32. Damien
Damien
She’s gone .
I stare at the bidding screen like it’s lying to me. Like if I blink hard enough, the name will change. But it doesn’t. It stays there, burning, pulsing with every throb of rage behind my eyes.
Fake name. Fake credentials. But the moment I replay the security footage—the second his face flashes on-screen—I know.
Lucien.
He walked into my house, sat in my fucking auction, and bought what’s mine.
Bought her.
The tablet cracks in my grip. I don’t care. I throw it across the room, listening to it shatter against the wall. Reese flinches when I call him, but I don’t stop.
“Who verified Vale’s clearance?” I snap.
Reese appears in the doorway, panting. “I did. He passed all checkpoints. There were no anomalies—”
“You don’t think it was suspicious?” I cut him off. “No prior purchases. No network activity. But he walks in with half a million in cry pto and targets Brooke? ”
“He had the paperwork—”
“Because he knew what you’d check.”
I’m already moving. The walls feel too tight. I need air. I need blood. My boots slam against the floor as I stalk to the surveillance room. “Pull up the face. ID match. Now.”
Reese taps the screen. A pause. Then it blinks on.
Lucien fucking Crowe.
His jaw. That smug, polished calm. The way he held himself like he owned the room. The quiet confidence I should’ve recognized.
“You son of a bitch,” I whisper.
He got in.
He touched her.
He took her.
The realization sinks in like poison. Cold, slow, irreversible.
I slam my fist into the wall. The metal dents. I want it to scream, to bleed, to burn—but it doesn’t. Only my knuckles do.
“He planned this,” I mutter. “He planned every step.”
I turn back to Reese, eyes wild. “Who else knew Brooke was in the auction?”
His throat bobs. “Only us. Enrique. And Harmony. She—she prepped her.”
My blood runs hot.
Harmony.
No. No—she wouldn’t. She couldn’t.
Could she?
Lucien looked at her, that day in the hallway. She looked back.
Fuck.
I can’t trust anyone. Not Reese. Not Enrique. Not Harmony. Not even Brooke, maybe. Maybe she played her part. Maybe she lured him in.
Re ese was with me the whole time, watching Harmony and Brooke. It couldn’t have been them…
Lucien crossed the line.
And I’m going to paint it red with his fucking blood.
I pace the hallway like a caged animal, running possibilities. Someone opened a door. Someone left a crack wide enough for him to slide through.
“We are on lockdown,” I order. “Sweep every file. Every IP. I want names. I want timelines. I want blood.”
Reese nods and vanishes. Smart. He knows I’m about to snap.
And once I do?
Lucien better hope she was worth it.
Because now?
No one’s leaving alive.
* * *
The room is cold.
Intentionally so.
It smells like bleach and old metal. The kind of scent that sinks into your teeth, clings to your skin. The kind that screams something died here.
Because something always does.
Enrique sits in the chair, wrists cuffed to the table, sweat soaking through the collar of his shirt. He’s usually unreadable—stoic, tight-lipped. But not tonight.
Tonight, he looks like prey.
“You were the only one to leave the Golden Hollows,” I say softly, circling him. My boots echo off the concrete like a ticking clock. “The only person to leave, and a few days later… Somehow—Lucien Crowe walked out with Dante’s sister.”
En rique doesn’t respond.
I slam a fist onto the table. He flinches.
Wrong move.
I smile.
“You see,” I continue, voice like velvet wrapped around broken glass, “I’ve been patient with you. Loyal even. And loyalty—well, it used to mean something in this place.”
I pull a chair out. Place it backward. And I sit.
“You know what I hate more than betrayal, Enrique?”
He shakes his head.
“ Incompetence. ”
Silence stretches like sinew pulled too tight.
I tilt my head. “So I’ll ask you once. Just once. Did you know it was Lucien?”
A pause.
His lip trembles.
“No,” he whispers.
I nod slowly. “Okay. That’s your answer.”
I stand.
Enrique exhales like he’s been holding his breath.
He shouldn’t have. Because then I reach for the drawer, and pull out the pliers.
