Damien's POV
The applause thundered through the Grand Ballroom like a wave trying to drown me, and I wished it would.
Entrepreneur of the Year. The crystal trophy felt cold in my hands—colder than it should be. I forced my mouth into the smile that had made me a billionaire: confident, grateful, humble enough to be charming but not enough to seem weak.
Thank you, I said into the microphone, my voice smooth as the lies I'd built my empire on. This award belongs to everyone at Zhao Technologies who believed in our vision.
More applause. Camera flashes. Victoria beaming at me from the front row, one hand resting on her pregnant belly. Six months along with our son. She looked perfect—blonde hair swept up, cream-colored dress that cost more than most people's cars, diamond earrings catching the light.
Everything looked perfect.
That's when I saw her.
She stood at the entrance like a ghost materializing from my nightmares. Short black hair that gleamed under the chandeliers. An emerald dress that seemed to absorb light rather than reflect it. She moved through the crowd with the kind of quiet confidence that made people step aside without knowing why.
My chest tightened. My hands went numb around the trophy.
No. Impossible.
I barely heard the rest of my own speech. My mouth moved on autopilot, saying things about innovation and perseverance while my brain screamed at me to look away from the woman in emerald. But I couldn't. Something about the way she tilted her head while scanning the room, the precise angles of her movements
Damien? Victoria whispered as I returned to my seat. Are you okay? You're pale.
Fine, I lied, kissing her forehead. Just tired.
The gala continued around us. Champagne flowed. Silicon Valley's elite congratulated each other on being rich and important. I smiled and shook hands and pretended my world wasn't tilting on its axis.
Then Marcus Chen appeared beside us, my mentor and investor, Sienna's beloved uncle. He looked distinguished as always in his tailored tuxedo, silver hair perfectly styled.
Congratulations, Damien, Marcus said warmly. Well deserved.
Thanks to your guidance, I replied automatically.
Marcus's eyes were already scanning the room. Have you met Selene Park yet? She's been making waves in the VC world. Just closed a two-hundred-million-dollar fund focused on—how did she phrase it? disrupting established tech companies.' He chuckled. Sounds like someone who might give you competition.
My throat went dry. Selene Park?
The woman in green. Come, I'll introduce you.
Everything in me screamed to refuse. To grab Victoria and leave. To run.
Instead, I followed Marcus through the crowd like a man walking toward his execution.
Up close, she was devastating. Not just beautiful—plenty of women in this room were beautiful. But there was something about her face that made my brain itch, like trying to remember a dream that slipped away the moment you woke up.
Damien Zhao, meet Selene Park, Marcus said. Selene, this is tonight's guest of honor.
She extended her hand. Her grip was firm, professional. Her skin warm against mine.
Mr. Zhao, she said. Her voice was silk over razor blades. Congratulations on your award.
Thank you, Ms. Park. I couldn't stop staring at her eyes. Dark brown, almost black. Something burned in their depths that made my pulse race. Have we met before?
The question escaped before I could stop it.
Her smile didn't reach those burning eyes. In another life, perhaps.
Selene runs Prometheus Capital, Marcus explained, oblivious to the electricity crackling between us. Very selective about their investments.
I focus on companies with structural weaknesses, Selene said, still holding my gaze. Empires built on shaky foundations. They're the most interesting to... reshape.
The threat was barely veiled. Marcus laughed like she'd made a joke.
Well, Zhao Technologies has a very solid foundation, I said carefully.
Does it? Her head tilted—that movement again, the one that made my chest ache. I've been analyzing your financials. Fascinating patterns in your subsidiary structures. Almost... artistic in their complexity.
She knew. Somehow, this stranger knew about the shell companies, the creative accounting, the empire I'd built on Marcus's dirty money.
I'm sure everything's in order, Marcus said smoothly. Damien runs a tight ship.
I'm sure he does. Selene's smile sharpened. Though ships can sink, can't they? Even the ones that seem unsinkable.
Before I could respond, she nodded politely. Gentlemen, enjoy your evening. I'm sure we'll be seeing much more of each other.
She walked away, leaving me frozen.
Interesting woman, Marcus murmured. A bit aggressive for my taste. Don't let her rattle you, Damien. You've weathered competitors before.
But she wasn't a competitor. She was something else entirely.
I made my way back to Victoria, my mind racing. That voice. Those movements. The way she looked at me like she could see straight through to the rotten core of my soul.
Sienna's dead. You watched her coffin lowered into the ground. You mourned her.
You killed her.
Victoria touched my arm. Damien? You look like you've seen a ghost.
I opened my mouth to reassure her, but the words died as I watched her face drain of color. She was staring at her phone, champagne glass trembling in her other hand.
Victoria? What's wrong?
She didn't answer. Just stared at the screen, her breath coming faster.
Victoria?
The champagne glass slipped from her fingers.
It shattered on the marble floor, the sound cutting through the music and laughter like a gunshot. Crystal shards scattered across white stone. Golden liquid spread like blood.
Victoria's phone clattered down beside it.
I grabbed it before she could stop me.
One new message from an unknown number:
Beautiful dress. Shame about the baby. You're 7. -Phoenix
My heart stopped.
Because three years ago, Sienna's last case before she died had been prosecuting a serial killer who called himself Phoenix.
And Sienna always signed her personal notes to me with a phoenix emoji.
I looked up, searching the crowd for the woman in emerald.
She stood across the ballroom, champagne glass raised in a silent toast.
Her smile promised murder.