to study the pop ceiling. Alina knew better—Mya's ears were tuned in, straining to eavesdrop. Mya was never the quiet type.
"Very well," Victor said at last, his voice breathless after the long pause. "But I must warn you—be ready for what's coming."
The line cut off. Alina handed the phone back to Mya and turned to leave, but Mya surprised her with a question.
"You look pale," she said, her tone filled with concern, enough to make Alina glance back at her. "Is it that man? The one on the back of the newspaper?"
Alina's heart shifted, but she said nothing of the way it clenched in her chest. Telling Mya wouldn't change anything. Whatever fear she felt—subtle as it was—didn't matter. It wasn't real. Not yet.
"Not now, Mya. Please."
Mya nodded. She read the look in Alina's eyes and knew this wasn't the time to press her boss.
When the door closed behind Mya, Alina exhaled deeply. She didn't return to her desk. Instead, she walked to the window and stared out at the busy road below, where cars weaved past one another and horns blared in sharp bursts.
She folded her arms and stood there, unmoving. Her coffee sat untouched on the desk. Stacks of unsigned papers lay scattered across it, demanding her attention. But her mind had drifted far, lost in thoughts—a habit that had slowly taken root in her over time.
It started when her mother left. Being with someone as powerful as Walter Graves had worn her mother down. But even then, the choice to leave had been selfish. That one decision shattered both Lucas and her, carved something hollow in them. Perhaps it had even scarred her father—but she hadn't known that. And now, she finally understood why her mother had walked away.
Her father had shaped her world. The weight of his secrets still pressed against her, making her cautious—occasionally even vulnerable, though she rarely showed it.
To the office, to the media, she was Walter Graves' daughter—the poised heiress of a legacy they all admired. They believed she was made for the role. If only they knew the truth: the empire was already crumbling, and she was the one left behind to rebuild it.
They called her beautiful—but it was the kind of beauty no one dared to approach. A beauty that made people pause, stare, admire... yet hesitate, unsure of what darkness might lie beneath it.
No one cared to ask about the nights she wrestled with sleep. They knew nothing of the weight behind her gaze, the quiet fury hidden in the calm curve of her smile.
Let them stare—let them, she whispered, stepping away from the window. Let them marvel at her lips and ignore the words that could destroy men like Damien.
Because her beauty? That was just the distraction. Her true power—it was still loading.
She had nothing to fear. She'd walked rough edges without stumbling. She'd crossed fields of thorns without bleeding. Damien Cole would not intimidate her. This was her life, and she would not let anyone else rule it.
It was her father who had wronged him. It was her father Damien sought. The real culprit wasn't her. She could only do what she could—but no matter what, she wouldn't let him win.
She must not.
"Come what may," she mused. "I'm ready for it." She settled into her desk chair and took a sip of cold coffee. Finally.
She set the cup down and gathered the stack of documents she was meant to sign. Her father hadn't completely broken her—if anything, everything she'd faced had only made her stronger.
She exhaled, shoulders loosening, and began signing the papers. Then her phone rang. Celine Dion's Angel filled the room—a melody too soft, too delicate for the state of her heart.
She answered with a sigh. She didn't need to check the caller ID; she already knew who it would be. Who else would call at that hour?
"Lucas."
He exhaled, the sound heavy with relief. His voice trembled slightly as he spoke. "Good. I needed to hear your voice… to be sure you were safe."
Alina's brow furrowed. "Why would you think I wasn't?"
"Damien Cole's been released from prison. I was afraid... afraid of what he might do to you." His voice cracked on the name.
Alina dropped her pen and leaned back in her chair. "Damien Cole was released a month ago. And there's nothing to be afraid of. I can take care of myself."
"A month?" he repeated, frustration creeping into his tone. "A month, Alina—and you said nothing?"
"I—"
"That's your problem. You try to handle everything alone. You 'think' you can, but you're just a woman. And to Damien Cole, that makes you prey. He's dangerous, Alina—someone you need to stay away from."
Two men. Just today, two different men had told her to stay away from someone she had never even met—both making her feel like she wasn't strong enough to handle her own battles.
"Or maybe 'you' should come back home and deal with Damien Cole yourself," she snapped, her voice edged with frustration. Did he really think it was that easy? His only job was managing international affairs. Meanwhile, she was the one left behind, holding up the company, keeping it from collapsing.
"Alina…" he exhaled sharply. He was angry—she could hear it—but she didn't care.
"I can handle my own problems," she said, voice firm. "You don't need to worry."
"I never said you couldn't handle it, dammit!" he shot back. "I'm telling you to be 'careful' when it comes to Damien. And if he ever tries anything—if he so much as makes a move—you tell me. Immediately."
Damien wanted revenge and there was no way she could avoid him. She wanted to tell Lucas. Wanted to say it out loud. But she pressed her lips shut, holding back the truth—especially when she didn't even know Damien's true intentions.
"He's been in prison for seven years, Alina," Lucas reminded her. "All because of Father. He could come out looking to hurt you."
Exactly what he planned to do, she thought. And the strange part? She wouldn't stop him.
"Alina," Lucas said impatiently when she stayed silent.
"If he ever makes a move and causes trouble, I'll let you know," she replied, sarcasm coating her words.
"Good," he said flatly, then hung up.
That was it? Of course it was. Why was she even surprised? Two years away from her, and he rarely asked how she was doing. He only called when there was something to report—something she needed to know for the company. Never about her. Never personal.
It had been this way for years. The distance. Ever since their mother walked out ten years ago.