Damian's POV
"So, you're the daughter of the man who killed my fiancée."
I kept my voice cold, controlled.
Serena Vance stood in the center of my office, her hands clenched at her sides, her body rigid with tension. She'd been escorted here by security the moment the gala ended.
No charges. No police. Just... this.
I sat behind my desk, my fingers steepled, studying her carefully. She looked different from the photos in her father's file…thinner, harder, with darker hair and colored contacts. But the defiance in her eyes? That was pure Marcus Vance.
She lifted her chin. "I don't know what you're talking about."
"Don't insult my intelligence, Miss Vance."
I stood slowly, watching her body tense. Good. She should be afraid. She should understand exactly what kind of man she was dealing with.
"Your father was Marcus Vance," construction manager for the sterling Plaza project. I said, moving around my desk.
Five years ago, there was an accident. Faulty materials, corner-cutting, ignored safety protocols. Twelve people died in that building collapse."
Her throat tightened as she swallowed, but she didn't speak.
"One of them was my fiancée, Elena Martinez." I kept my voice even, emotionless, even as the familiar rage simmered beneath the surface.
"She was touring the site for a charity event. She was crushed under three tons of concrete because your father prioritized profit over safety."
"That's not true," she said quietly, her voice shaking. "My father was innocent. He was framed…"
"By whom?" I interrupted, taking another step closer. I needed to see her face, and I needed to read every micro-expression. "Who would frame a mid-level construction manager? What would they gain?"
"By you," she spat, and there it was…the fire I'd been waiting for. "You needed a scapegoat. Someone to take the fall while you protected your precious company reputation."
My jaw tightened. I'd heard this accusation before, whispered in courtrooms and printed in conspiracy blogs. It never got easier to hear.
"Careful, Miss Vance. You're already in enough trouble."
"What trouble?" She forced courage into her voice, but I could see the fear in her eyes. "I served drinks at your party. That's not a crime."
"No. But breaking into my private study is."
The color drained from her face.
"We found the USB drive you planted in my coat pocket," I continued, keeping my tone conversational. "We traced the listening devices you placed throughout the east wing. We have footage of you stealing an access card from my head of security."
I'd known something was wrong the moment I saw her at the gala. That face, familiar but not quite. It had taken my security team less than twenty minutes to piece it together after I'd sent them her photo.
"Did you really think I wouldn't notice?" I asked. "I've built an empire on noticing details other people miss. Your little revenge mission was doomed from the start."
"Then why haven't you called the police?" she demanded, and I almost smiled. Still fighting, even when cornered.
"Because I have a better use for you."
I walked past her toward the windows, giving myself a moment to think.
"You could have run when you heard Noah screaming," I said, looking out at the city lights. "You should have run. But you didn't. You stopped to help a child you didn't know."
"So what?"
"So that tells me something about you." I turned to face her. "Despite your hatred for me, despite your mission, you couldn't ignore a child in distress."
She said nothing, her jaw clenched tight. I could see her mind working, trying to figure out my angle.
"Noah is my son," I said. "He's five years old. And he hasn't spoken in three years."
I watched her carefully. Most people showed pity at this point. But Serena Vance just stared at me, her expression carefully neutral.
"Since his mother died," I continued. "Elena was pregnant when the building collapsed. Noah was born premature, survived against all odds. But Elena didn't make it."
Something flickered across her face. Sympathy?
Understanding? It was gone too quickly to tell.
"Noah doesn't speak," I said. "He doesn't connect with anyone. He has violent meltdowns multiple times a week.
I've hired the best therapists, the best specialists. Nothing works."
"What does this have to do with me?"
"He spoke to you." I moved closer, studying her reaction.
"Or rather, he stopped screaming for you. That's more than anyone's managed in months. Not his therapists, not his teachers, not even me."
That last part tasted bitter. My own son wouldn't let me comfort him, but a stranger, the daughter of my enemy…could calm him with a few words.
She shook her head. "I just…I calmed him down. That doesn't mean…"
"It means you have something he needs. Something I can't give him." I stopped a few feet away from her. "So here's my offer, Miss Vance. Marry me."
