Damian would never forget the day they lowered Saira into the earth. Clad in a tailored black suit that did little to shield him from the oppressive summer heat, he stepped out of the limousine alongside Chloe, her hand entwined with his—a lifeline in a sea of turmoil.

The sun blazed overhead, casting elongated shadows that danced eerily among the tombstones of Saint Mary's Cemetery. Damian slid on his dark sunglasses, not to fend off the glare but to conceal the storm raging in his eyes.

Behind those dark lenses, redness betrayed sleepless nights and anguished tears. Damian's vision burned, raw with the pain of losing a parent who had never been one. The boy inside him wept for the one he had always wished for.

The mother who never was.

A breeze whispered through the grounds, carrying the cloying scent of white lilies surrounding the polished mahogany casket. The sweetness turned Damian's stomach, contrasting the bitterness lodged in his throat. Despite the sweltering day, a shiver traced his spine, settling deep within his bones.

Chloe's grip tightened, her nails pressing gently into his arm, grounding him. Cameras clicked incessantly, each flash a stark reminder of the world watching, judging. Murmurs rippled through the crowd, speculative eyes lingering on him—the heir to Saira Quinn's enigmatic legacy.

A lean priest in crisp vestments stepped forward, his voice rising in solemn cadence. He spoke of life's ephemeral nature and the promise of eternity. Damian believed in neither God nor the devil today, despite his stepmother's Catholic influence.

Suddenly, he saw a man standing apart—a hulking figure with slick silver hair and eyes like shards of ice.

Mike Marino.

Angelo Lucciano's nemesis. Despite Angelo's ventures into the underworld, he had drawn a line at sex trafficking, working with Alistair and the police to dismantle Saira's dark empire. Mike, however, was the man who fed that empire, delivering boys and girls into Saira's clutches.

The man was filth.

Marino's lips curved into a smile that didn't reach his eyes, a predator acknowledging its prey. Leaning closer, Chloe adjusted her Chanel handbag and whispered, "Who is that guy? The way he's staring at us gives me the creeps."

"Mike Marino," Damian replied, his jaw tightening. "He was close to my mother—dangerous, ruthless. She trusted him with things she never told anyone else, not even me."

Chloe's brows furrowed while she watched the man smile at the photographers. "He relishes the media attention. What's his angle?"

Damian's expression hardened, a granite mask of control. Mike had been more than a business associate; he had been one of Saira's lovers, a looming shadow over Damian's childhood, still casting its pall over his life.

"He's here to remind everyone—and me—that my mother's influence didn't die with her," Damian said, his voice low. "Angelo informed Uncle Nick about Mike's dealings with Gemma's father when my mother was in prison. Rochefort's influence infiltrated the police and beyond, bending the law to his will. Mike isn't pleased because I've rejected the path they laid out for me."

Before Chloe could respond, the priest's eulogy crescendoed, lauding Saira's virtues—a woman of strength and indomitable will. Each word felt like a needle, pricking at wounds Damian tried to ignore. He squeezed Chloe's hand, drawing strength from her steady presence.

Mourners began to disperse after the final amen, their whispered condolences blending into the ambient hum. Mike Marino remained. He moved toward Damian with the deliberate grace of a leopard, his approach slow and measured.

"Damian," he intoned smoothly, eyes glinting. "A poignant service."

"It was unforgettable," Damian replied, his posture stiffening.

Mike glanced at Chloe, a flicker of disdain evident. "I see you've deviated from the path your mother envisioned. The Rochefort alliance had... potential."

Chloe bristled, but Damian's hand on hers steadied them both. "Saira's plans died with her," he answered. "I chart my own course now."

A cold chuckle escaped Mike's lips. "Be careful, Damian. Ghosts have a way of lingering, influencing the living in unexpected ways."

Without waiting for a retort, Mike turned, merging into the throng, leaving a trail of unease in his wake.

Chloe exhaled, releasing the tension she had been holding. "What did he mean?"

Damian watched Mike's silhouette recede, a storm brewing in his eyes. "He doesn't like that I've chosen my path instead of my mother's. The battles we thought buried aren't over. I'll burn more of my mother's garbage. But not now."

***

The elevator doors whispered open, revealing Alistair and Vera's penthouse—a sanctuary where timeless luxury courted modern elegance. Polished marble floors stretched beneath the soft glow of crystal chandeliers, their light dancing across floor-to-ceiling windows that framed the glittering expanse of Lester Harbor's skyline.

As Damian and Chloe stepped into the grand foyer, the thick scent of fresh-cut roses infiltrated their nostrils. Vera swept into view, her sleek gray suit tailored to perfection, looking as though she'd just stepped out of the pages of Vogue.

"I couldn't bring myself to the funeral," Vera admitted. Her eyes, a mirror of the pain she felt inside, lingered on Damian. "But I hope you managed okay."

She pulled him into a tight embrace, her touch conveying what her words couldn't. When she turned to Chloe, the hug was just as warm, with an added sense of approval that felt almost like a blessing.

"Come," Vera said, her tone shifting to something lighter, "let's head over to the sitting room. My brother and his wife are visiting my mother this week—they're here now."

