CHAPTER 198: CHAPTER 198

At that moment Damien’s grip around the phone tightened until the plastic creaked beneath the pressure of his fingers. His eyes were locked to the screen, yet he wasn’t reading anymore. He had memorized the message every syllable, every implication.

His chest heaved with ragged breaths, and slowly, a storm began to swell behind his eyes.

"So..." he muttered bitterly under his breath, his voice low and venomous, "that bastard... that witch?"

His lips curled into a sneer.

"That fool—Valentina—actually planned all of this?"

He shot up from the chair, tossing the phone onto the glass table so hard that it slid across and clattered to the floor.

Pacing the room now, his fists clenched at his sides, Damien’s mind spun with fury.

"All this time... I thought it was the media, I thought it was the board members. My father nearly disowned me, banished me abroad, and I was humiliated in front of people I used to command."

His voice grew louder, more unhinged.

"And it was her?" he growled.

His mind flashed with scenes of the past — the scandal, the accusations, his father’s cold eyes burning through him, the rage and disappointment that had never left their house.

"All of it... because of her?" he spat.

His breathing deepened, shoulders tense, jaw grinding.

"I went too far?" he hissed, his tone mocking. "I only ever wanted her. I chased her. I gave her attention. Yes, maybe I was intense. Maybe I crossed lines. But it was because I wanted her. Because I loved her."

His voice cracked with a painful bitterness.

"And she—she didn’t just reject me... she destroyed me."

He slammed his fist into the side of the bookshelf, sending a crack through the wood.

"And now she’s still talking? Still plotting? After everything she’s done? She won’t rest?"

His eyes turned cold, void of empathy.

"She wants to ruin me again, huh?"

A dark, twisted smirk slowly spread across his face as he turned toward the window, gazing out at the city like a hunter looking over his territory.

"Fine."

"If she doesn’t want to rest... if she wants to keep coming for me, even when there’s nothing left between us..."

His voice dropped to a cold whisper.

"Then I’ll destroy her first."

Without another breath wasted in thought, Damien reached for his phone, his fingers flying over the screen with purpose. The fury inside him no longer raged — it burned cold now. Focused. Calculated.

He dialed the number without hesitation — a number he had kept tucked away for years. One he swore he’d never use again unless he was truly pushed beyond the edge, and tonight... he was.

The phone rang once.

Twice.

Then a deep voice answered on the other end, cool and unhurried. "Well, well. It’s quite unusual for you to be calling me like this. In the middle of the night, no less. What do you want, Damien?"

Damien didn’t respond immediately.

He stood by the window, staring out into the city, his jaw set, his voice sharp with venom when he finally spoke.

"I know exactly what needs to be done," he said flatly.

There was a pause on the other end intrigued silence.

Damien continued, his tone growing darker. "Since you know what I want, and you know what needs, you’ll do it quietly. I don’t want noise. I don’t want mess. I want her gone."

He turned away from the window now, his steps heavy, every word loaded with years of buried resentment.

"You and I — we’ve worked together for years," he added coldly. "You know what I’m capable of. I’ve kept my end. I’ve paid your price. But this time..."

He hesitated for only a moment, then said with steel in his voice:

"This time, I want to speak to your boss."

There was another pause.

"I’m not playing around. Not anymore. I want your boss. Now."

The voice on the other end let out a slow, deep breath, as though Damien’s demand had stirred something he didn’t want disturbed.

"Well," the man replied calmly, "we’ve done business before, Damien. That much is true. And you’ve always paid well."

There was a pause.

"But you cannot speak to my boss."

The words came flatly. No emotion. No room for argument.

At that moment Damien’s eyes darkened instantly. His other hand clenched into a tight fist by his side. "What do you mean I can’t talk to your boss?" he growled. "I’ve paid you more than enough to earn that right."

Silence.

"I gave you five million dollars for the last job," Damien snapped, pacing like a caged animal. "Five million for a job that didn’t even take two days!"

His voice cracked with rising frustration.

"And now now I’m offering you ten million. Ten."

He stopped pacing, his voice dropping into a deadly whisper.

