CHAPTER 249

**DAMIEN**

I slumped on the edge of the worn leather chair, the deep gash in my side throbbing with every heartbeat. 

The blood had clotted in some spots, but the sting screamed at me, a sharp reminder that I’d come dangerously close to not making it out alive. I pressed the rag tighter against the wound, tasting iron in my mouth, my mind spinning with what had just happened.

Across the room, he poured whiskey like water, the amber liquid catching the flicker of the single overhead bulb. 

He didn’t look at me, didn’t blink. 

Just watched. 

Always watching. 

Like he could see every thought crawling through my head.

“We’ve wasted enough time with your dumb-ass messages and pranks,” he said, voice low and dangerous. 

“It’s time for the finale.”

I flinched, but didn’t look up. 

I knew the words were true. 

Too much time had been lost.

“You know that FBI bitch won’t be fooled for long, right?” he continued, leaning back against the wall, glass in hand.

“She’s not stupid,” he said, leaning back against the wall, the glass a dull glint in his hand. 

“That FBI bitch—you can’t hide from her nose. She’ll pick at the crumbs until the whole thing unravels. The more we terrorise the girl, the more obvious the pattern becomes. You were supposed to finish her tonight. Slice her throat, vanish. Clean. Effective. Instead, you come back with a scrap of flesh and a story about ‘close calls.’ You almost blew the whole operation.”

“I know. I fucking know,” I spat, the words scraping my throat raw. 

“I disarmed the alarm. I timed the patrols. I had the route mapped. I was in her room. I was right there—”

He waved me off with the kind of bored contempt that felt like salt in a new wound. 

“Yeah, yeah—you were close. You were brave. You were reckless. There’s a difference and you blurred the line. We’re not playing at heroism, Damien. This isn’t a fantasy where bravado gets you the girl and a medal afterwards. This is careful. This is surgical. You almost lost us everything because you let your head fill with heat.”

He tipped his glass, slow and deliberate, the smirk in his voice like a blade.

“Do better. Or don’t come at all. We’re past the games. Either you tighten up — or you’re the reason the whole thing collapses and that FBI bitch peels Winter apart and finds us threaded through it all.”

“Zion had a fucking backup alarm,” I spat, voice flat and sour. 

“One we both fucking missed. One I didn’t even know I’d have to hack. Because of him. Because that blinding idiot can’t leave anything to chance where she’s concerned. Obsessed—protective to the point of stupid. Like a goddamn guard dog slobbering over his bone.”

Bile rose in my throat. It wasn’t just the alarm. It was everything he stood for—the show, the applause, the way he paraded his righteousness while the rest of us did the hard work in the dark. 

I’d planned to clean. I’d been careful. I’d counted the hours and the patrols and the blind spots. 

Then Zion waltzes in with his halo and his backup and smashes the shadow I’d spent months carving.

Do you know what that feels like? 

To have the one loose wire you didn’t know existed pulled taut by some golden-boy saviour who gets to smile while your entire night combusts? I wanted to tear his smug face off and stuff it in the gutter. 

He cost me everything tonight—timing, advantage, the one clean chance—and for what? 

So he could be her knight again, so he could stand in the light and make us the villains.

“When it comes to that girl, Zion’s relentless. Always has been. Even as a kid, she followed her around like some pathetic little puppy. Starry-eyed, all that stupid, lovesick shit. You could see it in his eyes. Like a kid who’s watched too many fairy tales and decided he’s the prince.”

The words crawled under my skin. 

I hated him talking about Zion like that—like he was some neat little toy you could pluck apart and study. I swallowed the bile and spat back before I could temper it. 

“Don’t know why every guy’s so obsessed with that bitch,” I snapped, voice raw. 

“It’s like she sprinkles whatever the fuck she’s made of over people and they forget how to think. Even Ethan—Jesus, even Ethan. He worshipped her like she was the only thing that mattered.”

My fist found the edge of the table and slammed down so hard the cheap wood screamed. 