Damian's eyes sparked with a glimmer of surprise. "Julian?"

"And Sapphire," Vera added before turning to Chloe. "Saph and I were best friends in college. I introduced her to my brother, not knowing he was already involved with Damian's mother. It's a story with its dark twists."

Chloe returned the smile with interest. "One day, I'd love to hear it."

Vera's eyes darkened, a shadow passing through her gaze. "You'll need a strong stomach."

Damian led Chloe into the sitting room, an elegant space that balanced comfort with sophistication. Dark leather armchairs were arranged around a stone fireplace, while mahogany bookshelves lined with first editions gave the room a scholarly air. The scent of old leather mingled with a hint of sandalwood, grounding the space in a sense of timeless luxury.

A tall bearded man stood by the window, the sunlight casting a halo around his silver hair. Julian's broad shoulders and commanding presence grew stronger with age, yet there was a gentleness in how his arm rested around the woman beside him. Sapphire's porcelain skin seemed to glow against the dark fabric of her dress, and her eyes—a piercing, brilliant blue—radiated a confidence that dared anyone to challenge her.

"Well, if it isn't the good professor," Damian greeted, his grin breaking through the remnants of the day's sorrow. The years between them melted away, leaving only their bond of friendship.

A deep, rich chuckle escaped Julian's lips when he pulled Damian into a solid and tender hug. "Damian," he spoke like a father appraising a son. "You've grown into Alistair's likeness more with each passing year. But I still see the boy I once knew right there in your eyes."

"And look at you," Damian shot back, playful yet sincere. "A family man. Who would've thought?"

Sapphire stepped forward, her smile sharp. "Damian, you've got the look of love in your eyes. And who's this stunning woman?"

Chloe extended a hand, which Sapphire took, her grip firm. "Chloe Carter."

Like twin blue gemstones, Sapphire's eyes assessed Chloe with a shrewdness that only softened when she nodded. "Damian's girlfriend, I presume? Vera's mentioned you. Smart, savvy, grounded—just what this one needs," she said, casting a knowing look at Damian. "And from what I hear, the first girlfriend Vera hasn't disapproved of."

Vera, who had been observing with a faint smile, spoke up. "You're a breath of fresh air, Chloe. Truly."

Sapphire laughed softly, a melodic sound that filled the ambiance with ease. "I want to hear more about you, Chloe. How did you manage to capture Damian's attention?" She linked her arm through Chloe's, gently leading her toward the living room. "Come, let's chat. I'm dying to know everything."

As Vera and Sapphire swept Chloe away, Damian found himself alone with Julian, who motioned for him to sit beside the bookcase.

"It's been too long," Damian said, settling into the plush chair. "How are your sons, Lewis and Drake? Surviving high school?"

Julian nodded, a fond smile touching his lips. "They're doing fine. It's summer, so they're at the movies with your sister, Hope, and their grandmother—my mother. We don't see family often, living on the West Coast, but we make it count when we do."

"You should move back," Damian suggested, his voice earnest. "It would be good to have you closer. You're practically an uncle to me. You taught me chess and Uno and gave me some good advice on standing up to bullies."

Julian sighed, a mixture of nostalgia and regret in his eyes. "Perhaps. But my role as head of the archaeological department at Stanford ties me down more than I'd like to admit."

"Stanford could find another professor. Your family needs you more." Damian's eyes met Julian's with a depth that spoke volumes of the loneliness shadowing his childhood.

Julian leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. "I remember you as a boy—quiet, reflective, neglected by those who should have loved you most. You've come far, Damian. You've taken on responsibilities that would crush lesser men. Managing your mother's affairs is a burden no one should bear."

Damian's expression hardened. "I'm her sole heir, but that inheritance didn't come without its scars. You know better than most."

Julian's hand reached out, gripping Damian's wrist, the contact grounding them both. "You never deserved the pain you went through. None of it was your fault. Your only misfortune was being born to a mother who couldn't see beyond her demons."

Damian's shoulders sagged as he sighed. "I'm sorry for what she did to you... to all of us."

Julian shook his head, his hold firm and steady. "You have nothing to apologize for. We're all survivors. But now, it's up to you to choose your path. And remember, Chloe's a good woman. She's strong and with you for the right reasons."

"I know," Damian replied, his voice softer. "I love her. More than I've ever loved anyone."

Julian's smile returned, warmer this time, his eyes reflecting the sincerity of his words. "I can see that. It reminds me of when I first fell for Sapphire—head over heels, no turning back. Speaking of which..." He glanced toward the doorway just as Sapphire and Chloe re-entered the room, Vera trailing behind them.

Vera's voice broke through the moment. "Damian, it's time to meet with Gemma Rochefort. We need to leave now."

Damian nodded, his expression tightening with determination. "Chloe, stay here with Julian and Sapphire. I'll be back soon."

Sapphire placed a hand on Chloe's arm, her smile comforting. "Julian and I were thinking of taking Chloe out to eat. You must be starving, dear."

