His Love Her Revenge

Damien Blackwood stood by the floor-to-ceiling windows of his penthouse office, his sharp eyes fixed on the skyline of Manhattan. The sun dipped low behind the buildings, casting golden light across the city, but Damien saw none of it. His thoughts were elsewhere-always moving, always calculating.

The silence in the office was perfect. He liked it that way. It was the only place he could think without interruption. No noise. No mess. Just numbers, deals, and control.

Behind him, the clock ticked softly.

He turned away from the window and walked to his desk-sleek, black marble with not a single paper out of place. A fresh file waited at the center. His assistant must've dropped it off while he was on the phone earlier. He opened it with one hand, scanning the first few lines.

Merger proposal – Easton Media Group.

His jaw tightened.

Easton.

That name still stirred something in him. Not emotion-he buried those long ago-but memory. He remembered the man behind Easton Media. Jonathan Sinclair. A businessman who once stood tall in the industry before collapsing under the weight of a bad investment... one that Damien himself had greenlit.

He dropped the file and pushed it aside.

That was a long time ago. A necessary decision. Nothing personal. Business never was.

Still, the past had a way of crawling back, even when he wanted it dead and buried.

A buzz came from the intercom.

"Mr. Blackwood," his assistant's voice crackled, "Mr. Bennett is here for your 6 p.m. briefing."

"Send him in," Damien said, his voice low and steady.

The door opened a second later. Charles Bennett, his longtime advisor and closest thing to a friend, stepped in with his usual calm energy and crisp grey suit.

"You look like you've seen a ghost," Charles said, raising an eyebrow as he took the seat opposite Damien.

"Easton Media is trying to merge," Damien said, his tone flat. "They must be desperate."

"Actually, they're bouncing back. A new investor stepped in last year. Young, ambitious. There's buzz around their rebranding."

Damien didn't answer right away. He opened the file again and flipped through the pages. Somewhere deep in the fine print, the name Sinclair appeared again.

He stared at it. Something pulled at him, like a thread waiting to unravel.

"Do we know who's managing the company now?" Damien asked.

Charles hesitated. "Not yet. But I'll have a name by morning."

"Good. I want everything-background, education, deals made, partners, enemies. Leave nothing out."

"You think it's personal?"

Damien didn't respond. He just closed the file, leaned back, and stared at the skyline again.

Sometimes the past didn't stay buried. Sometimes, it clawed its way back in the form of names you thought you'd never hear again.

Later that night, Damien walked into his apartment. High above the city, surrounded by glass walls and dim lights, his home was quiet-expensive, cold, and empty.

He loosened his tie and tossed it onto the couch. He walked straight to the bar, poured himself two fingers of whiskey, and downed it in one shot.

He'd built his empire from the ground up. No shortcuts. No favors. Every contract, every acquisition, every dollar had been earned-sometimes with blood, sometimes with broken promises. People didn't understand that. They called him ruthless. Heartless.

They weren't wrong.

Love? Relationships? Family?

They were weaknesses. And he didn't have time for weakness.

He stared at a photo on the wall-a black-and-white shot of the old Blackwood Holdings building, the first office he'd bought. Back then, he'd been hungry. Broke. Angry.