(third person pov)

Blackthorne Mansion

The sleek black car slid to a stop at the towering gates of Blackthorne Mansion. When the door opened, Evelyn stepped out like she owned the world. A short black dress clung to her curves, her cleavage unapologetically on display. One hand scrolled lazily through her phone while the other brushed a strand of hair away from her face.

Her lips-painted the shade of fresh blood-curved into a slow smile as the headline flashed across her screen:

"Evelyn Lockwood crashes Damien Blackthorne's party with a marriage contract."

"Beautiful chaos," she murmured, pleased with herself.

Two guards moved forward at once, lifting her designer luggage with practiced obedience. Evelyn barely spared them a glance. She strolled past the grand golden doors she once called home. The walls gleamed with the same gaudy trims, the antique chandelier dripped with light exactly as before, and the familiar scent of roses greeted her from the entrance.

"Tsk. Same old, boring taste," she muttered, the disdain curling off her tongue.

She turned sharply to the man escorting her. "Tell me-where is Damien Blackthorne? Shouldn't a husband come out to welcome his bride?"

Before the man could speak, a voice rolled out from behind her.

"Here I am."

Evelyn spun, and her breath hitched despite herself.

Damien stood halfway down the staircase, shirt half-open, abs cut from stone, shorts hanging low on his hips. A glass of red swirled lazily in his hand, as if time itself bent to his rhythm.

For one dangerous second, Evelyn's pulse betrayed her. Time had done nothing but sharpen him. If anything, he was worse now-more devastating. But she blinked away the thought before it rooted.

Her lips twisted into a dangerous smile. She strutted toward him, hips swaying with defiance.

Damien didn't move. He just watched, calm and unreadable, as if she were some storm he'd already measured.

Evelyn reached him and placed her palm boldly on his abs, her eyes locked on his.

"Hello, husband," she purred. Her nails traced a lazy line down his torso. "Would this still be here when I'm done destroying you? What a pity, such a perfect body wasted on a cold-blooded man. Enjoy it while it lasts, darling."

Damien said nothing. He sipped his wine like her words were smoke. Then, without looking at her, he addressed the man holding her bags.

"Take them to the room prepared for her."

"Yes, sir," the guard said, already moving.

But Evelyn's voice sliced the air. "No. Those bags are going into your room." Her finger trailed up his jawline, daring him. "Or would you like to argue about that, darling?"

The guard faltered, waiting.

Damien gave a small nod, eyes still unreadable. "As she wishes."

Evelyn smirked in triumph and turned, sauntering deeper into the mansion.

"You know," she called over her shoulder, "if you had pretended to be this agreeable back then, you wouldn't have done what you did five years ago."

Damien's gaze followed her retreating figure. His lips curved in a shadow of something that wasn't quite a smile, and he tipped his glass back in silence.

---

Later, Damien sat in the living room, circling the rim of his glass with one finger. Colt entered quietly, his tone low.

"Should Blake return or stay where he is?"

Damien didn't answer right away. His eyes were still fixed on the corridor Evelyn had disappeared into.

Finally, his voice came, cool and precise. "Let him remain where he is. She's not safe."

Colt blinked, startled. "Boss, you mean..."

"Not here," Damien cut him off.

Colt gave a stiff nod. "The news is spreading fast. The board demands you address it. Shall I prepare a press conference?"

"No." Damien's tone sliced the air. "Don't bother. I'm not clearing anything up."

"But sir, the company-"

"The company will be fine." Damien leaned back, an unreadable smile tugging at his lips, his gaze flicking once more toward the hallway where Evelyn had vanished.

Colt studied him. Something was off. For five years, Damien never missed a day at the office. Now he sat here, relaxed, drinking, smiling softly while his empire smoldered in rumors.

Colt couldn't remember the last time he saw his boss smile. Not like this.

Something had shifted.

---

His suspicion was interrupted when Evelyn reappeared-this time in a bikini that left little to the imagination.

The room stilled.

Damien's gaze swept over her, then cut coldly to Colt.

"You can leave now," Damien said, setting his glass down.

Colt hesitated at the door when Evelyn giggled. "Where are you going, hot guy? Come play with me."

Colt froze, but didn't turn.

"I said you may leave, Colt." Damien's tone darkened.

Colt obeyed at once, shutting the door behind him.

Damien's jaw tightened as his eyes burned into Evelyn. "You really think this is you now? Parading like some-"

"Some what?" Evelyn snapped, venom dripping. "Say it."

His voice dropped low, heat edging his words. "You've changed, Evie. What happened to the woman I knew?"

Her laugh cracked sharp, bitter as glass underfoot. "Oh please. Don't stand there acting like you cared. You didn't know me then. You sure as hell don't know me now."

"I knew you better than anyone."

