My Beloved

Time takes so much away. As for me, all I had left was my smile.

Whether time is good or bad, it always passes. The only difference is that good times pass quickly, and bad times crawl by — but either way, time’s only job is to pass.

Damian Ashford sat in his office, eyes closed, reclined on the leather sofa, one hand tapping idly against his knee. To his right stood his most trusted man, Graves, watching his employer with quiet unease — because he knew Damian only sat like this when someone was about to be sent to hell. Graves found himself wondering whose turn it was tonight.

Damian suddenly opened his coal-black eyes and fixed them on Graves, who flinched and glanced away, flustered.

“Graves. Tonight needs a special arrangement. Send word to our special guest.” Damian gave the order without preamble.

A “summons” meant only one thing: someone was about to be dragged in.

“Yes, sir. As you command.”

Graves knew his employer had been simmering with rage at Alan lately — Alan, who had somehow found out about two or three of Damian’s business deals ahead of time and swooped in to steal them out from under him.

“I just want to know who’s grown bold enough to betray me again and again, throwing dust in my eyes,” Damian muttered.

“Whatever you say, sir.” Graves answered and left the office.

This was Damian Ashford — king of the business world, a man who could untangle any scheme just as easily as he could unravel one. When he lifted those coal-black eyes to look at someone, it was enough to burn them to ash. His eyes always carried a cold, distant look that kept people exactly in their place. His presence alone made anyone think twice before speaking. A sharp, proud nose, dark brows, and lips that rarely knew how to smile. When he walked, the sound of his footsteps seemed to stay behind on the ground.

As handsome as he was, he was every bit as merciless to his enemies.

To go up against Damian Ashford, you needed a mind just as sharp as his — and few people had one.

That’s why people called him Lucifer. The Devil. The Beast.

Ha.

Damian Ashford. The Devil.

“Breaking news, everyone!” Tania burst into the lounge, voice blaring like a loudspeaker, and everyone lounging around dropped what they were doing to stare at her as if she really were a news anchor.

“Come on, just tell us already — what’s the news?” This was Nadia, forever impatient.

“It’s nothing, just more nonsense from Tania,” Megan said, pulling a face.

“Oh, let her speak — who knows, it might actually be worth hearing,” said Will, who agreed with everything Tania said, because he liked her, whole heart and all.

“Quiet, all of you. Once you hear what I’m about to tell you, your jaws are going to drop,” Tania declared.

“Then tell us already, or should we give you a twenty-gun salute first?” Nadia snapped.

“It’s a twenty-one-gun salute, not twenty,” Misha corrected, because apparently that needed fixing.

“Will you two stop bickering?” Will said, irritated.

“Oh, of course, why not,” everyone chimed in, teasing.

“So, here’s today’s headline — Grandfather has decided to send our little aunt Isabella to boarding school.” Tania delivered it with full drama.

“What?”

“That can’t be.”

“Impossible.”

“The world could end before that happens.”

Everyone started talking over each other.

“It’s true, and Grandfather Richard has already agreed to it,” Tania said, and every mouth in the room fell open.

“If Grandfather Richard agreed, then it must be true,” Misha said.

“And what does the person this decision is actually about have to say?” Theo raised the important point.

“She doesn’t even know yet,” Tania said.

“Well, whatever happens, happens. We’ll see,” Will said, closing the discussion.

Damian pulled up outside White Manor, and the guard scrambled to throw open the gate — being even a second late meant losing his job. Three guards before him had already learned that the hard way.

Damian had designed White Manor himself, and it left anyone who saw it spellbound. Everything inside was white, because white was Damian’s favorite color.

He stepped out of the car, crossed the pale stone path, and turned toward the back of the house. He only went that way when someone needed to be made to suffer.

With his cold eyes fixed ahead, Damian descended into the basement built along the rear of the house.

The basement had been designed so that, to anyone looking, it appeared to be just one room — but in truth, further rooms opened out from within it, and those rooms held basements of their own. Only Damian could have conceived of something like that. No one else.

“Graves. Has he said anything, or is he still waiting for me?” Damian asked in his cold voice.

“No, sir. He hasn’t said a word,” Graves answered, head bowed.

“So you’ve just been keeping him company, then?” Damian snapped. “Get out. Lock the door on your way.”