The pictures on the corner jumped; old Polaroids slid and hit the floor. 

Pain flared in my palm and I barely felt it. 

“He’d talk about her all the time,” I went on, breath ragged, tone a dangerous whisper. 

“Every goddamn conversation circled back to Winter. Like clockwork. He’d complain about her, brag about her, like she was some shiny fucking trophy only he had the right to touch. 

And the sick part? He was wanted for molesting her—her screams should’ve been the end of it—but no, Ethan still wanted her. 

Didn’t matter what it cost, didn’t matter who got burned. He wanted her body, wanted another taste. Uncaring. Always uncaring.

And me? I was right there. Right fucking there. 

Ethan and I—we were supposed to be together. 

He fucking knew what he meant to me.

He knew I loved him. 

He said he loved me too, whispered it against my skin, swore I was the only one. 

But he never wanted the world to see it. 

He never wanted the world to know he liked men, that he liked me. 

I was his dirty little secret, something to fuck in the dark and bury in silence come daylight.

But Winter? 

Winter he could name in every room. Winter, he could laugh about, talk about, obsess over—like I was invisible, like I was less than nothing. 

Her name on his lips when it should’ve been mine. Her ghost was between us every time he touched me. And it drove me insane. Because how the fuck do you compete with someone who ruins everything just by existing?”

The other man watched me with that thin smile, the one that always looked pleased when something broke. He lifted an eyebrow. 

“You were obsessed with him”, he said, amused. 

“You and Zion both. Different breeds, same disease.”

“Different?” I snapped, the word ripping out of me like a curse.

“Zion—he’s got that big, stupid, full-throttle bullshit. Loud, clumsy, all teeth and noise. Thinks the world bends because he’s a Royal. Chases after what he wants like a spoiled fucking dog, puffing his chest, showing off.” 

I leaned forward, my jaw tight, my hands twitching like they couldn’t find something to break. 

“But me? I don’t roar. I don’t strut. I burn. Quiet. Slow. Until everything else is gone. Until the only thing left inside me is that one thing—and it eats me alive, until I can’t breathe, can’t think, can’t see anything else.”

The crack in my voice betrayed me, but I didn’t stop. My teeth ground together. 

“He preens in the open. I rot in the dark. Don’t you dare fucking compare us.”

The man let out a low laugh, sharp and cutting, swirling the whiskey in his glass. 

“Pathetic,” he said, almost lazily. 

“You let that bastard Ethan crawl under your skin. You actually thought he loved you? He was never going to choose you, Damien. You were his dirty fix, nothing more. And you knew it.”

He leaned forward, eyes gleaming. 

“So you did the right thing. He would’ve ruined everything—running his mouth, thinking with his cock instead of his head. He was sloppy, impatient, and weak. Just like my other son. Always blinded by that girl.”

The man sneered, his voice dropping into a growl. 

“Ethan was a liability. Useless. And you did what had to be done. Don’t pretend it wasn’t necessary. You cut out the rot before it spreads. You showed him mercy by ending it.”

“I didn’t want to fucking kill him… I loved him.”

He drained his glass like the words were a joke, set it down with a soft, contemptuous clink, and didn’t even blink.

“Loved him?” he said, slow and flat, amusement curling the edge of his tone. 

“Yeah, sure—so you loved him right into the ground. You slaughtered him, Damien. You turned your love into a knife. That’s not tragic. That’s dangerous.”

I froze. Fuck. 

I could feel the old anger curling, coiling tight in my chest. 

“You think I wanted to kill him?” I muttered, voice low, rough, shaking with a mixture of rage and shame.

“Killing him wasn’t in the plan,” I continued, almost whispering now, 

"I loved him, for fuck’s sake. But he made me do it. Goddamn it, he kept yapping about Winter. Winter this, Winter that. Every damn word out of his mouth. When he knew I loved him—loved the fuck out of him—and still… still all he could talk about was her. As if I didn’t exist! As if I didn’t matter. Fucking hell, I tried to ignore it, I did! But every time he laughed about her, every time he breathed her name… I snapped.”

