The First Move

Chapter 2

Damien Xander stepped into Xander Tower, the familiar scent of expensive cologne and polished marble flooding his senses. The grand lobby stretched before him—pristine white floors reflecting the golden chandeliers above, leather seating arranged in perfect symmetry, and the hum of powerful men and women moving with purpose. This was the heart of the Xander Conglomerate, the empire his family had built over generations.

An empire that had thrown him and his mother away like garbage.

His jaw tightened as memories threatened to surface—memories of standing in this very lobby as a child, clinging to his mother's hand while the Xander elders coldly turned their backs on them. He could still hear the echoes of their cruel laughter, their dismissive words as they cast them into the slums.

But he wasn't that helpless boy anymore.

The receptionist, a young woman with sharp features and a practiced corporate smile, glanced up as he approached.

"Good evening, sir. How can I assist you?" she asked, her fingers poised over the keyboard.

Damien didn't answer immediately. He placed a gloved hand on the marble counter, leaning slightly forward. His presence alone sent an unspoken ripple of unease through the air.

"I need a meeting with someone from the board," he said, voice measured, controlled.

The woman's smile faltered slightly, but she remained professional. "Do you have an appointment?"

"No."

She hesitated. "I'm afraid board meetings are strictly by—"

A second voice interrupted.

"I can take care of him, Melissa."

Damien turned his head slightly, his gaze landing on a man walking toward them. Mid-forties, sharp suit, expensive watch, an air of self-importance clinging to him like cologne. Silas Moreau, one of the Xander family's most trusted executives. A man Damien remembered well.

Silas had been one of the first to laugh in his mother's face the night they were cast out.

The older man studied Damien for a moment, eyes narrowing slightly. He didn't recognize him yet.

"Forgive me, but do I know you?" Silas asked, his tone polite but distant.

Damien smiled—a slow, predatory smile.

"You will soon," he said.

There was a flicker of irritation in Silas's expression, but he remained composed. "If you need a meeting, I suggest you schedule one properly. The board doesn't entertain unexpected guests."

Damien tapped a single finger against the marble counter, the soft sound echoing louder than it should have.

"And what if I insist?"

Silas sighed, glancing at his watch. "Then I'm afraid you'll be disappointed. Now, if you'll excuse me—"

He turned to leave, dismissing Damien like he was nothing.

Damien's fingers twitched. The urge to snap the man's wrist just for walking away so casually burned in his veins. But no. This wasn't the time for brute force.

This was a game. A war of power.

And Damien played to win.

With a calmness that belied the storm inside him, he reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a black envelope.

The movement was subtle, but when Silas caught sight of the gold-embossed seal on the envelope, he froze.

The color drained from his face.

Slowly, Silas turned back to Damien, his once-dismissive expression shifting into something else—something cautious.

"Where did you get that?" he asked, voice lower now.

Damien tossed the envelope onto the counter. "Read it."

The receptionist, now looking slightly nervous, glanced between them but wisely said nothing.

With stiff fingers, Silas picked up the envelope and broke the seal. Inside was a single piece of paper—thick, high-quality, the kind used for official government correspondence.

As his eyes scanned the contents, his breathing became uneven.

Damien watched him, savoring the moment.

He had waited ten years for this.

Silas swallowed hard, glancing back up at Damien. "You… How did you—"

"Doesn't matter," Damien cut him off smoothly. "What matters is that you deliver the message to the board. Immediately."

Silas hesitated, but the weight of the letter in his hands was undeniable. He looked at Damien again, this time with something close to fear.

Because now, he recognized him.

And he knew exactly what kind of monster had returned.

"Follow me," Silas said stiffly, turning toward the private elevators.

Damien stepped forward without hesitation, his boots echoing through the lobby.

Reed, who had been standing silently by the entrance, smirked as he watched the scene unfold.

"This is going to be fun," he muttered under his breath before following.

---

Xander Conglomerate - Boardroom

The boardroom was just as Damien remembered—opulent, excessive, filled with the stench of wealth and greed. A long mahogany table stretched across the room, high-backed leather chairs arranged around it. Large windows overlooked the city skyline, the view a constant reminder of the power this family held.

Seated at the table were eight men and women—the Xander Board of Directors. At the head of the table sat Victor Xander, the current patriarch of the family and CEO of Xander Conglomerate.

His uncle.

The man who had ordered Damien and his mother to be thrown out like trash.

Victor was in his late fifties now, but time had been kind to him. Silver-streaked hair, sharp blue eyes, tailored suit—he still radiated power. But the moment his gaze landed on Damien, something flickered in those icy eyes.

Recognition.

Disbelief.

And then… irritation.

"What is this about?" Victor asked, voice cold. His sharp gaze shifted to Silas, who was still clutching the black envelope like it was a bomb about to explode.

Silas hesitated. Then, without a word, he placed the letter in front of Victor.

The room fell into dead silence as Victor unfolded the paper. His eyes moved across the words. Then they stopped.

Damien didn't need to see the expression on his uncle's face to know what he was reading.

Because he had written those words himself.

To the Board of Xander Conglomerate,

I am claiming my rightful place.

I am not here to beg. I am not here to negotiate.

I am here to take what is mine.

You have one week to decide how this will go.

Comply, or be destroyed.

—Damien Xander

The air in the room thickened as Victor's grip on the letter tightened. His jaw clenched, and for the first time in years, the powerful patriarch of the Xander family looked genuinely unsettled.

He looked up, meeting Damien's gaze. "You dare come back here and—"

Damien cut him off. "Yes."

The single word rang through the room like a gunshot.

Victor's expression darkened. "You think you can waltz in here and—"

"Not think," Damien said, stepping closer, his presence suffocating. "I know."

Silence.

A tense, unspoken battle played out in the charged air between them.

Then Damien smirked, leaning forward slightly. "You didn't think I'd stay dead forever, did you, Uncle?"

Victor's fingers curled into fists.

Damien straightened, his gaze sweeping across the rest of the board. "One week," he repeated, voice calm but deadly. "Make your choice."

With that, he turned and walked toward the door.

He had made his first move.

Now, he would wait and watch them fall apart.