“You know,” I murmur, pacing behind him, “I’ve read studies about how long it takes for a man to feel real regret. It’s not the first cut. Not the first bone.”
I crouch beside him. Right ear. Close enough to whisper.
“It’s the teeth.”
He jerks against the cuffs.
I laugh.
“Oh, don’t worry. We’ll get there.”
I begin slow.
On e finger. Crushed. Then another. No blood—yet. Just pressure. Skin splitting. Bone grinding. Nerves lighting up like fireworks behind his eyes.
He screams.
Not loud. Not defiant.
Pathetic. Pleading.
The kind of sound that doesn’t echo—it clings.
I hum under my breath. A lullaby. A hymn. Something my mother used to sing before she broke glass behind my back and called it discipline.
“Still don’t remember?” I ask sweetly.
Enrique’s head lolls forward.
I grab a fistful of his hair and slam it against the table.
He gurgles.
I grab the pliers again.
This time?
A tooth.
I take it slow.
Too slow.
He screams, trying to free himself from my hold, but I am stronger. I will always fucking win. I feel the tooth crumbling beneath the pliers.
And when it’s done?
I leave the pliers on the table, bloodied and warm.
“Let this be a lesson,” I whisper to the corpses watching from behind the glass. “You don’t fail me. You don’t forget your place. And you sure as fuck let my brother buy anyone. Not a single one.”
Enrique is still breathing.
But only for a second. I pull out my gun, aiming it directly at his face, and I pull the trigger.
Brain matter explodes onto the wall behind him. The sound of a bullet echoes off of the concrete walls. It’s music to my fucking ears.
The mole is dead.
Then I walk out without looking back. He’s replaceable.
Everyone is.
* * *
She doesn’t run.
That’s what pisses me off the most.
She stands in the hallway of the main house, barefoot, arms crossed tight over her ribs, like she can protect what’s already mine. Like she’s bracing for a storm instead of causing one.
Lucien fucking Crowe.
He thought he could walk in, charm his way through my auction, and steal from me.
From me.
And Harmony—my Harmony—stood here. Breathing. Blinking. Knowing. Letting it happen.
“You look nervous,” I say, voice low. Too calm. The kind of calm that comes before a landslide.
“I’m not,” she lies.
She always was a terrible liar.
I grab her arm. She doesn’t resist, but her whole body tenses. That little twitch in her jaw—like she wants to fight, like she wants to scream.
But she won’t.
Not yet.
“You know what happens when I feel betrayed?” I murmur as I drag her down the hallway. “I take things back.”
She stumbles behind me, barefoot against the cold tile, and I wonder if she realizes how fast her freedom is slipping.
We reach the old exit—I toss her in the car. And I drive.
To the prison.
The new Golden Hollows.
My kingdom.
I shove the steel door open, and the air hits us both—thick, damp, and full of rot.
“You said I earned the house,” she whispers.
“And you did. ” My grip tightens. “But now? You don’t deserve it.”
I yank her forward, every step down the concrete stairs a verdict. The dim light flickers overhead like it’s trying to warn her.
Or maybe beg me to stop.
Too late.
I lead her past the cages, past the empty cells, until we reach the one with rust on the hinges and claw marks on the walls. The one where I used to keep the ones who screamed too loud.
I shove her inside.
No fight.
Just breath. Shaky. Shallow.
I stare at her, drinking in the sight—hair tangled, lips parted, fear blooming beneath her skin like bruises trying to rise.
“You’re not a queen,” I whisper, stepping back. “You’re a ghost. And ghosts belong in the dark.”
Her lip quivers, but she doesn’t cry.
I almost wish she would.
Because I want to feel something besides this violent ache in my chest. This constant war between needing her close and needing her to pay.
I slam the cell door shut.
The sound echoes through the concrete like a shot.
“You can scream if you want,” I add. “No one’s coming.”
She doesn’t say a word.
No t when I turn.
Not when I walk away.
Not when I cut the lights.
Because even Harmony knows—
When I lose control, everyone gets locked up.
Even the ones I love.
Especially the ones I love.