Alina Graves gripped the newspaper so tightly it crinkled beneath her fingers.
"Dear Lord," she breathed.
A month. It had been a whole month—long enough, supposedly, for her nerves to settle. Long enough for the anxiety to fade. Damien Cole had walked free, stepped out of prison and into the world again. That should've been enough. But instead of peace, it had left her pacing through sleepless nights.
"He won't come," she whispered to herself. Just a shadow in her mind, that's all. She'd done everything she could. He had his freedom now. The man who put him behind bars was six feet under. Damien Cole had no reason to look back.
Still, her gaze fixed on the photograph—a man in a sleek, tailored suit, all sharp edges and controlled menace. His empty grey eyes stared back through the ink, and her stomach turned. Her knuckles whitened around her coffee mug. Toes curled in her heels.
Finally, she tossed the newspaper onto her office desk and turned a sharp glare at her father's portrait hanging on the wall. That smirk—the one frozen in time—sent a chill crawling down her spine every time she looked at it. Damn him. She could've hurled the frame across the room, shattered the glass just to feel some control, but even in death, he won. He still held the power. She had none.
After tearing her and Lucas apart, he left behind a crumbling company, a legacy soaked in scandal, and a trail of enemies with long memories. He'd scarred more lives than she could count, and now, she had no idea who might show up next—seeking revenge.
Damien Cole was the one she feared most.
Those eyes—too cold, too still—didn't belong to a man looking for peace. No, that was a man with unfinished business. And no matter what it took, she had to stay focused.
A sigh slipped from her lips.
For months, she'd kept quiet conversations with Victor Reed—Damien's lawyer, his best friend, his mirror into the world—and every word he gave her painted the same picture: Damien was relentless. Calculated. A man who didn't stop until the board was cleared and the game was his.
She just didn't know if revenge was part of his endgame. But something in her gut told her—yes.
It was.
A knock broke through the silence, and Alina growled under her breath. Now? At this hour? Who could possibly be bothering her this early?
"Come in," she said, her voice quiet, stripped of emotion. Calm, composed, professional—despite the storm tearing through her chest.
The doorknob turned, and a familiar head poked through.
Mya.
"Gracious, Alina," Mya muttered as she stepped into the office, arms loaded with a thick stack of documents. "So many, so little time—and you've been letting these pile up for a month."
Alina's eyes drifted to the stack of papers in Mya's hands, the ones she'd willfully ignored. Her gaze shifted to her best friend—and secretary. Mya shot her a wicked smile, the kind that promised consequences. The kind that said, If I weren't loyal, I'd throttle you myself.
But that smile didn't faze Alina. Not today.
In her silence, Mya had always been her voice. The one person who never hesitated to snap her back when she drifted too far into her thoughts. The one who kept her tethered when everything else was pulling her apart.
"I have too much to handle," Alina said, eyes fixed on her computer screen. She didn't spare Mya a glance as the stack of paperwork landed with a thud on her desk.
It was exhausting—being the heiress of her father's empire, trying to rebuild what he had so effortlessly ruined. But what choice did she have? The weight of restoration rested on her shoulders while Lucas had conveniently gone abroad to oversee international affairs.
Mya, with her springy black curls and wide, watchful eyes, stepped beside her and glanced at the untouched mug on the desk. "Girl, I've been watching you for weeks. You never touch your coffee anymore."
Alina rolled her eyes and ignored her, fingers flying over the keyboard with mechanical skills.
Without a word, Mya strode to the window. She reached for the half-drawn blinds and rolled them open until the full glare of Albana's early sunlight poured into the office like liquid gold.
Alina flinched, lifting a hand to shield her eyes. As her vision adjusted to the sudden brightness, she turned to Mya with a deep frown. Her chestnut hair followed the motion, cascading like silk over her shoulder.
"Mya!"
Mya shrugged, stepping beside her friend and giving Alina's shoulder a light squeeze. "Morning sun's loaded with vitamins. My father swears by it—says no one should ever miss it." She grinned, completely unfazed by Alina's glare.
That was when her eyes caught on the newspaper—and the man staring back at her.
Tall. Elegant. Danger wrapped in a three-piece suit. His grey eyes were flat and unreadable, jawline razor-sharp, dark hair cut short like a soldier who never left the battlefield.
"Oh holy motherf—" Mya leaned in, eyes wide as she took in his features. Even printed in grainy ink, the man oozed power. The kind that made a girl's knees weak.
"Who in all this handsomeness is 'that'?"
Alina barely glanced at the newspaper, then returned to her screen. "Damien Cole. He was just released from prison."
"I can 'see' that—it's practically screaming from the headline," Mya said, still glued to the photo. "God, it should be illegal to look *that* good. This level of gorgeously masculine should be a crime of its own."
"Mya," Alina snapped, her tone clipped with annoyance.
She hadn't told Mya about Damien—not really. But deep down, she knew it wouldn't have mattered. Not when he had eyes like that. Eyes that pulled you in like gravity. It was hard not to get lost in them.
And that was exactly the problem.
"He's... quite a dangerous man," Alina warned, pushing the newspaper aside to break Mya's trance.
"Oh? Did I ever tell you the dangerous ones are usually the sexiest?"
Alina shot her a look sharp enough to slice through the nonsense. Mya raised both hands in mock surrender.
"Alright, I'll stop," she said—though her smirk betrayed her lack of sincerity.
As she made her way to the door, her eyes kept drifting back to the newspaper now shoved to the edge of the desk. "You're supposed to scan and sign all those documents within the week," she reminded with a playful lilt. "And oh—careful with Mr. Handsome. Wouldn't want him falling off the edge of the world, now would we? Maybe slide him back to the center, y'know—for better… viewing."
She paused, catching Alina's icy glare.
Mya grinned, victorious, and slipped out of the office, having thoroughly succeeded in getting under the skin of her serious, workaholic friend.
Alina sighed and let her gaze fall on the newspaper again—lingering longer than she meant to. Mya's words echoed in her head.
Handsome…
Dammit.
She stood abruptly and snatched the paper off the desk, walking over to the bin and tossing it inside without a second thought.
She stood tall, clad in a neutral blue dress that hugged her frame. Elegant black heels clicked softly beneath her, and white statement jewelry shimmered against her skin.
"Nothing is going to go wrong," she whispered, eyes falling on the crumpled newspaper in the bin. His face—finally out of sight. Out of reach. Hopefully, out of her life for good.
Another knock echoed through the office.
Alina let out a low growl but moved to answer it.
Mya stood on the other side, holding the telephone like it was laced with secrets. "A call for you, miss," she whispered, voice light as air, smile far too amused.
Alina took the phone, ignoring the glint in her friend's eyes.
"Hello?"
Silence. Then—him.
The one she'd avoided for a month.
The one she never wanted to hear again.
Whatever he said next hit her like a punch to the ribs. Her legs threatened to give out, but she clenched the phone tighter, refusing to show weakness.
Christ!