Chloe nodded, her stomach rumbling in agreement. "Yeah, I could eat."

Sapphire turned to Damian with a knowing look. "She'll be in good hands. Don't worry."

Damian's voice dropped as he leaned in, brushing a tender kiss across Chloe's forehead. "You'll have a good time. They're good people, and they're family."

Chloe caught his hand before he pulled away, her voice a soft warning. "Don't let Gemma trick you into anything. Listen to Vera's words—she's handled more than a few snakes in the past."

A soft smile touched Damian's lips. "Trust me, I've got this. I love you."

He was determined to protect the one thing in his life that mattered more than the billions in his bank account.

In his world, there was no room for mistakes.

***

Damian drove his stepmother's Bugatti in steely silence, speeding through the winding roads to the Rochefort estate. Vera's fingers drummed a restless rhythm against the armrest while trying to maintain a calm façade. Her stepson's expression was stone-cold, eyes fixed on the road ahead, yet there was the occasional twitch in his grip on the steering wheel.

"Are you ready for this?" Vera asked, her voice cutting through the silence.

Damian's gaze remained fixed on the road ahead. "I know her game," he replied, his tone steely. "She won't catch me off guard."

Vera's eyebrow arched, a faint, almost sardonic smile playing on her lips. "Gemma's not like the others, Damian. She's a Rochefort—cunning, ruthless. Your mother taught her well; she'll use every weapon at her disposal—charm, wit, seduction. Don't underestimate her."

Damian's expression hardened, a shadow crossing his features. "I'm not underestimating her. But she's vulnerable right now, with her father's law firm crumbling. She'll be looking for leverage, and that's where she'll slip."

Vera leaned back slightly, her eyes narrowing as she weighed his words. "Just keep your cool. This isn't just business—this is personal. Saira left too many loose ends, and Gemma knows how to pull them. Don't let her unravel you."

Damian nodded, his jaw tightening. "I won't. It ends today."

Vera observed him for a moment longer, her voice softening. "Be careful. Gemma doesn't take rejection well."

Damian's response was cold, final. "I know. But I'm done playing her games."

The towering gates of the Rochefort mansion opened with a slow creak, revealing the property's sprawling grandeur when they arrived. Gemma's home was an imposing monument to the Rochefort legacy, casting shadows over the manicured grounds. Like the Quinns and Scotts, the Rocheforts were old money—one reason Saira favored them well.

Gemma stood by her father's office window, her posture as regal as a queen surveying her domain. Cold as winter, her eyes flicked over Damian and Vera with calculated precision.

"Damian," Gemma greeted, her silky voice dripping with a false sweetness that barely concealed the venom beneath. "I'm sorry about your mother's death."

Damian's eyes never wavered from hers. "And my condolences for the loss of your father."

Gemma's lips curled into a smile that didn't reach her eyes. "Thank you. But let's not pretend we're here for pleasantries."

"Agreed," Damian replied, his voice cutting through the air like a blade. "We need to discuss the marriage contract. It's over."

Gemma's smile widened, a dangerous glint flashing in her eyes. "Over? Just like that? Oh, Damian, you should know better. It's never that simple."

"It is that simple," Damian argued. "Whatever my mother planned is irrelevant now. You have no place in my life—or in Scott-Quinn Enterprises."

Gemma's eyes narrowed, her posture stiffening as she took a deliberate step closer. "You think you can just walk away from me? After everything Saira and I built?"

Damian's laugh was low, almost cruel. "You and my mother made your plans, but they were never mine. You have no control over me."

Vera stepped forward, her presence calm but commanding. "Gemma, Damian's decision is final. As his lawyer, I'm here to ensure this ends today—legally and unequivocally."

Gemma's gaze shifted to Vera, her eyes flashing with barely concealed rage. "How quaint. The stepmother playing protector. But don't think for a second that I'm intimidated by you, Vera. You have no idea what I'm capable of."

Vera didn't blink, her voice cold and precise. "I know what you're capable of. But your father's contract with Saira holds no legal weight now. They're both dead, and any attempt to enforce it will be met with legal action that you cannot win."

Gemma's face flushed with anger, her control slipping as she spat out her next words. "You think you can scare me off with legal threats? Mike Marino is more than willing to help me get what I deserve."

Vera's expression didn't falter. "Marino's influence ends where the law begins. Any move you make against Damian will be met with swift and decisive action."

Damian stepped closer, his voice dropping to a lethal whisper. "Watch your tongue, Gemma. The man you once toyed with no longer exists. You have no idea who you're up against now."

Gemma signed a document Vera handed to end the mess, her fingers shaking with shock. "You'll regret turning your back on me," she hissed, her eyes welling with tears.

Damian's smile was grim, his eyes cold as ice. "Cross me the wrong way—you might end up like my mother."

Without another word, he turned and strode out of the room with Vera, who clutched the signed paper in her hand. Gemma's chin trembled, her fury giving way to the bitter sting of rejection, her composure shattering as she wept.

***

A/N: Only 1-2 chapters left, and we're done! Phew. Thanks so much for staying for the ride. I hope you're enjoying this story.