Chapter 32 – The Devil in Velvet Gloves
Chapter 32 – The Devil in Velvet Gloves
The morning sun spilled through the tall windows of Damon’s penthouse, but it brought no warmth. He sat at the edge of the long conference table, sleeves rolled up, eyes bloodshot but sharp. His security chief stood before him, flanked by two IT specialists who looked like they hadn’t slept in days.
“Tell me,” Damon said, voice low but dangerous, “that this isn’t as bad as I think it is.”
The chief exchanged a glance with the younger specialist before speaking. “The breach came through a Trojan, hidden inside a routine update packet. Whoever did this knew your firewalls, your encryption… even your backup redundancy paths. Sir, this wasn’t amateur work. This was surgical.”
Damon’s jaw tightened. “And the folder marked Venice Archives? Was it real?”
The tech nodded grimly. “It was a real archive. But it was never stored locally. Which means the intruder had access to your cloud backups—ones that even your own staff didn’t know existed.”
Damon stood slowly, pushing back the chair with a screech. “So they have everything.”
“Possibly more than that,” the chief said. “Sir, we’re dealing with someone who’s not just interested in ruining you. They’re digging for something specific.”
Damon didn’t answer. He didn’t need to. Because deep in his chest, he already knew what they were after.
Not wealth.
Not status.
The past.
---
Across the city, Aurora stared at her laptop, the private folder labeled Venice Archives pulsing like a wound on the screen. She hadn’t opened it yet.
Luca stood behind her, shirt unbuttoned, coffee in hand. “You sure you want to do this?”
“No,” she said honestly. “But it’s too late to pretend I don’t need to know.”
She clicked the folder.
Inside were dozens of video files. Some labeled by date, others by cryptic code. One, however, stood out immediately.
June 17 – Venice Gala.
She clicked.
The footage opened to a dimly lit ballroom, elegant and crowded. The camera panned until it settled on a younger Damon—more relaxed, less hardened, laughing with a group of men in tuxedos. Then it cut abruptly to a private room.
Damon again. But this time his face was stone.
Another man—tall, older, wearing a red tie—slammed a file onto the desk between them.
“You don’t get to walk away clean,” the man snapped. “This operation fails, and we all go down.”
“You’ll go down because you got greedy,” Damon shot back. “I’m cleaning up your mess.”
“You were in it with me.”
“Not anymore.”
The video ended.
Aurora leaned back slowly, eyes wide. “What the hell was that?”
Luca was already scanning the file names. “These… these aren’t just business deals. This looks like evidence.”
Aurora’s voice caught. “Of what?”
He scrolled. “Corruption. Cover-ups. And worse.” His finger paused on one name. “Aurora… your father’s name is here.”
She froze.
---
Celeste tapped her nails rhythmically on the steering wheel, watching the security van parked outside Damon’s estate. She wasn’t surprised by the breach—but she was surprised by the timing.
She’d meant to wait before involving herself further. But now, it seemed the game had changed.
She dialed a number.
It rang once.
Then a voice answered.
“You’ve decided to get involved.”
“I want to know what your endgame is,” she said coldly. “Because I’m not about to get dragged into a vendetta that isn’t mine.”
The voice on the other end chuckled. “Oh, Celeste. It is yours. You just haven’t realized it yet.”
The line went dead.
She threw the phone onto the passenger seat, fury simmering beneath her carefully composed exterior. Whoever was behind this had reached too far.
And now, she wasn’t just a bystander.
She was a target.
---
In a quiet corner of the villa, Damon sat in front of his old safe—one of the few things untouched by technology. He turned the dial with methodical precision. Inside, beneath layers of forged documents and family heirlooms, was a simple manila envelope.
He opened it slowly.
Inside was a single photograph.
Aurora’s father. His own father. And the man in the red tie.
Standing together in front of a yacht.
Damon stared at it long and hard.
They were younger. Smiling. Triumphant.
He remembered the night well. A deal brokered between powerful men. A secret kept by blood and silence.
And a girl—barely seventeen—who had walked in on more than she should have.
Aurora.
He had tried to bury it. Protect her. Distance himself. But the past had claws.
And now it had come to collect.
---
Meanwhile, Aurora sat frozen beside Luca, scrolling through the rest of the folder.
Emails.
Transcripts.
Photos.
Her entire childhood, reframed through secrets she wasn’t supposed to see.
Her voice came out hollow. “My father… he was involved in something big. Something dangerous.”
Luca put a hand on hers. “Whatever it was, you didn’t know.”
“I should have,” she whispered. “Damon did. That’s why he tried to keep me away. All this time… he wasn’t pushing me away because he hated me.”
“He was protecting you.”
She closed the laptop.
“But he never told me the truth.”
---
That night, the lights of Milan glittered with deceptive beauty.
Celeste met Damon at the rooftop bar of the Vellani Hotel. They didn’t sit. Didn’t order drinks.
“You know this won’t end clean,” she said.
“I’m not looking for clean,” he replied. “I’m looking for whoever started this.”
“I have a name. Not a full one. Just a codename.”
Damon waited.
“The Red Whisper. That’s who left the seal on the envelope. They don’t just leak secrets. They destroy dynasties.”
Damon’s eyes narrowed. “Then I guess it’s time to build a new one. From the ashes.”
---
At a warehouse on the outskirts of the city, a woman in red gloves placed a phone on the table. She watched as the video of Aurora and Luca played.
“She’s starting to see it,” she murmured. “Good. Let her.”
Then she turned to the second screen.
Damon’s face filled it.
Her lips curved into a smile.
“Let them both burn.”