“And tell those old fossils on the board to shut their mouths. If anyone tries to stop me tomorrow, they can get the hell out of the Clarke family.”
***
The next day, at ten in the morning.
Despite the gloomy weather, nearly every media outlet in the city had gathered at the Clarke family headquarters.
Everyone assumed this was Damien’s counterattack against the recent negative online chatter labeling him “love-struck” and accusing him of mixing business with pleasure.
After all, what wealthy heir didn’t have a few ruthless tactics up his sleeve?
In a corner of the main hall, several board members were huddled together, their faces grim.
“This is absurd! Utterly absurd!”
“He’s going to dig up a ten-year-old scandal for a woman? That’s a stain on our family’s reputation! Isn’t this just digging our own grave?”
“And old Mr. Clarke, is he just going to stand by and watch his son go mad?”
“I heard Mr. Clarke suspended several vice presidents from Gavin’s side of the family. The entire corporation is on edge…”
Amid the whispers, the doors to the hall opened.
All sound ceased instantly.
Damien walked in.
His face was a little pale, with dark circles under his eyes, a clear sign of a sleepless night.
But his back was ramrod straight.
Damien scanned the room, his gaze as sharp as a blade.
“I am Damien Clarke.”
His low voice carried through the microphones, reaching every corner of the room, and even an old apartment on the other side of the city.
Grace sat at a small, paint-chipped table, a bowl of long-congealed noodles in front of her.
The television was on.
The fork in Grace’s hand froze.
She didn’t want to watch.
But her fingers seemed to have a will of their own, unable to press the red power button.
“I’ve called this press conference today to clarify one matter.”

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