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A ghost of the past

A ghost of the past

Makalisia

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"The past never stays buried... especially when fate demands justice." Fifteen years ago, Isla's life was shattered. Victimized at a young age, she was left with only her sister, Eliane, and a child she never expected-Lucian. She vowed to build a life for her son, leaving the ghosts of her past behind. But some ghosts refuse to fade. Damien White, the cold and untouchable CEO of White Mall Properties, has never been interested in love. Yet, a recurring nightmare torments him-one that feels more like a memory than a dream. When fate brings Isla and Damien face to face, neither realizes the cruel twist destiny has prepared. Unaware that the child he meets is his own blood, Damien finds himself drawn to Isla, oblivious to the truth lurking beneath their connection. Everything changed, when Isla finally found out that the man she had fallen in love with was the same man that victimized her 15years ago. She was torn between seeking revenge and forgiving him. Fate had it's way and they're finally back together. Lucian finally get to experience a father figure in his life.

Chapter 1 : The Night That changed Everything

The soft hum of the radio filled the small living room as Eleanor stretched out on the worn-out couch, flipping through the pages of a book she had already read a dozen times. The smell of freshly brewed tea lingered in the air, blending with the faint scent of rain seeping through the open window. Across from her, Isla sat curled up in a blanket, her delicate fingers wrapped around a steaming mug.

"You know," Isla murmured, a dreamy smile playing on her lips, "one day, we'll leave this place. Maybe move to the city, start over."

Eleanor chuckled, setting her book down. "And do what? You hate crowds."

Isla rolled her eyes. "I'll adjust. It's just... sometimes, I feel like something is waiting for us out there. A new life."

Eleanor softened. She knew her sister dreamed of bigger things, but reality had always been cruel. Since their parents died, it had been just the two of them, scraping by in a small town where opportunities were few. But as long as they had each other, they survived.

A sudden gust of wind rattled the window, making Isla shiver. "Did you hear that?"

Eleanor glanced at the window. "Just the wind," she reassured.

But Isla's unease lingered.

The night had settled into an eerie silence. Eleanor had fallen asleep on the couch, but a faint creak stirred her awake. Her eyes fluttered open, adjusting to the darkness. Something felt... off.

Then came another sound-a door handle turning.

Her heart pounded. She sat up slowly, straining to hear. Then-a crash. The sound of glass shattering.

"Isla!" Eleanor bolted up just as the front door burst open.

Two figures, dressed in black, stormed inside, their faces masked. Her breath hitched as a third man followed, taller, his stance commanding.

"Stay quiet, and you won't get hurt," one of them growled.

Eleanor's body froze, fear gripping her like ice. Isla stumbled out of her bedroom, her eyes wide with confusion. The men moved fast-one grabbed Eleanor, shoving her against the wall as another lunged for Isla.

"Don't touch her!" Eleanor screamed, thrashing, but a sharp slap sent her crumbling to the floor.

Isla whimpered, struggling as rough hands yanked her away.

"Take what you want and go!" Eleanor pleaded.

A cruel chuckle. "We're taking more than just money, sweetheart."

She saw Isla's terrified eyes just before she was dragged into the other room. The door slammed shut.

"No! Isla!" Eleanor clawed at the floor, but a boot pressed down on her back, pinning her in place.

The sound of muffled sobs. The rustling of clothes. Then silence.

The house was empty when Eleanor finally managed to move. The thieves were gone, leaving destruction in their wake. But nothing compared to the devastation inside the bedroom.

Isla sat curled in the corner, her body trembling, her eyes hollow.

Eleanor rushed to her, gathering her in her arms. "I'm here. It's over. You're safe now."

But Isla didn't speak. She just stared past her, a single tear slipping down her pale cheek.

******

Damien Whitmore was a man who commanded both fear and admiration. At just 34, he had built an empire that stretched across multiple industries-real estate, tech, and finance-turning every venture he touched into gold. His name alone held weight, spoken with either reverence or envy in business circles. His presence in any room was magnetic, not because he sought attention, but because power radiated from him effortlessly.

Standing at 6'3", Damien had the imposing stature of a man who had never lost a battle-broad-shouldered, lean, and always impeccably dressed in tailored suits that screamed quiet luxury. His jet-black hair was always neatly styled, his sharp jawline and piercing icy-blue eyes giving nothing away. He was the kind of man who rarely smiled, and when he did, it was never without purpose. His gaze was intense, almost calculating, as if he could read through a person in seconds and determine their worth.

Despite his wealth, Damien lived a disciplined life. He was not the type to indulge in extravagance for show. His penthouse was minimalist yet opulent, his cars chosen for efficiency rather than flashiness. But what truly set him apart was his absolute disinterest in romance. Women tried-socialites, models, ambitious businesswomen-but none ever caught his attention. He was immune to seduction, seemingly untouchable. Gossip columns whispered about his preferences, questioning if he even desired women at all. Some speculated he had lost a great love in the past, while others believed he simply had no heart for such things.

Among his four younger brothers, Damien stood as the eldest and most accomplished, yet the only one who remained single. His brothers had found love or, at the very least, committed relationships, yet Damien remained an enigma. Some in his family viewed it as unnatural, while others simply accepted that he was married to his work. His late parents had once pressured him to settle down, but with them gone, only one person still voiced such expectations-his grandfather, Richard Whitmore. A formidable man himself, Richard was the only person who could speak to Damien without fear.

But even with his grandfather's insistence, Damien had no intention of changing. Love was a distraction, a liability he had no use for. He was a man of discipline, of strategy, and of control. And if there was one thing he despised, it was anything-or anyone-that threatened to disrupt the empire he had built.

Yet, fate had a way of unsettling even the most immovable men. And Damien Whitmore was about to learn that not everything in life could be controlled.

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