Her eyes widened. "What?"
"On paper," I clarified. "A contract marriage. You'll move into my home, act as Noah's live-in nanny, help him recover."
"You're insane."
"Am I?" I tilted my head slightly, watching her process the information. "Because from where I'm standing, you have very few options. I could have you arrested right now.
Corporate espionage, attempted theft, trespassing—you'd be looking at years in prison."
"I'd tell them everything," she said desperately. "About my father, about what you did…"
"And who would believe you? The daughter of a convicted criminal, caught red-handed planting surveillance equipment at my gala?" I let myself smile, cold and calculated. "They'd laugh you out of court."
I could see her mind racing, looking for an escape. There wasn't one. I'd made sure of that.
"But wait, there's more," I said, pulling out my phone. I'd had my team prepare this particular piece of insurance hours ago. I pulled up the fabricated bank statements and held the phone out to her.
"Your mother, Catherine Vance. Currently living in a small apartment in Queens, working two jobs to pay off your father's legal debts." I swiped to the next image. "But look at this. Large deposits, made regularly over the past six months. Deposits that coincidentally match the exact amounts your father allegedly embezzled from the Sterling Plaza project."
"That's not possible. My mother didn't…"
"I know she didn't," I said calmly. The fabricated evidence had cost me a favor, but it was worth it to see the horror on her face. "But that's not what the evidence says. And if I wanted to, I could have her investigated, arrested, charged with conspiracy to commit fraud."
"You're lying."
"Am I?" I pocketed my phone. "Test me, Miss Vance. Walk out of this office. See how long it takes for the police to show up at your mother's door."
"You're a monster," she whispered.
"Perhaps." I felt nothing at the accusation. I'd been called worse. "But I'm a monster who's offering you a choice. Marry me, help my son, and I'll leave your mother alone. I'll even clear your father's name…if you succeed."
Her head snapped up. "What?"
"If you can get Noah to speak, to trust you, to recover even partially…I'll reopen the investigation into the building collapse. I'll make sure the truth comes out."
It was a calculated risk. If Marcus Vance really was guilty, the investigation would only confirm it. But if he wasn't... I pushed the thought away. He was guilty. The evidence had been clear.
"But if you refuse," I continued, letting my voice drop lower, "I'll destroy what little you have left. Your mother will go to prison. You'll spend the next decade fighting charges you can't win. And your father's name will stay buried in disgrace."
I watched her struggle, watched the fight drain from her eyes as she realized she had no way out.
"Let me be clear about what you're agreeing to," I said, circling her slowly. I needed her to understand. "If you accept, your life becomes mine. You'll live in my house, under my rules, subject to whatever I decide to put you through."
"Why?" she demanded, her voice cracking. "Why do this? If you hate me so much, why not just destroy me now?"
"Because my son needs you." The truth. The only truth that mattered. "And I will do whatever it takes to help him. Even if it means making a deal with the daughter of the man I despise most in this world."
I stopped directly in front of her. She was shorter than I'd realized, the top of her head barely reaching my shoulder.
But she met my eyes without flinching.
"You'll endure whatever I decide to put you through as payment for your father's sins," I said quietly. "Every humiliation, every punishment, every moment of suffering, consider it justice for what your family took from me."
"My father was innocent," she said through gritted teeth.
"Then prove it. Marry me. Help Noah. And maybe…maybe…I'll give you the chance to clear his name."
I could see her wavering, see the moment she realized she was trapped.
"How long?" she asked hoarsely. "How long would this marriage last?"
"One year. If Noah shows significant improvement, I'll honor my end of the bargain. If not..." I shrugged. "We'll discuss an extension."
"This is blackmail."
"This is business."
She closed her eyes, and for a moment, I almost felt something. Almost felt guilty for backing her into this corner.
But then I thought of Elena. Thought of Noah's silence.
Thought of the hole that Marcus Vance had left in my life.
No. This was justice.
"You have twenty-four hours to decide, Miss Vance," I said, stepping back. "But let me be clear, if you accept, your life becomes mine. And I don't plan to be merciful."