Chapter : 1 Damien

"The Q2 revenue has grown by 8%, but margins declined due to higher logistics costs. Should we revise our pricing strategy or optimize supply chain expenses?” Mr. Rhodes asked.

He has been a constant presence since the beginning of this company—for many years he has been responsible for oversight and strategic direction.

“Both options need to be evaluated carefully. The margin pressure is primarily driven by a temporary spike in logistics costs—fuel prices and distribution inefficiencies have contributed significantly this quarter, and the time we have for this is by the end of April..."

The rest is fully blacked out. I can’t hear anything my CFO, Evan, is saying. The only words stuck in my mind are the end of April—the 30th.

The date doesn’t echo—it sinks in. Hooks into something buried. Something I spent ten years suffocating. The day everything broke. Or maybe—The day I did. The kind you don’t come back from.It’s been a decade—ten years to be exact. I have never turned back after that. Never allowed myself to even think about it for too long. But this time… it’s different.

I can’t do what I did before—hide, disappear, bury it deep enough that it stops breathing. Hoping everything would go back to normal. Nothing ever went back to normal. If I had been a bit more careful…

if I had stayed…

She might—

“Mr. Voss, what do you think about this?” My head snaps slightly, the room coming back into focus.

Evan is watching me carefully. Not concerned—he knows better than that—but observant. My CFO. The man I trust with my company. Not my life—never that—but enough. I tolerate him. That’s more than most people get. I can spend an entire day with him without imagining his death in detail. That counts as trust in my world.

“I asked for your opinion.” Of course he did.  I lean back slightly, folding my hands together, expression neutral.

“Optimize logistics first,” I say calmly.

“Raising prices invites unnecessary attention.” A pause. Attention is dangerous. People nod. Agreement spreads like obedience. I could tell them anything. They would follow. They always do.

My penthouse overlooks Los Angeles—high enough that everything beneath it feels… insignificant. Small lights. Small people. Small lives. I own pieces of this city. Enough to break it, if I wanted. Sometimes I wonder how long it would take. Not long. Control isn’t given. It’s taken. Built. Maintained. Enforced. And I am very good at enforcement. But it’s not the same as what I used to feel cack then. That kind was warmer. Stronger. Powerful. Before everything turned cold. Here, I am a gentleman—dressed in suits from top to bottom, perfect, no imperfections.

No past.

No weakness.

It’s been 12 years since I founded my company. Twelve years disguised as a sheep in a suit. The kind people trust. The kind that hides the wolf well.

The lift to my penthouse beeps with a soft ping, announcing the arrival of a guest—reminding me I’m not alone.

Still playing the part.

Sara . She has been here more than a couple of times—she knows the way. No hesitation. No questions.

For a model like her, she carries herself effortlessly. Lean, elegant—long limbs, subtle curves, a kind of poise that makes even stillness look intentional.

She walks toward me and falls to her knees without wasting a second. She knows the rules. Everyone does, eventually. She starts to unbutton my pants, her touch practiced, detached.

It’s been a long day—board meetings, phone calls, negotiations that require smiles and lies in equal measure. I like everything organized, controlled, predictable. People are none of those things. That’s why I manage them.

I spent my entire day talking, thinking, calculating. I need release pleasure, not connection. Just silence in my head, even if it lasts a few minutes. Sara is good for that.

No strings.

No emotions.

No history.

No ghosts.

In the end, we both get what we need without anyone getting hurt. Or at least, without anything that matters getting hurt. After a long, exhausting session, she leaves. Just like she always does. No lingering. No looking back.

Smart girl.

I walk out of my ensuite to the liquor cabinet, and I pour bourbon into a glass. Watch the liquid settle.

Dark.

Smooth.

Deceptive.

Like everything else in this city, Like me. the glass feels heavier than it should. Or maybe my thoughts are. I walk toward the large, covered window. Floor-to-ceiling glass, tinted. The city stretches endlessly beneath me—alive, loud, untouchable, fake. It shines, even in the middle of the night.

It reminds me of Kings Land. Beautiful on the outside. Rotting underneath. It never stops pretending. Staring out, I let my thoughts wander—something I usually avoid. It’s been a complicated week. A dangerous one.

My phone beeps from the side table. One look at the screen—and something shifts. Without effort, without thought… I smile. The first real one in a long time.

It’s my brother.

“Well… to what do I owe this great honour? You calling me first? Must be something serious.”

Lucian chuckles on the other end, smooth as ever.

We’ve always been close. Just two years apart. After I left home, he followed not long after.

Started fresh—just like me. Or at least, tried to.

The three of us—me, Lucian, and Ronan. Always together. Two-year gaps, but no distance between us.

We shared everything. Even the things we shouldn’t have. Being away from them… it leaves something unfinished inside me. Something restless. So even this—this simple call—it steadies me.

But this time… this time of the year—

I already know. Before he even says it.

“I was thinking… maybe this time we all go back. Together. To Kings Land.”

There it is.

A pause. Then he continues quickly—

“And before you shut it down—I was planning to propose to Mira. I want you there. Both of you. You and Ronan.”

Mira.

The only constant he never let go of. She stayed in Kings Land. Even after everything. Even after we left.

I thought distance would break them. It didn’t.

She stayed. She belongs there.

We don’t. Not anymore.

I know what this really is. Not just a proposal. Not just a visit.

It’s a return.

To what we left behind.

To what was taken.

To what should have been ours.

They want it back.

But they won’t move without me.

They never do.

Because I’m the one, kings land is mine. I am the king

“You know what my answer is,” I say, my voice colder now.

“Take her somewhere else. Anywhere else. I’ll be there. But not Kings.” Too sharp. I hear it myself. But I don’t take it back.

“I talked to Ronan before calling you,” Lucian says, quieter now.

“He’s in. But without you… I’m not doing this. You know what she means to me.” Yeah. I know. I know what it means to lose someone in that place. I know what it costs. My grip tightens slightly around the glass.

For a second—just a second—I see it again.

A door half open.

A voice calling my name.

And me… walking away.

I blink, and it’s gone.

“I can’t,” I say finally. Lower this time. Not sharp—just final.

“Not there.”

A pause stretches between us. Heavy. Familiar. We talk a little longer after that—about nothing important. Business. Random things. Anything but the past.

Anything but April 30th.

Anything but there.

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