"And I’m telling you, this one is personal. I need to speak to the one pulling the strings. Directly."

But the man on the other end didn’t even flinch.

"That’s not how we work," he said simply, almost dismissively. "You know the rules, Damien. I know you’re angry. I know you’re desperate. But it doesn’t change protocol."

"You can’t speak to the boss."

There was a beat of silence between them, the tension thick enough to strangle.

"If you want the job done," the man added flatly, "you tell me what you want."

"I’ll pass the message."

Damien’s jaw clenched as the man’s calm refusal echoed in his ear. The more he listened, the more it infuriated him. The idea that, after all this time all the bloodstained money, all the favors, all the buried secrets he still wasn’t worthy of speaking to the man at the top?

He had been patient with them. Loyal. Obedient, even. And yet, he remained nothing more than a client disposable, distant from the true power behind the curtain.

His hand trembled slightly as he held the phone to his ear, rage boiling just beneath the surface.

"Fine," Damien hissed, each syllable was like broken glass. "Since you don’t want me speaking to your boss which I really wanted to do I’ll give you the message directly."

His tone dropped, darker now. Colder. Calculated.

"I need someone gone. And I don’t mean simple, clean, or forgettable."

He moved to the center of the room, his voice steady, like a man ordering an execution over dinner.

"I want it painful. I want it slow. I want it humiliating."

There was a long pause as he breathed in, eyes narrowing with pure venom.

"Don’t throw acid — that’s messy and barbaric," he said. "But something worse. Poison... something that burns her from the inside out. Something that’ll keep her alive long enough to feel everything."

He stepped closer to the window again, staring at the night like it owed him something.

"I want her beauty ruined, but not erased. I want the world to see her fall. I want her to cry and beg and break. And then... I want her gone."

The silence on the other end was eerie not shocked, not resistant just listening. Waiting.

"You have one week," Damien added flatly, "but I expect results within two days. Her death can stretch over a few more, but the first strike — I want that soon."

He picked up his phone again, tapping rapidly.

"The picture has been sent," he said. "And I’m transferring the ten million now."

A second later, a confirmation dinged.

Damien stared at his phone, his eyes sharp, dangerous, and void of mercy.

"Just get it done."

The moment the call ended, Damien slowly lowered the phone from his ear, and for a few seconds, he just stood there completely still.

The room was silent, yet his heart was pounding with vicious satisfaction.

Then, like a curtain slowly being drawn back, a devilish grin began to spread across his face.

It wasn’t the smile of a man who had gotten what he wanted.

It was the smile of a man who knew exactly what he’d unleashed... and was now savoring the anticipation.

His eyes gleamed with cold fire, and his fingers curled slightly at his sides, as if already imagining the scream, the confusion, the fear that would flood Valentina’s face the moment it began.

He gave a low, breathless chuckle.

"They’re going to get it done," he whispered to himself, eyes glinting like obsidian under the pale light.

He had no doubt. Not even a sliver.

They were not some street gang.

They weren’t reckless thugs seeking petty blood.

They were calculated, precise, and deeply cruel the kind of people who didn’t ask why, only when.

He had worked with them before.

He had seen their work.

And more importantly, they owed him. After everything he had done for them years ago the secrets he buried, the politicians he helped silence they knew better than to fail him.

He stepped away from the window, his boots pressing quietly into the floor as he walked toward the center of the room.

He tossed the phone onto the nearby table like it was nothing just a tool, now discarded.

Then he looked up, his reflection staring back at him through the darkened glass.

"Valentina..." he murmured, his voice soaked in malice. "You won’t even see it coming."

At that moment a deadly laugh escaped his lips.

"After I’m done with you..." his smile widened, eyes narrowing, "this will be the last time you ever try to destroy what other people built with blood, sweat, and tears."

His voice grew colder.

"It doesn’t matter that you won the first time."

He took a step forward, his gaze sharpened with violent resolve.

"This time, I win."

Another step.

"And not just win..." he added darkly.

"I’m going to destroy you so completely... so brutally... that you won’t even recognize yourself."

His lips barely moved as the final words left him.

"You’ll never rise again."