The city skyline faded as the elevator shot down toward the lobby, but Isla hardly noticed.
Damien's words twisted and reshaped everything she thought she knew about the world and her place in it.
"I believe not only in ruining Richard Lancaster. I want to erase him."
She hated how his voice lingered, how his presence still burned on her skin like aftershock. Damien Cross was treacherous, methodical.
He played each of his games with a steady hand and a ruthless heart.
And yet…
Somewhere within her, she knew he was telling the truth.
Her father had taken something that was important to him.
And Damien was going to set everything on fire in exchange.
She took a sharp breath and stepped out of the elevator, into the cold night.
The city swirled around her, unaware of the war being fought in its shadows.
She needed distance. Perspective.
But just as she reached for her phone, the screen flashed with a new message.
From Damien Cross.
Her breath hitched.
She shouldn't open it.
She did anyway.
Damien: Check your inbox. Then determine just how much of a monster your father is.
A chill ran down her spine.
She paused for just a second and then opened her email.
And then—everything stopped.
Attaching the file was easy. Confidential. Untraceable. Deadly.
Isla's world turned on its axis with a single tap.
Photos. Documents. Transactions.
Proof of things she wasn't meant to see.
And at the heart of it all—her father.
***
Damien twirled the last of his whiskey, gazing down as the city laid out below him.
He had given her a choice.
And now he just had to wait.
Isla Lancaster wasn't stupid. She had lived her whole life beneath Richard's thumb, performing the role of the dutiful daughter, the ideal heir.
But she had never looked at her father for what he really was.
Until now.
His phone vibrated.
A message.
Isla: Where did you get this?
Damien smirked. Hook, line, and sinker.
His fingers hovered over the keys before he responded.
Damien: Does it matter?
A pause.
Then—
Isla: Meet me. Now.
His smirk deepened.
Game on.
***
The cool night air brought no relief to the inferno brewing within Isla.
Damien Cross had just shattered everything she thought she understood about her father. And the worst part?
She didn't know if she could even deny it.
She made her way toward her car, the clicks of her heels reverberating in the sweltering air, a mess of feelings flickering in her head.
The secret file he had sent her was not simply an attack — it was a revelation.
Money laundering. Offshore accounts. Deals with people every reputable businessman has never heard of.
But that wasn't what turned her stomach.
It had been the final file in the folder.
A single image.
An old security camera image of a grainy photo
A man prostrate on the pavement, blood pooling around him.
And her father looming over him.
She swallowed hard and gripped the steering wheel so tightly her knuckles turned white.
Was she blind all this time? Or had she simply refused to see?
Her phone buzzed again. Another message from Damien Cross.
Damien: I guess you've seen enough?
She should ignore him. She should drive home, clear the files, pretend she never saw them.
Instead her fingers acted before her brain could process.
Isla: Meet me. Now.
Three dots appeared. A pause.
Damien: Penthouse suite. 30 minutes.
A location followed.
Her pulse quickened.
She should turn back.
Instead, she drove.
***
The penthouse was dark, except for the penetration of city lights through the floor-to-ceiling windows.
Damien poured himself a drink, gazing out at the skyline, waiting.
She would come.
Because once you saw the truth, you couldn't unsee it.
A low chime signaled the arrival of the elevator. He was turning as Isla came through the door, her expression inscrutable.
But her eyes?
They burned.
"You son of a bitch," she said, low, angry.
Damien took a sip of whiskey. "Good evening to you too."
She walked up to him and threw her phone on the table between them.
"Tell me this is fake."
He arched a brow. "Would that make it easier?"
"Tell me!"
Damien took a deep breath and put his drink down. He moved in even closer, close enough to catch the cracks in her armor.
"It's real," he said.
"All of it."
She rocked slightly, as if the confirmation had finally knocked the breath out of her lungs.
Damien could almost see the battle going on inside her. The daughter who had always defended her father. And the woman who had just discovered the truth.
When she finally spoke again, her voice was a near whisper.
"Why are you showing this to me?"
He looked at her, and said the one thing she wasn't prepared to hear.
"Because you're not him."
Her breath caught.
And that's when Damien Cross had dropped the last piece of his rat trap.