Chapter 3 A Game of Revenge

# Chapter 3: A Game of Revenge

Damon's promise echoed in my mind long after we parted that night. I'm crazier than any man you've ever known. The terrifying part wasn't the statement itself—it was how much it thrilled me.

The "one week" arrangement began immediately. By Saturday morning, a delivery arrived at my apartment—a sleek laptop with a note: "Since I compromised your work email. —D." It was both an apology and a reminder of his power.

"This is insane," Ava said when I told her about our arrangement over brunch. "He's practically stalking you."

"I know." I pushed my eggs benedict around my plate. "But there's something about him... I can't explain it."

"Try," she insisted, leaning forward.

I sighed. "It's like he sees through every defense I've built. Like he already knows me, in ways I've never let anyone know me."

"That's not romantic, Em. That's concerning."

"I didn't say it was romantic."

"Your face did." Ava studied me carefully. "Just be careful. Men like Damon Whitlock aren't used to hearing 'no'."

By Monday, flowers began arriving at the office—not roses or typical romantic blooms, but strange, exotic arrangements. Black dahlias, blue orchids, plants that looked almost carnivorous. Each card contained a single question: "Still running?"

Charlotte was beside herself with excitement. "Whatever's happening between you two has doubled our subscription rate. People are fascinated."

"Nothing's happening," I insisted, though the lie felt hollow even to my own ears.

"Right. And these aren't from him?" She gestured to the latest arrangement, which resembled something from another planet.

I changed the subject. "Has IT fixed the email issue yet?"

"They have, but—" She hesitated. "There's something else. Victor Whitlock called this morning."

My blood ran cold. "About?"

"He wants to meet you. Said it's about a potential profile piece on the family."

I frowned. Victor Whitlock, reaching out now? It couldn't be coincidence.

"Did Damon put him up to this?"

Charlotte shook her head. "He specifically said it was to be kept confidential. Especially from Damon."

That was... interesting. The Whitlocks were notoriously private. Why would Victor suddenly want press coverage? And why did he want to keep it from his son?

A memory surfaced—my ex-boyfriend Victor (a different Victor, though the coincidence of names now seemed almost prophetic) who'd left me for his secretary six months ago. He'd worked briefly for Whitlock Industries before being let go under mysterious circumstances. He'd hinted at corporate misconduct, claiming the Whitlocks were "dirtier than anyone knew."

I'd dismissed it as the bitter ramblings of a jilted employee. But now...

"Tell him I'll meet him," I decided. "But I choose the location."

The next day, I sat across from Victor Whitlock at a quiet café in Greenwich Village—far from his usual Midtown haunts. He was older than Damon by about thirty years, with the same striking blue eyes but none of his son's intensity.

"Thank you for meeting me, Ms. Collins," he said, his voice cultured and controlled. "I've followed your work."

"Have you?" I kept my tone professional. "I wouldn't think 'Emotional Entanglements' would be your preferred reading material."

He smiled thinly. "I make it my business to know who's involved with my son."

So this wasn't about a profile piece at all.

"I'm not 'involved' with Damon."

"No?" Victor raised an eyebrow. "He's bought your building, hacked your professional accounts, and sent you flowers worth more than most people's monthly salary. If that's not involvement, I'd hate to see what is."

I maintained my composure. "What do you really want, Mr. Whitlock?"

He leaned forward slightly. "I want to warn you. My son has a... pattern. He becomes obsessed, pursues relentlessly, then discards when he's conquered. You wouldn't be the first."

The revelation shouldn't have stung, but it did. "I appreciate the concern, but I can handle myself."

"Can you?" He studied me. "Because I think you're already falling for his act."

"Is there a point to this conversation?"

Victor reached into his jacket and pulled out a manila envelope. "I understand you once had a relationship with Victor Chambers."

My surprise must have shown on my face.

"Yes, Ms. Collins, I know about that. I know he filled your head with nonsense about improprieties at Whitlock Industries."

"He mentioned some concerns," I admitted carefully.

"Concerns." Victor's laugh was cold. "Is that what we're calling it when a disgruntled employee makes unfounded accusations after being terminated for incompetence?"

I said nothing, waiting.

"What if I told you there was truth to some of his claims?" Victor slid the envelope toward me. "What if I told you that Damon was behind decisions that cost hundreds of people their jobs? That he orchestrated an illegal acquisition that destroyed a family business?"

My journalistic instincts kicked in. "I'd ask why you're telling me this about your own son."