**FLASHBACK**

*As he thrust into me, I felt a surge of pain and anger. It was a brutal, almost punishing rhythm, each thrust a reminder of his indifference. He kept murmuring her name, his voice a low, seductive hum.* 

*"Winter," he groaned,* 

*Fuck.. he's still thinking about her!*

*"I can't wait to feel you again."*

*His hands gripped my hips, his fingers digging into my flesh as he drove deeper, harder.* 

*"Fuck, Winter," he gasped, his voice thick with desire.* 

*I felt a wave of jealousy and anger crash over me.* 

*How could he compare me to her?* 

*How could he use me like this, as if I were nothing more than a warm body to sate his lust?* 

*I was more than that.* 

*He continued to move inside me, his rhythm steady and relentless.* 

*"Winter," he moaned, his voice a low, desperate sound.* 

*"I need to feel you. I need to taste you, to touch you, to be inside you."*

*I clenched my teeth, trying to hold back the tears of humiliation and rage.* 

*He was using me, and he knew it.* 

*He revelled in it.* 

*Each time he said her name, it was like a slap in the face, a cruel reminder of how little I meant to him.*

*I felt tears sting my eyes, but I refused to let them fall.* 

*I would not cry for him, not anymore.* 

*I would not let him see how much he was hurting me. I bit my lip, tasting blood, and focused on the pain, on the anger.*

*He reached around, his fingers finding my most sensitive spot, and I couldn't help but gasp.* 

*"That's it," he encouraged, his voice a low, seductive purr.* 

*"Let go. Let me make you feel good."*

*But I couldn't.* 

*Not with her name on his lips, not with the knowledge that he was using me, that he was thinking of her. I pushed his hand away, my body tensing.* 

*"Stop," I whispered, my voice hoarse with emotion.* 

*"Just stop."*

*But he didn't.* 

*He continued to move inside me, his hips thrusting against mine, his breath coming in ragged gasps.* 

*"Winter," he moaned, his voice a low, desperate plea.*

*"I need you. I need to feel you wrapped around me."*

*His movements became more frantic, more desperate. He was chasing his pleasure, using me as a vessel for his lust.* 

*I felt a sob build in my chest, but I swallowed it down, replacing it with a cold, hard resolve.* 

*I would not be his plaything any longer.* 

*I would not be the one left behind, the one he discarded when he was done. I would make him pay for his indifference, for his cruelty. And as he reached his climax, her name still on his lips, I knew what I had to do.*

*"Fuck, yes," he groaned, his body tensing as he neared his climax.* 

*"Winter, I'm going to come so hard for you."*

*I felt his release, hot and sticky, inside me. He collapsed on top of me, his body heavy and satiated.* 

*"That was good," he murmured, his voice lazy and content.* 

*"But I need better...I fucking need my cock in Winter... ."*

*I lay there, feeling the weight of my humiliation.* 

*He had used me, and he didn't even care. I was just a stand-in, a poor imitation of the woman he truly wanted.* 

*As I listened to his soft snores, I felt a cold, hard resolve settle over me. I would not be his plaything any longer.* 

*I would not be the one left behind, the one he discarded when he was done.*

*I slipped out of bed, my movements silent and precise.* 

*I picked up the knife from the nightstand, its blade glinting in the moonlight.* 

*I stood over him, watching his chest rise and fall with each breath. He was so vulnerable, so trusting. But I was beyond trust now. I was beyond everything.*

*I raised the knife, my hand steady despite the storm of emotions raging inside me. I would make him pay for his indifference, for his cruelty.* 

*I would make him understand what it felt like to be used, to be discarded.* 

*And as the blade descended, I whispered her name, a final, bitter curse.* 

*"Winter. I fucking hate you."*

*Later, I had curled into a ball, shaking, sobbing, whispering,* 

*“I didn’t mean to… I didn’t mean to, Ethan… I’m sorry… I’m sorry…”*

*.....*