Chapter 9: Our Fight

Damien stared at the emergency board meeting agenda with growing unease. The hastily called session had been cryptic—something about "urgent reputational concerns" and "media management protocols." He'd built his empire on information and control, but tonight he felt dangerously blind.

His phone buzzed: a text from an unknown number containing a single photo.

The image made his blood freeze. Vivienne Ashford stood in what was unmistakably Elara's modest living room, her predatory smile aimed directly at the camera. The timestamp showed it had been taken three hours ago.

Before he could process the implications, Marcus Chen, his head of security, appeared in the boardroom doorway.

"Sir, we have a problem. A significant one."

"Vivienne."

"She's scheduled a press conference for tomorrow morning. Nine AM, downtown Westin. The subject line in her media advisory reads 'Exposing the Truth About Damien Blackwood's Business Practices.'" Marcus's expression was grim. "My sources suggest she has documentation. Contracts, financial records, hospital payment trails."

The room seemed to tilt around him. Elara. Lily. Everything they'd built together was about to be weaponized against them.

"Where is she now?" Damien's voice was deadly quiet.

"Vivienne checked into the Four Seasons an hour ago. But sir—Miss Vance and her daughter are gone."

The words hit him like a physical blow. "Gone?"

"Their apartment is empty. Neighbors saw them leave with suitcases around six PM. No forwarding address, phones going straight to voicemail."

Damien closed his eyes, the pieces falling into place with sickening clarity. Vivienne hadn't just come to destroy him—she'd gone after the two people he'd never expected to care about. And now they were running, probably believing he'd somehow orchestrated this himself.

"Find them." The command came out as a snarl. "Use every resource, every contact, every favor we have. Find them now."

"Sir, perhaps we should focus on damage control—"

"Find them." Damien was already moving, his emergency board meeting forgotten. "And get me everything we have on Vivienne's current assets, business interests, and legal vulnerabilities. Everything."

Two hours later, he stood in the Four Seasons penthouse suite where Vivienne was holding court with three of the city's most ruthless gossip journalists. She looked every inch the wronged woman—elegant, composed, with just enough vulnerability in her posture to suggest wounded dignity rather than calculated revenge.

"Damien." Her smile was poison wrapped in silk. "How good of you to join us. We were just discussing your recent... charitable endeavors."

The reporters looked up like sharks scenting blood. He recognized them all—Jennifer Walsh from Seattle Metropolitan, David Cross from the business journal, and Miranda Torres, whose society column could destroy reputations with surgical precision.

"Ladies, gentlemen." Damien's voice carried the authority that had built his empire. "I'm afraid there's been a misunderstanding. This meeting is over."

"Actually," Vivienne purred, "we were just getting to the interesting part. About how you use sick children to manipulate vulnerable women into sexual servitude."

The words hung in the air like a toxic cloud. Damien felt rage building in his chest—not the cold, calculated fury he wielded in business, but something primal and protective that demanded blood.

"You have thirty seconds to leave this room," he told the reporters, his voice carrying the weight of decades worth of favors, advertising revenue, and social connections. "Or tomorrow's headlines will be about your own investigative failures and ethical lapses."

The journalists exchanged uncertain glances. Damien Blackwood's threats weren't idle—he owned too much of their world to ignore.

"Mr. Blackwood," Jennifer Walsh ventured, "if you'd like to provide your side of the story—"

"Twenty seconds."

They left.

Alone with Vivienne, Damien let his mask drop completely. What she saw in his face made her step backward despite herself.

"Where are they?"

"Safe. Away from your toxic influence." But her voice wavered slightly. "Though I suspect not for long. Poor Elara was quite distraught when she realized what kind of man she'd been sleeping with."

"You threatened them."

"I offered them truth. Something you've been remarkably stingy with." Vivienne moved to the window, but her reflection showed the tension she was trying to hide. "That little girl deserves better than being a pawn in your midlife crisis."

"Her name is Lily." The words came out with quiet violence. "She's four years old, she likes to paint birds, and she's braver than any adult I've ever met. Including you."

