Chapter 2 The Fallen King

The fluorescent light above Damian’s desk had been flickering for three days. It made a faint, buzzing sound, like a trapped fly. He’d meant to tell maintenance to fix it, but he hadn’t found the time. Or maybe he just didn’t care anymore.

Damian sat in the dark, staring at the glowing screen of his laptop. The spreadsheet in front of him was bleeding red. Every time he refreshed the page, another investor had pulled out. The Blackwood Corp was drowning, and he was sitting at the bottom of the ocean, watching the light fade.

It was almost ten o’clock at night. The office was mostly empty, the silence broken only by the hum of the servers and the distant sound of the night cleaning crew vacuuming the halls.

Damian rubbed his eyes, his fingers brushing against the rough stubble on his jaw. He reached out blindly for the ceramic mug sitting on the edge of his desk and took a sip. The coffee was hours old, cold, and incredibly bitter.

He grimaced and set it down.

Three years ago, he never would have had to drink cold coffee. Three years ago, there had always been a fresh cup of chamomile tea waiting for him on the corner of his desk, brewed exactly the way he liked it. He didn't know how to make it himself. He had never bothered to ask.

The heavy oak door swung open. His assistant, Mark, rushed in. Mark was a nervous guy, always neat, always buttoned-up. But tonight, his tie was crooked, and he was clutching his tablet so hard his knuckles were white.

"We have a problem," Mark said, breathless.

"I know about the stock drop, Mark," Damian said, his voice flat.

"It’s worse than the stock drop, sir. The creditors are calling. They want the payment by Friday. And..." Mark hesitated, swallowing hard. "Aethelgard just bought out our remaining debt from the bank. They own us now."

Damian went still. Aethelgard. The shadow company that had appeared out of nowhere two years ago and started buying up half the city. "Who runs Aethelgard?"

"We don't know," Mark admitted, scrolling frantically on his tablet. "The CEO is a ghost. No press, no photos. But they're hosting a charity gala tonight at the Grand Plaza. If we want to stop them from liquidating us tomorrow morning, you have to get a meeting with their CEO. Tonight."

Damian pinched the bridge of his nose. A gala. He’d have to put on a tuxedo, smile, and beg for scraps.

Before he could answer, the door opened again.

Vivian strolled in. She was wearing a bright pink cocktail dress that was entirely inappropriate for an office setting, and enough gold jewelry to set off a metal detector. She was holding a shopping bag.

"Damian," she whined, her voice grating on his already frayed nerves. "My black card was declined at the boutique today. I had to leave my new shoes at the counter. Do you know how embarrassing that is?"

Damian stared at her. He looked at the expensive bag in her hand, then at the laptop screen showing his company going bankrupt.

"I’m a little busy trying to save the company, Vivian," he said, his voice dangerously low.

Vivian rolled her eyes and tossed the bag onto a leather armchair. "Oh, please. You're always being dramatic. You'll figure it out." She walked over to the window, peering out at the city. "Anyway, the shopping trip was a nightmare. There was a woman in the café next door with a crying baby. Just wailing. Honestly, they should ban strollers from the city. It gave me a migraine."

Damian’s hand tightened around his pen.

A memory hit him, sharp and sudden. He was sitting in a hospital bed a few years ago, recovering from a minor surgery. Elena had been sitting beside him, holding his hand. She had looked at him with those big, earnest eyes and whispered, *"I can't wait to have a family with you, Damian. I want a little boy who looks just like you."*

He had told her to be quiet. He had told her she needed to focus on her duties as a wife first. He had implied that she wasn't even good enough for that.

Now, looking at Vivian’s sneering face as she complained about a crying baby, a sickening wave of disgust washed over him.

*What did I do?*

The thought was a quiet, poisonous whisper in the back of his mind. He had thrown Elena out in the middle of the night for this woman. For a fake pregnancy. For a life that felt hollow and cheap.

"Did you hear me, Damian?" Vivian snapped, turning away from the window. "I said—"

"I heard you," Damian interrupted, his voice completely devoid of emotion. "Mark."

Mark jumped. "Yes, sir?"

"Get the car ready. I’m going to the Grand Plaza."

Vivian’s eyes lit up. "A gala? Oh, I have just the dress! Let me go home and—"

"You're not coming," Damian said coldly. He stood up and grabbed his jacket from the back of his chair.

Vivian froze. "Excuse me? I am your fiancée. You need to show a united front!"

Damian didn't answer her. He just walked toward the door. Vivian grabbed his arm, her nails digging into his sleeve. "If you walk out that door, Damian, I swear to God—"

Damian yanked his arm away. He looked at her, and for the first time, he didn't see the beautiful woman he had ruined his life for. He saw a shallow, cruel, expensive mistake.

"Don't wait up," he said, and walked out.

---

The elevator ride down to the parking garage was silent. Mark stood beside him, nervously tapping his foot.

"The guest list is highly classified, sir," Mark said quietly, staring at his tablet. "But the rumors say the CEO of Aethelgard is ruthless. And young. They also say she has a right-hand man named Julian Vance who never leaves her side."

Damian grunted. He didn't care about rumors. He just needed to save his company.

As the elevator doors opened into the dark parking garage, Mark let out a small gasp. "Sir... the official program just downloaded. It has the guest of honor listed."

Damian took the tablet. The screen displayed a sleek, minimalist digital program. At the top, a silhouette of a woman stood against a cityscape.

Beneath it, the text read: *Aethelgard Inc. Welcomes CEO Elena Sterling.*

Damian stopped walking.

He blinked. He read the name again. *Elena Sterling.*

His stomach dropped. *It’s a coincidence,* he told himself. *There are a million Elenas.*

His hand was shaking as he swiped to the next page. A high-resolution photograph filled the screen.

It was a woman in a black gown, her hair swept up, her eyes sharp and cold. It was the face he had seen every night in his dreams for the last three years.

It was Elena.

Below her picture, the program listed the night's main event: *Aethelgard Inc. will auction off the controlling shares of Blackwood Corp.*

Damian stared at the screen, the breath leaving his lungs. He read the quote beneath her photo.

*When asked if she had a message for the Blackwood family, CEO Elena Sterling smiled and said, 'Tell Damian I finally took his advice. I stopped being a burden and became priceless.'*

Damian lowered the tablet. The parking garage was silent, save for the distant sound of dripping water.

He had three hours to get to the gala. Three hours to face the woman he had destroyed.

And for the first time in his life, Damian Blackwood felt genuinely terrified.

***