"Don't." She raised her hand like a blade. "You only knew the version of me you could control. You stripped me, broke me, and left me to rot. Did you care for one second what happened after I walked out that door five years ago?"

"I do care!" he shot back.

"Don't you dare." Her eyes blazed. "You don't get to play savior now. You used to like me sweet, weak, silent. A woman you could crush and still call yours. That's what you loved five years ago, wasn't it?"

Damien's jaw flexed. "That's not true-"

Damien's jaw clenched.

"I don't know what you're saying..."

"You think I don't have questions?" he hissed. "You think I don't deserve answers after what you..."

"Deserve?" she snapped, stepping closer, her tone icy.

"You think I don't deserve to be furious?" Her voice cut like steel. "Where was this fire back then when you destroyed me and called it love?"

Her voice lowered, colder than before. "Do you even know what I became after I left? After everything you did? Or were you too busy climbing your empire on broken bones and forgotten promises?"

"You left," he muttered.

"Because you ruined me!" Her shout tore through the room. "You broke me into pieces and walked away guiltless. Like I was supposed to smile and thank you."

His jaw tensed. "I didn't..."

"Cut it out, Damien. I did what I had to do. If you want details, imagine the worst" she snapped, eyes glinting with something darker than rage.

Silence pressed heavy.

She stepped closer, her voice a low, lethal whisper. "And now? I'm not here for reconciliation. Not here for love. I'm here for one reason only. And you, Damien Blackthorne, are standing right in the middle of it."

His gaze hardened. "What the hell are you talking about?"

Evelyn slipped something from her bag and tossed it onto the table-the contract he'd signed.

"Oh, sweetheart," she purred, venom in every word. "You didn't even read it, did you? Typical Damien. Always signing lives away like they're nothing."

His eyes dropped, confusion flickering across his face.

"Go ahead." Her smile turned wicked. "Read the clauses. The ones you missed because you thought you were too powerful to bother with the fine print."

Her voice dropped, every syllable soaked in fire.

"This time, Damien... I wrote the rules. And you just signed your soul to the devil you made."

(third person pov)

Somewhere around the city, the dim yellow lights of a small bar cast shadows across the walls. At the far corner, a man sat alone, leaning lazily against the back of his chair. His phone was in his hand, his eyes fixed on the screen. A low chuckle escaped his lips, then another, louder this time until people began turning their heads. He didn't care. He looked like a man who had just found something deliciously dangerous. "Damien's worst nightmare is back."

Allen sat down with his assistant Reo. His phone screen glowed in his hand, showing him something that clearly entertained him far too much.

"Reo..." he called, still chuckling. His assistant turned from the counter.

"I love what I'm seeing, I love the turn of things,it's like heaven is on my side." Allen said, eyes still on the screen. "Help me arrange a meeting with her. You know what they say an enemy's enemy is a friend. This could be fun... cooperating with her."

Reo nodded, already reaching for his phone. Allen leaned back in his chair, taking a slow sip of whiskey. The amber liquid swirled in the glass as he spoke again, voice dripping with mockery.

"How do you think it feels, Reo? When your past... every dirty little secret you buried... comes clawing back to life? When everything you've built starts cracking, piece by piece, right in your face?" He smirked dangerously. "It's a slow fall... gentle, gentle... until the ground comes rushing up. Hmm, Damien... how will it feel when everything you protect... burns?"

Reo's phone clicked shut. He hesitated before turning back.

"She agreed, right?" Allen asked, leaning forward. "She has to. No one can help her more than I can."

Reo lowered his gaze. "Sir... she declined."

Allen's brow twitched. "What?"

"She said she can't cooperate with you. Called it her family matter, nothing to do with outsiders. She told me to tell you to stay out of her way."

Allen's smirk froze. He narrowed his eyes. "Outsiders? Did you even tell her who I am?"

Reo swallowed and added, "She... knows it's you. I told her. She still refused. Said you're no different from Damien. And if you interfere in her business... you'll go down too."

The glass in Allen's hand hit the table with a sharp thud.

"Did she really say that?" His voice was cold now, no hint of humor.

"Yes, sir."

For a long moment, Allen said nothing. His jaw worked, a slow grind, his fingers curling around the whiskey glass like he could crush it.

"She thinks she can shut me out?" he muttered under his breath. "She thinks she can walk away from me like I'm nothing? Let's see if it goes well with you this time."

Reo took a careful step back. "Sir..."

"Stop. Just... stop talking. Get out."

Reo raised his brows. "Sir, we're in a bar. I still need to get you home before I go. If you want me to get out, you'll have to cooperate and..."

"Reo..." Allen's voice was razor-sharp now. "Don't push your luck. Get out of here before I..."