"How touching. The big bad billionaire has found his soft spot." Vivienne's laugh was sharp. "But we both know this is temporary, don't we? How long before you get bored with playing house? How long before poor little Elara becomes just another obligation you pay someone else to handle?"

"You don't know what you're talking about."

"Don't I? I know you, Damien. Better than anyone. You collect beautiful, broken things until they lose their novelty, then you move on to the next acquisition." She turned to face him fully. "At least I was honest about what I wanted from you. Money, status, access to your world. But that poor girl actually believes you've changed."

"I have changed."

"Have you? Or have you simply found a more sophisticated way to exercise control?" Vivienne's voice dropped to a whisper. "She's completely dependent on you now, just like she was under that contract. The only difference is the wrapping paper."

The accusation hit harder than it should have because some part of him had wondered the same thing. In the quiet moments between Lily's bedtime stories and Elara's grateful smiles, he'd caught himself analyzing their dynamic with the same clinical detachment he brought to business deals.

"You're going to call off your press conference," he said, pushing the doubt aside. "You're going to delete whatever documentation you think you have, and you're going to disappear from their lives permanently."

"Or what? You'll destroy me financially? We both know I have enough family money to weather whatever corporate tantrum you throw." Vivienne's confidence was returning. "Face it, darling. For once in your life, you don't have the leverage."

"You're right." Damien's smile was sharp as a blade. "I don't have financial leverage over you. But I do have something else."

"Which is?"

"The truth." He pulled out his phone, scrolling to a video file. "Did you really think I'd walk into this room without recording everything?"

Vivienne's face went pale as he played back her own words: "I offered them truth... Poor Elara was quite distraught when she realized what kind of man she'd been sleeping with... You collect beautiful, broken things until they lose their novelty..."

"Extortion, blackmail, harassment of a cancer patient's family." Damien's voice was conversational. "I count at least three felonies and enough civil liability to keep you in court for the next decade. And unlike your little scandal, this evidence is rock solid."

"You bastard."

"Yes. But I'm a bastard who's learned that some things are worth protecting." He stepped closer, his presence filling the space between them. "They're not my acquisition, Vivienne. They're my family. And I will burn down everything I've built before I let you hurt them."

The raw conviction in his voice seemed to shake her. For the first time since he'd known her, Vivienne Ashford looked uncertain.

"This isn't over," she said finally.

"Yes, it is." Damien was already heading for the door. "You have one hour to check out of this hotel and book a flight to anywhere that isn't Seattle. After that, my restraining order goes into effect, and you'll find out exactly how much legal trouble my money can buy."

He left her standing in the wreckage of her own scheme, but his victory felt hollow. Vivienne was neutralized, but Elara and Lily were still gone. Still running from a threat they believed he'd somehow created.

His phone rang as he reached the elevator.

"We found them," Marcus said without preamble. "Small motel outside Spokane. But sir—they're not alone."

"What do you mean?"

"Hospital security footage from three weeks ago. Vivienne Ashford visited the pediatric ward the day after your first dinner with Lily. She spoke to several staff members, asking questions about payment arrangements and family situations."

The implications hit him like ice water. "She's been planning this since the beginning."

"It appears so. And sir? Miss Vance tried to call you seventeen times this evening. The calls stopped around the time Vivienne left their apartment."

Damien closed his eyes, finally understanding. Elara hadn't run because she believed the worst of him. She'd run to protect him. To save him from the scandal that would destroy everything he'd built.

She'd sacrificed herself to shield him from the consequences of his own past.

"Get the jet ready," he said, already calculating drive times and flight paths. "And Marcus? When we find them, make sure they understand something."

"What's that, sir?"

"That some fights are worth having. Even if you're not sure you deserve to win."

The elevator doors closed, carrying him toward a confrontation that would determine whether love was stronger than fear, whether trust could survive the poison of doubt, and whether a man who'd spent his life buying what he wanted could learn to fight for what truly mattered.

In a motel room three hours away, Elara sat by the window watching for headlights, torn between hope and terror that one of them might belong to him.

And in a hospital bed in Seattle, a small elephant named Peanut waited for the family that had promised to come home.