Alina Graves was even more… what was the word? No, sexually appealing was too blunt, but it would do, for now. She was even more attractive than the picture....much more attractive than any woman he had ever met.
Being in prison made it impossible to come across any female, and worse, to satisfy his male urge. But when he got out, none had ever appealed to him.
None like Alina did.
And in this moment of finally meeting the heiress, it became worse—the way his groin ached. He hated it. Hated what she was doing to him. Hated those chestnut strands of hair he wished he could see let down, like they were in the pictures. Hated how flawless her skin looked, even with the poor lighting in the hall. He wondered how soft it would feel in his hands.
But what drew him more were her eyes. He had never seen anyone whose eyes held so much silence—so much armor, like a shield protecting something soft. Her gaze held so many secrets. It pulled you in, made you want to know more, yet left you wondering if you were even strong enough to handle what lay beneath.
There was so much mystery in those eyes he wanted to uncover. Prison had forced him to become observant against his will, but Alina's eyes were the first he couldn't read.
But as much as she wore a strong façade, he saw through it. There was something mysterious about her—something buried deep—but she hid it so well, he almost wanted to applaud her. Almost.
Because she wasn't hiding it well enough from him.
And now, he found himself wondering—what secret should he uncover first to bring about her downfall?
"Alina Graves," his lips curved into a smile, but his eyes carried only mockery. "I spent countless days in that prison cell thinking about what I'd do to you after I heard Walters was dead."
His voice was cold—sharp enough to pin her to the wall, though she didn't flinch. Outwardly, her expression remained calm, composed, untouched.
"And did you?" she asked, standing tall as her gaze locked onto his. "Did you finally decide what it is you'll do?"
He tilted his head, eyes raking over her with slow precision.
Of course, it wasn't to take her to bed and fuck her—though his pulse screamed for it, and his erection strained hard against his trousers. That urge was loud, undeniable, but it wasn't what he'd dreamed of in prison.
No.
He would break her—piece by piece—until she crumbled. Until she begged for forgiveness. And when he was done with her, he would tear through the rest of her bloodline.
But first, he would shatter the successor of Walter Graves' legacy.
"One would think the Graves are a bunch of good people," he said, shaking his head slowly. "But you knew the kind of monster your father was. And now, you're walking the same path."
Alina swallowed hard. He wasn't wrong—about her father, maybe even about her. But she wouldn't betray her family, not like this. Not by agreeing with a stranger who clearly wanted nothing more than to tear her apart.
"I'm sorry for what you had to endure," she said, her voice calm, sincere.
For a first meeting, at least Damien Cole hadn't gone further—hadn't struck her, even in a place as secluded as this. He could have, easily. But he hadn't. And for that, she was grateful. Genuinely sorry, too, that he had suffered from one of her father's many schemes.
He let out a cold, mocking laugh. "Sorry? You think 'sorry' is enough?"
"There's not much I can do except apologize." She folded her arms tightly across her chest. What else did he want? For her to fall to her knees? "My father wronged you. I did not."
"You've got guts," he snapped, his tone razor-sharp, laced with menace.
His stare burned into her like a brand, so filled with hate it felt like it could cut through skin. She flinched—but only inside.
"You wouldn't say those words," he hissed, "if seven whole years of your youth had been stolen from you."
Alina would admit—he was right. Seven years was a long time to be filled with rage, and she couldn't blame him.
However, on her part, if seven years was enough reason to stay away from her father, then she would gladly oblige—with open hands and a bright smile.
"What do you want?" she asked.
Now this was the moment she hadn't prepared for—even though she thought she had.
Countless times, she had imagined what Damien Cole would want. What it was he aimed to destroy.
She doubted it was only the company.
A man like him wouldn't stop at breaking her father's legacy. He would go further—tear apart their lives one by one. And she wasn't sure she would let him.
"Walter Graves was lucky to leave this earth before I got out of prison," his voice came low and cold—so cold it felt like ice crawling up her feet.
Worse, he moved.
Too close.
Close enough that she could smell him—his cologne, the soap on his clean-shaven skin.
"My rage," he continued, voice calm, controlled, "is too much to hold back. But I'm holding it—for now. Only because it's you standing here, and not him. Because you weren't the one who ruined my life. He was. That's the only reason I haven't pounced on you."
His voice dropped to a whisper, low and threatening. She feared the weight of it. If he could burn like this while holding back, how could she ever defeat him?
"But you bear his name," he added, eyes roaming over her.
And this time, he didn't hide it—he took in her figure, her height. He marvelled for a second.
"And that, my dear, will not save you."
Alina was slowly losing it.
This close proximity shattered her composure.
She wanted to shove him away—but oh, how she reveled in his scent. That clean, masculine fragrance clinging to freshly shaved skin. How she could even register his scent with everything going on was beyond her.
"He is dead," she said, the words slipping out.
The harsh reality struck her again—just as it did each time she said it.
It felt strange.
To not feel anything.
Was she even normal… to not grieve the loss of her father?
"You can live your life freely, and of course, for all that you've lost, I'm obliged to make sure you keep your name—and restore your company."
But the words didn't sit well with him.
His gaze shifted. He took a step back.
His eyes turned sharp—so menacing that she flinched.
Outwardly.
"You think 'that' is my freedom?" he snapped, and she blinked, startled.
Was he about to unleash it all on her now?
"I'm going to take my revenge on Walter Graves," he said, voice hard with promise. "Oh yes, he's dead. But his legacy isn't. And I won't let it stand."
His lips parted slowly, and his gaze swept over her with cold indifference.
"And you…" he murmured, "I'll ruin you—because you're in my way. And anyone else who gets in my way, I'll destroy them too."
"You know you can't take over the company," she said, frowning.
The mask she always wore—composure, grace—was slipping.
She was showing too much emotion, and she hated it.
No, she didn't like what he was doing to her.
She didn't like how his presence made her feel.
"Do you think I need your permission to get what I want?" he laughed—mocking, composed.
Grey eyes bore into hers, unflinching. Unafraid.
"I will destroy his legacy—which includes you. I'll ruin everything to complete dust, until the earth itself sweeps it away."
He stared hard at her, and she met his stare—equally hard, in defeat.
He cursed inwardly.
He had expected a spoiled girl.
Even though she'd taken over the company, he thought she'd be timid, desperate. He thought she'd beg, maybe even crawl on her knees.
He hadn't expected 'this.'
This defiance.
This confidence, so firm it felt like steel.
And now, he didn't know how to respond.
Her silence unnerved him.
There was something dangerous in it—something even Walter Graves had lacked.
It wasn't hollow. No—her silence carried weight. The kind of weight that came from surviving things that should've broken her, but didn't.
And she stood there—unmoving, unwavering—with eyes that told him one thing clearly:
She wouldn't beg.
"What if I have an offer that could make you change your mind?" she said, breaking the silence that had dragged on for too long—long enough he'd nearly pinned her to the wall just to force a reaction out of her.
His voice, though, remained composed.
"And what kind of offer would that be? One strong enough to make me change my mind?"
He shook his head, a slow gesture of disbelief.
It seemed no one truly understood the depth of the revenge he intended
to take.
"Nothing in this world will change my mind."
"How about… a marriage?"
And just like that, everything in his head fell silent.
Even the revenge he had come for.