Reo smirked faintly, more amused than worried. "Yes, sir. No need to make empty threats. I'm leaving." He turned for the door.

Allen didn't watch him go. He just sat there, staring into his drink, the ice melting slowly, his reflection warped in the golden liquid.

"Evelyn..." he whispered, the name tasting like venom on his tongue. "Do you have any idea who you're messing with? You think you're untouchable because you've got Damien in your sights? You think you can play this game without me? Do you have a strong backbone this time?"

The bar's dim light caught the edge of his smirk again but it wasn't the easy grin from before. This one was sharper, hungrier.

Five years ago, she'd made a mistake walking away. Five years ago, she'd thought she was free from him. Now she was back in the game and he wasn't going to let her win.

Allen's fingers drummed against the table. His mind moved fast. If she wouldn't join him willingly, he'd pull her in anyway. People like Evelyn always had something to lose. And Allen? Allen knew exactly how to find it.

Somewhere between the swirl of whiskey and the echo of her refusal, his anger hardened into something far more dangerous resolve.

He tossed back the last of his drink, set the empty glass down, and stood.

"If not for that Damien who you hate so much,you won't have escaped that easily but I think I love this side of you now. It's making my game more interesting." A slow, cold laugh slipped past his lips.

"Brother, who would you choose again this time. Would you give up everything for love again? How about i borrow your love as my weapon,I will return it when I am done destroying you two. Let's see how your love survive this."

Blackthorne's Mansion

Damien leaned back in his chair, the heavy mahogany desk between him and the woman who had returned to turn his life upside down. The contract lay open before him, the ink from his signature barely dried.

Truth be told, he had scanned the contract at that party but not this closely. Not enough to catch Clause 13.

His jaw tightened as his eyes dragged over the words again. She can bring men into the house at any time. He has no right to oppose.

For crying out loud, this was his mansion.

How was he supposed to watch some man walk into his home to see Evelyn smile at them and say nothing?

He shut the folder with a sharp snap.

"About the company, the house, the properties..." Damien's voice was calm, but the steel underneath was hard to miss. "I can accept that they can be owned by you. Hell, I could even add myself to that list if it'd make you happy."

His eyes locked on hers.

"But don't you think Clause 13..."

Evelyn scoffed before he could finish.

"And what happened to Clause 13?" She leaned against the desk like she owned the place which, technically, now she did. "I can't bring men into your house, is that it? Oh..." her lips curved into a wicked smirk. "...don't tell me you're jealous?"

Damien's gaze didn't waver.

"Can't I be?"

"Would you like to hear a story?" she asked, voice dropping to a silken whisper.

Damien's hands flexed against the armrest. "Go on."

"It's about a woman," Evelyn murmured, leaning closer until her lips were almost brushing his ear. "A woman called Evie. Once upon a time, she was married to a man she loved. Trusted him. Believed in him."

She paused, tilting her head to study his expression. Her smirk returned.

"But one day, her husband betrayed her. He ruined her. Left her with nothing. So she ran. She had no choice."

Her voice was softer now, but the words were sharp as broken glass.

"For five good years... she slept with different men. Just to keep a roof over her head, just to feed herself, just to survive."

She pulled back just enough to see his reaction, her eyes glittering with provocation.

"That's not all," she continued, almost conversationally. "Sometimes, she served men for money. Sometimes, it wasn't even about money, just not being the one begging for once. What do you think of her?"

She tilted her head, her lips brushing his jaw in mock intimacy.

"Disgusting, right?"

Damien's gaze was unreadable.

"Is that what you want me to think of you?" he asked quietly.

Evelyn's smirk faltered for the first time, but she hid it quickly. "Does it matter? You already decided what I was the day I left."

"No," Damien said, his voice low but sure. "That's what you decided for me."

The words landed between them like a stone in still water, ripples spreading, unsettling the air.

Evelyn forced a laugh, sliding off his lap and straightening her skirt. "Save your speeches, Damien. We both know what happened."

Damien's eyes followed her, but he didn't move.

"If you really knew," he mummered under his breath, "you wouldn't be here trying to hurt me. You'd were in somewhere safe... and I was still be the one protecting you without you knowing it."

"Clause 13 stays, as long as this mansion is mine, " she threw over her shoulder, striding toward the door.

Damien leaned back again, his hands gripping the armrests until his knuckles whitened.

(third person pov)

Evelyn woke up in her own room, because of course she didn't sleep in Damien's. Sharing a bed with that man? She'd rather hug a cactus.

She stretched lazily, slipped into her robe, and headed downstairs. By the time she reached the kitchen, the air was already alive with the sounds of clinking pans and murmuring maids.

Mrs. Davies, the head maid, was giving her usual morning sermon to a nervous junior.

