Chapter 2 Fifteen Years Promise

FIFTEEN YEARS LATER!

The city looked beautiful from this height. Beautiful and utterly meaningless.

From the top floor of his penthouse tower, Damian Cole watched the skyline glitter in the night.

Once, the sight of the city had made him ache with longing. Now, it was just another chessboard... and he had become the one who moved the pieces.

The man staring back at him in the reflection of the glass hardly resembled the broken boy who had once screamed oaths of vengeance into a storm.

Sinfully handsome... Broad shoulders in his tailored suit, sharp jaws, and his gaze was sharper than a blade... so cold.

Even in stillness, he radiated control... the kind of control only forged through fire, loss, and the refusal to ever again be powerless.

Behind him, the suite was silent as a cemetery. The air smelled faintly of leather and expensive whiskey.

On the glass table, a folder lay open with a photograph.

Elena Lancaster.

His enemy's daughter.

The picture was a press shot taken at a charity gala. She was smiling, her head tilted back in laughter, her long dark hair spilling over her shoulders.

Something in her expression seemed... unguarded. As though, for one fleeting moment, she believed the world wasn't a dangerous place.

Damian studied the curve of her lips, the spark in her eyes, and something twisted unpleasantly in his chest. He shoved it down.

She was Victor Lancaster's daughter. Nothing more. His sister would have been living and laughing like that if that monster hadn't ruined her.

The sound of a door opening behind him broke his thoughts. Marcus stepped in, closing the door quietly.

Damian didn't turn, but he felt the weight of his friend's eyes on him.

"It's done," Marcus said. "The threats were delivered. A few carefully staged accidents, a letter slipped into her car, and one left in her dressing room at that art event last week.

Victor is rattled as you've predicted. He's demanding additional security."

"Good," Damian murmured, still staring at Elena's photo.

"I also made sure your résumé landed on his desk first," Marcus said.

Finally, Damian turned. His eyes, dark and unyielding, locked on Marcus. "And?"

"And he'll hire you. He won't think twice about it. To him, you're just another highly trained ghost who's worked in private security for elite clients. He won't question why you keep your past so clean." Marcus paused. "But I do."

Damian raised a brow.

Marcus's tone softened, though his gaze stayed sharp. "We've been brothers in arms a long time, Damian. I was there when you first swore your vengeance. I helped you build everything. But tell me this... after all these years, after everything you've gained... why are you still chasing the past? You could disappear tonight and live like a king anywhere in the world. Can't you put the past behind you?"

Silence stretched between them, which made Marcus a little uncomfortable.

Damian finally spoke, his voice low and cold. "Because Victor Lancaster still breathes. Until I send him to my Dad and sister, I won't be able to live! My life is no longer mine. That day... I died."

Marcus studied him, then gave a resigned nod. He knew better than to argue.

But Damian wasn't finished. He stepped closer, his expression hard. "He took everything from me. My father's blood. My sister's innocence. My mother's sanity. Do you think wealth or power can erase that? Do you think walking away will silence the screams in my head?"

For a moment, the mask he always put on slipped. The boy who had once knelt in his father's blood flickered in Damian's eyes. Then it was gone, replaced once again by the man of iron.

"This isn't about money. It's not about winning. It's about vengeance," Damian said coldly. "He destroyed my family. Now I'll destroy his."

Marcus exhaled heavily. "And the girl?"

The question landed like a dart. Damian's eyes flicked back to the photograph on the table. Elena's smile seemed to taunt him. Pure... Untouched... A lie.

"She's a pawn," he said flatly. "Through her, Victor will bleed."

"I will always be here for you, Dame. You know that." Marcus said, and when Damian nodded, he left his suite without a word.

Damian stopped speaking more than a few words. And Marcus respected that.

But later, alone, Damian found sleep impossible. He lay in the darkness, one arm draped across his chest, staring at the ceiling. Every time he closed his eyes, the photograph reappeared. Not Victor's sneering face. Not the blood. Not his father's eyes.

Elena's smile. It reminded him of his sister.

It unsettled him in ways he hadn't felt in years. Warmth was dangerous. Light was dangerous. And he couldn't afford to show mercy to his enemies.

---

The Lancaster estate was a fortress.

High walls of iron rose to cover the entire mansion. Security cameras were everywhere. Armed guards patrolled the gates, their faces blank, but their eyes alert. It was the home of a man who had made countless enemies and lived in constant paranoia.

And in the center of it all stood Elena.

From the marble steps of the grand entryway, she watched the chaos unfold. Men barked orders into radios, checked perimeters, and tightened patrol routes. It all felt like a performance... not for her safety but for her father's image.

Elena hated it.

She crossed her arms over her chest in frustration.

Her blue silk blouse shimmered in the light, elegant yet understated, but her expression was weary.

At twenty-four, she had learned to hide her frustration behind polite smiles, but today, her mask faltered.

"I don't need this many guards," she said to the butler, standing at her side. Her voice was soft but carried a frustrated edge. "It's suffocating. I can't even breathe without a shadow following me."

"Your father insists,"Young Miss," the butler replied gently. "There have been... threats recently."

"Yes," Elena said bitterly, "there are always threats. Funny how they never come when I'm at the orphanage or the shelters, but only when Father makes a new enemy."

The butler wisely said nothing.

Elena sighed, rubbing her temples. She wanted freedom just once... to walk the city streets without bodyguards, to paint in peace without worrying about someone lurking behind her. She wanted a life that wasn't dictated by Victor Lancaster's paranoia.

But wanting had never changed anything.

"Young Miss," the butler said after a moment, "your new personal bodyguard has arrived."

Elena groaned quietly. Another one. The last had been stiff, humorless, and obsessed with protocol.

Before him, another who had treated her like porcelain. And before that, one who looked at her with hunger in his eyes, as though her father's money made her his prize.

She turned, prepared to offer a polite smile and nothing more.

But she froze. Because the man walking toward her was... different.

He moved like someone who knew how to fight, not just for show. There was no arrogance in his stride, only control.

His black suit fitted him perfectly, yet he carried himself like a soldier, not a businessman. His eyes... cold, unreadable, sharp enough to slice through her defenses. And he's ridiculously and sinfully handsome!

"This is Mr. Cole," the butler said. "He comes highly recommended."

The man inclined his head slightly. "Miss Lancaster."

His voice was low, smooth, but carried an undertone that made something in Elena's chest tighten. It was... coldness.

Elena took her time to study him. But he didn't look at her like the others had. No hunger. No pity. Not even awe. Just... blank!

He looked at her as though he could see past the silk blouse and polite smile, straight into the parts of herself she kept hidden from the world.

And that unsettled her more than she cared to admit.