A ghost of the past

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

aying on her lips, "one day, we'll leave thi

g her book down. "And do

just... sometimes, I feel like something

en cruel. Since their parents died, it had been just the two of them, scraping by in a sm

ed the window, making Isla

he window. "Just the

s unease

sleep on the couch, but a faint creak stirred her awake. Her eyes

er sound-a door

wly, straining to hear. Then-a cr

ed up just as the fr

their faces masked. Her breath hitched as a thi

u won't get hurt,"

her bedroom, her eyes wide with confusion. The men moved fast-one gra

med, thrashing, but a sharp slap

uggling as rough ha

want and go!" E

re taking more than j

t before she was dragged into the

floor, but a boot pressed down o

sobs. The rustling of

The thieves were gone, leaving destruction in their wake.

corner, her body trem

ing her in her arms. "I'm her

t stared past her, a single te

**

s-real estate, tech, and finance-turning every venture he touched into gold. His name alone held weight, spoken with either reverence or envy

eamed 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 sm

t 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

s, 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,

, a liability he had no use for. He was a man of discipline, of strategy, and of control. And if there

movable men. And Damien Whitmore was about to lear