"Remember, no salt. Mr. Damien prefers to season his food himself. The eggs soft, the toast lightly done, the coffee black-"

Evelyn leaned against the doorway, arms crossed, eyes glinting. Breakfast without salt? How boring.

Evelyn leaned against the doorframe, arms folded, an amused smile tugging at her lips. "My, my. You all know his taste buds better than his wife does."

The maids froze. Mrs. Davies turned slowly, eyes widening when she saw Evelyn.

"I'll be handling breakfast today," Evelyn announced, stepping forward like a queen claiming her throne.

The maids exchanged nervous glances. Mrs. Davies cleared her throat. "Madam, perhaps it's better if-"

Evelyn cut her off with a tilt of her head and a sugar-coated smile. "Is there a problem with me wanting to serve my husband myself?"

Silence. No one dared breathe. Evelyn clapped her hands lightly. "Good. Out."

One by one, the maids scurried out, their shoes clicking against the marble. The kitchen door shut behind them, leaving Evelyn in a kingdom of gleaming silverware and the aroma of fresh bread.

She rolled up her sleeves. "Let's make this breakfast unforgettable."

The eggs were soft and golden, the toast perfect, the coffee strong. But as she prepared the plate for Damien, her eyes narrowed. She reached for the salt shaker and twisted, emptying more than a "pinch" over the eggs. Then another heavy shake. Then another. She sprinkled extra on the potatoes, stirred it into the sauce, even dusted the toast with a fine layer.

Her plate, however, remained untouched. Perfectly balanced.

When she was done, she stood back and admired her work. The breakfast looked like a magazine cover. No one would ever know it was a sodium bomb waiting to detonate.

Satisfied, she set the tray and made her way upstairs. She left the kitchen humming something mean and walked to the study.

----

Damien looked up, pen in hand, eyes cutting through her like he was already reading motives in bold print. A flicker of surprise crossed his face before he buried it.

"You're up early." His tone was flat, but the edge was there. Neutral never survived long between them.

"I made breakfast," Evelyn said, smiling just enough to sting. "Thought you might like to eat with me."

That caught him. Not pleasure. Not annoyance. Caution.

"You want me to eat with you?"

"Yes." Her hands folded neatly, calm as porcelain.

He hesitated, then rose, following her as if he had a choice. That tiny surrender tasted like victory-for two seconds.

The dining room gleamed, sunlight striping the table. Staff bowed and vanished. Evelyn slid into her seat opposite him, chin propped on her hand, a cat waiting for its prey.

She served him herself, easing the plate in front of him. "I hope you enjoy it, darling. I worked very hard."

His eyes stayed on her, cool and steady. Then he asked, voice low, not quite joking:

"Are you trying to poison me?"

The words dropped like a stone.

Evelyn blinked. Then laughed, soft and sharp. "No. I wouldn't poison you."

"Why not?"

She leaned forward, her whisper slicing the air. "Because poison is too fast. I want you to die slowly. I want everything you've built to rot piece by piece. I want your victories to taste like ash. That's the kind of death you deserve."

He studied her as if she'd just commented on the weather. Calm. Detached. Dangerous. Then he picked up his fork, cut into the eggs, and ate.

Evelyn leaned forward, waiting for the cough, the grimace, the desperate reach for water.

Nothing.

Another bite. And another. He finished every salted scrap on the plate, his face a mask of composure. Only the faintest flicker in his eyes at the first bite betrayed him-and even that vanished before she could be sure.

He dabbed his mouth, set down the napkin. "Thank you for breakfast. It was... memorable."

It might as well have been a slap. She felt it across her face.

"You ate it," she said. The words came out sharper than she intended. "You didn't-react."

He smiled then, and it was almost kind. "I asked if you poisoned me. You said no. You said you wanted slow undoing. Very medieval of you." He paused. "I appreciate creativity."

The heat in her chest took a new shape. It wasn't fury now. It was the cold of small failure. Petty revenge hadn't even shaken him. He took her petty lashing like a man used to storms.

He rose, slid into his jacket, and left without looking back.

Evelyn sat frozen, nails biting her palm. Petty games weren't enough. If Damien could swallow this and walk away untouched, then she'd need to carve deeper. Break him from the inside. Like if Damien could swallow a declaration of war and call it breakfast, then she would need a weapon he couldn't digest.

Her lips curved into a cold, flawless smile. Fine, she thought. If you're immune to poison, I'll make you fall in love with the antidote. Then I'll take it away.

Her lips curved. "Fine. Let's play harder."

She rose from the table, her voice a whisper that promised a storm. "Salt was too simple. Let's see how you handle a diet of pure, unfiltered love, Damien. I'll make sure it's the last thing you ever taste."

Congratulations, Damien," she whispered to herself walking upstairs. "You just graduated from target to prey. The hunt begins now."