Damon
The city of Zurich gleamed beneath the morning haze—sleek, efficient, quietly powerful. The kind of city that reflected him too well. His private jet had landed yesterday , and the world outside these sleek floor- to- ceiling windows of his office shaped his view in perfect order. A far cry from the chaos of Los Angeles
Damon adjusted the cuff of his charcoal suit, the faint glint of a platinum watch sliding into view. The guards outside were silent, trained, moving quietly. He didn't really need security but in Zurich he did atleast LA had its advantages. His assistant had been waiting at the airstrip yesterday with updates, all business until Damon dismissed him.
Now, seated in his office overlooking Lake Zurich—he leaned back, mind drifting where he didn't want it to go.
To Elara Quin.
Her name had become an echo he couldn't silence. He didn't even understand why it lingered. Maybe because she was searching for something—something tied to his past, to his father. The same man whose shadow still dictated half his choices. Damon clenched his jaw at the thought.
He'd told himself he was done with the ghosts. But ghosts didn't need permission to haunt.
The air smelled like snow and pine. He liked Zurich for that—it was calm, clean, detached. No cameras. No media. No Elara Quin accidentally walking into his life again.
Standing up he headed to the living room, the interior was minimalist, everything tinted in dark wood and glass, the kind of space designed to look permanent even though nothing ever really was.
He removed his coat and poured himself a drink—Scotch, aged twenty years even though it was too early to be drinking. He didn't bother sitting. He just stared through the window as the lake shimmered in muted blue.
Then, the sound of heels behind him. Familiar. Uninvited.
"Couldn't even say hello properly?"
Damon didn't turn immediately. He knew the voice. Soft, teasing, threaded with something heavier—expectation.
"Jenna."
She smiled, walking in like she belonged there. Jenna Dobrick. The actress the tabloids swore he was dating. They weren't wrong—not entirely. They had shared nights. Brief, quiet, necessary ones that left no marks except on her.
"I didn't know you'd be in Zurich," she said, shrugging out of her coat. Her dress was black and delicate, skin glimmering beneath the light. "Alex mentioned you'd flown out for work."
"Project Serpent," Damon replied evenly. "And Alex talks too much."
She laughed softly, stepping closer. "He always does."
There was a pause before she reached for the glass in his hand, her fingers brushing his. "So, what brings you here this time?"
"Business."
"You always say that."
"Because it's always true."
Her eyes searched him, hoping for something he didn't have. "You know, people think I'm the only woman who can handle you."
"I doubt anyone can handle me," he said flatly, though his mouth twitched.
She chuckled but didn't step away. "You're impossible."
"Occupational hazard."
The silence that followed wasn't tense—just heavy. Familiar. She placed her hand on his chest, testing boundaries she already knew existed. And as before, he didn't stop her. Didn't encourage her either.
Because some lines didn't need to be spoken.
Later—hours later—the quiet hum of Zurich filled the room as she lay against him, sheets tangled. The city lights blinked through the glass walls.
Jenna's fingers traced the faint scars on his collar bone. "You never tell me how you got these."
He opened his eyes slowly. "You never ask the right way."
She smiled faintly but her tone softened. "You know I like you, right?"
He stared at the ceiling. "I know."
"So what now?"
Damon turned his head, eyes unreadable. "Now, you get dressed. We both have work to do."
She hesitated, the warmth draining from her face. "That's it?"
"That's always it."
He stood, walking toward the window. Outside, the city was waking up—people living ordinary lives. Lives that didn't involve betrayal, empires, or the scent of blood money.
Behind him, she sighed, hurt flickering in her voice. "You could at least pretend."
"Pretending gets people killed," he said quietly.
When she left the bed, the sound of fabric sliding over skin filled the silence. A few minutes later, she was dressed again—mask perfectly fixed, smile perfectly empty.
But before leaving, she turned back. "You could try to be human, Damon. Just once."
He didn't look at her. "I tried that once. Didn't like the result."
The door closed. And the room went silent again.
He stood there for a long time before walking to his desk, pouring himself another drink. He didn't touch it. Instead, he turned on his laptop. The encrypted system lit up with data, files, codes—his empire's pulse.
He opened one email chain titled PROJECT SERPENT. The report was halfway done. A surveillance update. Someone had been digging into the same archives as his private investigators.
Someone from Los Angeles .
Someone named Elara Quin.
He leaned forward, scanning the digital trail his team had found. She'd been searching for records of Damon's father, though she thought they belonged to hers. A tragic little irony. She didn't know that the truth would destroy her long before she found it.
He sat back, eyes narrowing. Then typed—slowly, deliberately.
>From: D. Voss
To: e.quin@voss publishings.com
Subject: Project Serpent
You're not the only one searching, Elara Quin.
He clicked send.
A faint smile curved his lips—not one of joy, but inevitability.
Moments later, his phone buzzed. Alex.
He answered. "What?"
Alex's voice was amused, lazy. "You sound like someone who needs a vacation."
"I'm working."
"In Zurich?" Alex chuckled. "You're either closing a deal or avoiding something—or someone."
"Both," Damon said.
"Speaking of someone… Jenna told me she's in Zurich with you. You finally gave her a chance?"
Damon's silence was enough.
Alex laughed harder. "Oh, I see. Same old Damon. You know she's into you, right? Like, actually into you?"
"She'll get over it."
"You always say that."
"And I'm always right."
Alex hummed. "Well, you might want to prepare yourself. I heard a little bird say Elara Quin's digging deeper. Maybe deeper than you expected."
"I'm aware," Damon replied calmly. "I already sent her a message."
There was a beat of silence. "You what?"
"A warning."
Alex whistled low. "You're playing a dangerous game, brother."
"It's not a game," Damon said. "It's control."
Alex laughed again, low and easy. "Whatever you say, Voss Just don't forget—control is an illusion. Especially with women like her."
The line clicked off. Damon stared at the phone for a long moment before placing it on the desk.
Outside, rainbegan to fall, faint but relentless.
He leaned back in the chair, watching it coat the glass. His reflection stared back—cold, unbothered, unmovable.
But beneath that, something else stirred. A flicker of curiosity. Of recognition.
He'd seen a thousand faces in his lifetime, dealt with thousands of people. But Elara Quin wasn't just another face. She was a mirror—and mirrors had a way of showing what you'd rather not see.
ELARA...
The office was nearly empty when her computer chimed with a new email.
She frowned, expecting it to be from one of her editors. But when she saw the name—D. Voss—her breath caught.
Her pulse skipped. Damon Voss.
Hands trembling slightly, she clicked it open.
"You're not the only one searching, Elara Quin".
She stared at the words for a long, long time. Her heartbeat drummed in her ears, dread and intrigue tangling into something she couldn't name.
He knew. He knew.
The cursor blinked at the end of the message like a pulse, mocking her.
And somewhere deep down, she knew—this was only the beginning.
In Zurich, Damon poured another drink. In Los Angeles, Elara stopped breathing.
Two names.
One secret.
And a war neither of them knew had already begun.