"Because Damon needs to be stopped before he takes control of the company." Victor's expression hardened. "He's become reckless, unpredictable. His interest in you is just another symptom of his increasingly erratic behavior."

I left the café with the envelope, my mind racing. If what Victor said was true—if Damon had been involved in illegal activities—I could write an exposé that would rock the business world. It would also be the perfect revenge against Damon for his intrusive pursuit.

But something felt off. Why would Victor betray his own son this way?

I didn't open the envelope immediately. Instead, I called my ex.

"Victor, it's Emery."

A pause. "Wow. Didn't expect to hear from you again."

"I need to ask you something about Whitlock Industries. The acquisition you mentioned—was Damon involved?"

He hesitated. "Why are you asking?"

"Just answer the question."

"No," he finally said. "Damon was actually against it. He argued with his father about it in front of the entire board. Said it was unethical."

Interesting. Very interesting.

That evening, Damon texted: "Dinner. My place. 8 PM."

I replied: "Your father sends his regards."

The response came instantly: "What did he say to you?"

"Come to my apartment and find out."

I wasn't sure he'd show up. Part of me hoped he wouldn't. But at precisely 7:30, there was a knock at my door.

Damon stood there, tension radiating from every line of his body. "What did he tell you?"

I stepped aside to let him in, noting how his presence immediately made my small apartment feel even smaller.

"He gave me this." I handed him the still-sealed envelope. "Said it contained proof that you orchestrated an illegal acquisition."

Damon's laugh was bitter as he took the envelope. "Of course he did."

He opened it, scanned the contents, then handed the papers back to me. "Read it."

The documents detailed the acquisition of a small tech company called InnovateTech. According to the paperwork, Damon had pushed for the deal despite knowing the company was on the verge of bankruptcy, deliberately hiding this fact from shareholders.

"Is it true?" I asked quietly.

"Look at the signature." He pointed to the bottom of a key document.

I frowned. "It's yours."

"Look closer."

Upon closer inspection, I could see subtle differences from the signature I'd seen on his notes to me. "It's forged."

"My father wanted that acquisition. I opposed it publicly." Damon's eyes were cold. "When I wouldn't cooperate, he found other ways."

"Why would he do that?"

"InnovateTech had patents he wanted. Their financial struggles made them vulnerable." Damon paced my small living room. "I tried to structure a fair deal. He wanted to strip them for parts."

"And now he's trying to pin it on you," I murmured. "Why tell me, though?"

Damon stopped pacing, his gaze intense. "Because he knows I'm interested in you. And he knows you're a journalist with a platform."

The pieces clicked into place. "He wants me to write an exposé about you."

"He wants to discredit me before I can challenge him for control of the company." Damon moved closer. "He's using you to get to me."

I felt sick. I'd almost fallen for it—had been tempted by the prospect of a career-making story and a chance to put Damon in his place.

"I wouldn't have published anything without verifying," I said defensively.

"Wouldn't you?" His tone was challenging. "If it meant getting back at me for disrupting your life? For pushing my way in?"

He was right, and we both knew it.

"Why show me the truth?" I asked. "You could have let me believe the worst."

"Because I want you to see who I really am." His voice dropped lower. "Not who my father wants you to think I am."

Something shifted between us in that moment—a new understanding, fragile but real.

"I need to know," I said carefully, "why you're pursuing me like this. The real reason."

He moved closer, until I could feel the heat of his body. "Because from the moment you stood up to me at that gala, I haven't been able to think straight. You're the first person who's ever seen through the Whitlock name to the man beneath."

"The man who buys buildings and hacks email accounts?"

A ghost of a smile touched his lips. "I never claimed to be well-adjusted."

Despite everything, I laughed. "No, you certainly didn't."

His hand came up to cup my face, his touch surprisingly gentle. "Use the information. Expose my father. I'll give you more proof—enough to make sure it sticks."

I stared at him in shock. "You'd destroy your own family's reputation?"

"To stop him? Yes." His eyes never left mine. "I've been fighting this battle for years. Maybe it's time I had an ally."

The word hung between us—ally. Not conquest. Not victim. Ally.

"And what do you get out of this alliance?" I asked, my voice barely above a whisper.

His answer was a kiss—slower, deeper than our first. A kiss that felt like a confession, a promise, and a warning all at once.

When we broke apart, his forehead pressed against mine, he whispered, "I can destroy everything for you, but you must love me."

The words should have terrified me. Instead, they ignited something dark and thrilling in my core—the dangerous recognition that Damon Whitlock would indeed burn down the world for me, and part of me wanted to watch it happen.