Graves lowered his head and left.

“So, Nathan. The great traitor. Did you really think I was fool enough not to notice who’s been leaking my business to the outside world? I already knew after the second deal. The third was just confirmation.” Damian turned the pliers over in his hand.

“Sir, please forgive me. This was the first time. It won’t happen again,” Nathan begged, sobbing.

“First of all — this wasn’t the first time. And second — in my dictionary, there’s no such word as forgiveness for betrayal,” Damian said coldly.

What followed left Nathan broken and screaming — screams that would have carried outside, if the room hadn’t been soundproofed.

“I’ll come again tomorrow, so you remember me well — so that you never, not even by accident, forget that you crossed paths with Damian Ashford. The one and only Lucifer.” Damian shoved the chair Nathan was tied to and walked out, leaving nothing behind him but the screaming.

Back in his heaven-white bedroom, Damian went straight to the shower to freshen up. He changed into comfortable clothes, told the housekeeper to have dinner sent up, and settled in to scroll through the news.

Just from the look on his face, anyone could tell how at ease and refreshed he felt now.

This is the world — where people find relief only after giving pain to someone else.

Richard Sinclair sat in his room, reading glasses on, absorbed in a book, when a soft knock came at the door — and he knew, just from the knock, exactly who it was.

“Come in, sweetheart,” Richard said, smiling.

Isabella peeked her head in first, checking that her mother wasn’t there. Once she was sure it was only her father, she stepped in slowly.

Richard took off his glasses and looked at his youngest, most cherished daughter. Just looking at her brought back the memory of her birth — of the day he’d learned a new little guest was coming to the family, right when his youngest son’s wedding had already been arranged, and he himself had already become a grandfather several times over.

The news had hit the whole family like a bolt of lightning. His wife and the rest of the family had tried everything to end the pregnancy, but Richard’s vows and warnings had stopped them. In the aftermath, they’d rushed his youngest son’s wedding forward, and his daughter’s too.

Before Isabella, Richard had five children — three sons and two daughters. The eldest, Adrian, married his wife’s niece, Naomi. They have four children: Will, Misha, Vincent, and Nadia. Then Hannah, who has two children, Mira and Nathan. Then Alan, who has three children: Tania, Sophia, and Theo. The youngest son, Samuel, has two children, Megan and Alex. Then Amelia, who has two children, Natalie and Nora.

Everything had been settled and steady when, out of nowhere, Richard’s wife Eleanor got the news that she was pregnant again — by which point his eldest son’s three children, his middle children’s two each, and his daughter’s children too had all already been born.

No one was happy about Isabella’s birth. Not even her own mother. Her siblings and their spouses, needless to say, even less so. After she was born, the family carried on as though nothing new had been added to the house at all — only her father cared for her: made her bottles, changed her clothes, saw to everything she needed.

From childhood, Isabella kept to herself, always shut away in her room, which was part of why she’d grown up with a slight stutter.

“Y-yes, Papa?” Isabella said quietly.

Hearing her voice, Richard startled slightly.

“Come sit, sweetheart,” he said, gesturing to the sofa.

Once she’d sat down, Richard cleared his throat and spoke gently.

“Sweetheart — you’ve been admitted into third year, and in a few days we’ll be sending you to boarding school.”

Isabella looked up, startled, but couldn’t get any words out.

Richard already knew she didn’t want to go — she barely left her room even at home. She’d taken her A-levels privately, and going straight from her bedroom to a boarding school wasn’t just hard for her, it felt impossible. But as ever, she was too timid to ever speak up, and she stayed silent now too.

What could Richard do? He couldn’t overrule his sons and daughters-in-law anymore. His own children were embarrassed to even admit that Isabella was their sister — younger than most of their own children.

“Whatever you need, we’ll go and get it together, and then by next week, you’ll head to the boarding school,” Richard said, patting her head gently.

“O-okay, Papa. C-can I go now?” Isabella asked.

“Go on, sweetheart,” Richard nodded softly.

Isabella hurried back to her room and threw herself onto her bed. All she could think was — how would she keep studying like this? Studying already drained her, and now, on top of it, living at a boarding school.

No telling which way life would turn next — whether that turn would be good or bad. Only time would tell, because there is no teacher better than time.