The Founder’s Power (The Power of Love #1)

1. Damian

CHAPTER 1

DAMIAN

I stare out the floor-to-ceiling window of my corner office, the city below cast in a warm, golden hue. The sun is setting behind the skyline, splashing fire across the glass towers, but all I see is a reflection—my own. Cold. Sharp. Untouchable.

My reflection doesn’t flinch when my assistant knocks. She knows better than to wait for an answer.

“Mr. Kincaid, your meeting with the London investors starts in ten.”

“Push it.”

There’s a beat of hesitation before she retreats. I don’t blame her. I’m unpredictable these days. Ruthless, they say in the press. Focused. Brilliant. But none of that means anything at this hour.

I turn away from the window, crossing to my desk. Every surface in this office gleams—polished mahogany, Italian leather, brushed steel. My empire is flawless. Impeccable. Empty.

My phone buzzes with a new notification. I don’t check it. I already know it’s another alert, another congratulation, another deal going through. We just closed on a merger that took two years to orchestrate. I should feel something. Satisfaction. Relief. Pride.

Instead, there’s only silence.

I sit, the chair groaning slightly under me, and run my hand across the edge of the desk where she once leaned, laughing at something I said. Her voice used to cut through the noise in my head like a melody I never knew I needed.

Isabelle.

The name alone still hurts, which is ridiculous. It’s been years.

She told me once that love wasn’t supposed to feel like a burden. That I made her feel like a liability to be managed instead of someone to be cherished. She was right.

I grip the edge of the desk, jaw tight. I’ve built a kingdom since then. Multinational. Untouchable. And yet, in the quiet moments, I still reach for something that’s no longer there.

I haven’t seen her since she walked out.

I haven’t let anyone in since.

And maybe that’s the price of power. You get everything you thought you wanted. You just lose the one thing you can’t buy back.

The door swings open without a knock.

Only one man has the audacity—and the clearance—to walk in like that.

“Don’t you believe in knocking?” I mutter without looking up.

Lucas Ashford’s laugh cuts through the stillness, the sound deep, easy, annoyingly unbothered. “You say that like I haven’t known you since you were hoarding vending machine pretzels in the back of our dorm room.”

I look up. He’s dressed in a perfectly tailored suit, but he’s loosened the tie and unbuttoned the top of his shirt like he’s already done with the day or never took it seriously in the first place. Lucas has always had that relaxed arrogance, like the rules are just helpful suggestions for other people.

“You’re late,” I say.

“I wasn’t invited.”

“Didn’t stop you.”

He grins, stepping inside like he owns the place. He doesn’t, but he’s one of the few people in this world who could get close. We’ve circled the same financial stratosphere for years—sometimes competitors, sometimes reluctant allies, always circling with wariness and familiarity.

Lucas picks up a crystal paperweight from my desk, turns it over in his hand, then sets it back down in precisely the wrong spot. “This place still feels like a museum exhibit. No pictures, no clutter, no soul.”

“It has function.”

“It has walls,” he says pointedly, eyes on mine. “Thick ones. Around everything. Including you.”

I almost grimace. He’s not wrong.

Lucas walks to the window and whistles low. “Hell of a view. You always were obsessed with being on top.”

“I got here, didn’t I?”

“You did.” He turns, expression unreadable now. “And yet you look like a man who lost something on the way up.”

I don’t react. I’ve trained myself not to.

Lucas studies me for a beat longer, then claps his hands once. “Well. If you ever get tired of being a lonely king in a very expensive tower, come find me. I hear rumors you’re interested in legacy plays again.”

“Rumors travel fast.”

“I travel faster.”

I shake my head as he heads for the door, but I don’t stop him. There’s no need to. Lucas never says everything he’s thinking, not until he wants to.

He leaves the same way he came in—without fanfare and without apology.

I’m not sure why exactly, but the silence he leaves behind feels different.

Not emptier. More like it’s waiting.

The door clicks shut behind Lucas. I sit back in my chair, stare up at the ceiling, and let my eyes close for a second too long.

It takes me back.

We were twenty-one, broke, and arrogant as hell. Living off black coffee and ambition, dreaming bigger than our bank accounts ever could. The dorm room was barely large enough for two beds and one busted mini fridge. Lucas used to joke we were building empires with stolen Wi-Fi and three hours of sleep.

“You ever think we’ll actually make it?” I asked him once, during one of those two a.m. caffeine-fueled strategy sessions.

He smirked, flicked a paperclip at me. “Damian, we’ll either rule the world… or crash it trying.”

I believed him.

He had charm. I had control. He knew how to make people say yes; I knew how to make them regret saying no. We were unstoppable… until we weren’t. Until I got hungry for more. Faster. Tighter. Cleaner. I started cutting out the noise. The distractions. The people.

Including him.

We didn’t fight. We just drifted. I built walls. He built connections.

Now he strolls in like nothing’s changed.

But I have.

And maybe… maybe that’s the problem.