I ended up in bed with my arch-nemesis after a drinking contest that went off the rails. When I woke up, my body aching and my dignity bruised, I didn’t cry. I pulled ten hundred-dollar bills from my purse, slapped them onto the nightstand, and scribbled a note: “Sub-par experience. Zero stars. Don't bother with a follow-up—actually, I hope the hardware stays permanently out of commission. Consider this a tip for the effort.” I slept with him, then I gutted his ego. He’d probably want to crawl into a hole and die. The thought gave me a rush of pure, petty adrenaline. Then, I did what any rational woman would do: I fled the country, finished my degree in London, and built an empire while raising two kids. Five years later, I returned to New York. The city’s most powerful bachelor sent over a formal invitation to meet. My twins, the gatekeepers of my heart, shut him down before he could even get through the door. “Mommy said you were a ‘disappointing amateur’ and that there are no refunds on life!” The cold, untouchable man looked like he’d been struck by lightning. “Was I… really that bad?” 1 I was invited to join The Mogul Initiative, a high-stakes reality show designed for the heirs of the country's elite. I didn’t expect to run into Damian Ashford. He was supposed to be in London, far away from my orbit. He is the bane of my existence. The kind of man you’d gladly pay to have erased from your memory. Our families have been rivals for decades, clawing at each other’s throats for every contract, every scrap of prestige. Growing up, every girl I called a friend eventually became his ex-girlfriend. Every crush I ever had was sabotaged by him under the guise of "vetting them for my parents." Even the stray ginger cat I wanted to adopt ended up living in his mansion. Because of him, I, Jane Montgomery, had reached the age of twenty without a single successful relationship. In the studio, he caught my eye and gave me a look of cold, sharp indifference. It was a look that said, Oh, it’s you again. How tedious. Asshole. Just wait until I peel back that polished mask. During the introductions, I waved at him with a smile that was all sugar and no substance. “Damian, honey! You’re finally back from your ‘treatment’ abroad. How are you? Feeling… functional?” He gave a dry, humorless chuckle. “Better than ever, thanks to your concern.” I blinked, my eyes welling with fake sympathy, waiting for him to snap back. Usually, this was where the fireworks started. But he just stared. I cleared my throat and leaned in toward the mic, projecting for the cameras. “You really should stay on top of your therapy, Damian. Your future girlfriend’s… happiness depends on it.” The implication hung in the air like a lead weight. The live-chat feed on the monitors exploded. Damian’s face turned a dangerous shade of obsidian. Score one for Jane. The moment filming wrapped, I headed straight to The Velvet Room. It was my birthday, and my best friend, Sophie, had rented out the entire lounge. And then, Damian appeared again. Carrying a gift box. To hell with my luck. 2 “Happy birthday, Jane.” He held the box out with both hands, his expression unnervingly sincere. It made the hair on my arms stand up. This man never did anything without a hidden blade. When I was four, he gave me a caterpillar for my birthday. When I was five, it was a toad. Every year, without fail, he delivered a gift designed to make me scream. I wasn’t touching that box. I reached out, grabbed his tie, and yanked him closer. “Damian, we both know the score. Drop the act.” The faint smile on his lips vanished. “Jane…” “Zip it,” I snapped. “You’re giving me the creeps. Be the man I know you are—miserable and arrogant. Or are you losing your edge?” Something shifted in his eyes. He set the gift down and took a seat at the bar. I signaled the bartender, who lined up a row of high-octane cocktails. “Let’s play, Damian. One drink for every point of that tech merger we’re both fighting for. If I win, the contract is mine.” He nodded once. A silent challenge. Three rounds in, the lounge had cleared out. Most of our friends had stumbled home, but we were still there, locked in a battle of attrition. The alcohol was starting to blur the edges of the room. I leaned into his space, my hand finding the nape of his neck. “Look at you,” I slurred. “I’m gonna drink you under the table.” His gaze darkened, fixed on my mouth. “Jane, you’re drunk.” I laughed, feeling invincible. “What’s the matter, Ashford? Giving up? You always were a bit of a loser.” The next thing I knew, the setting had changed. We were in the penthouse suite upstairs. I pulled a bottle of vintage red from the minibar and held up a finger. “One more bottle. Then the merger is mine.” He nodded again, his eyes never leaving mine. I took a long swig, and the filter between my brain and my mouth disintegrated. “So, tell me. Did you really go to India to fix… that?” He frowned. “Fix what?” I rolled my eyes. Men and their pride. Three months ago, Damian had vanished to a retreat in the East. His best friend, Marcus, had whispered to everyone who would listen that Damian was seeking ‘specialized medical help’ for a certain… masculine deficiency. We all pretended not to know to save him the embarrassment. His face went dark—properly dark this time. I felt a twinge of guilt, but the wine pushed it aside. I reached out and patted his cheek. “It’s okay if it’s not fixed. Someone out there will love you anyway. Probably.” His eyes turned a hazy, bruised red. “Would you, Jane? Would you mind?” As he spoke, his lips moved in a way that was suddenly, agonizingly distracting. They looked soft. Like something I wanted to bite. A wave of heat rolled through me, my heart hammering against my ribs. Damian looked the same—flushed, breathless. Maybe there was something in the wine. Maybe it was just us. Desire drowned out my common sense. I wrapped my arms around his neck. “I wouldn't mind at all, Damian.” His lips were cool against mine, a momentary relief from the fire in my blood. But it wasn't enough. I wanted more. Damian tried to pull back, his hands gripping my waist. “Jane, we need to stop. We’re not thinking straight.” “If I think any more, I’m going to go insane,” I whispered, sliding my hand under his shirt, tracing the hard lines of his stomach. “You won’t regret this?” he rasped. “I don’t have ‘regret’ in my vocabulary.” “Fine.” He lifted me effortlessly, and I locked my legs around his waist. When we connected, the sheer physical reality of him made me gasp. Deficiency? The rumors were absolute lies. He kissed my eyes, my nose, the corner of my mouth. Everywhere his touch landed, a fire followed. The night became a blur of hunger and soft cries. “Easy,” he whispered against my skin. “I’ve got you.” I let go of my defenses and let the night swallow me whole. The next morning, the pain was the first thing I felt. My body felt like it had been dismantled and put back together incorrectly. The heat of the man lying next to me brought everything back in a sharp, terrifying flash. Oh, God. I slept with Damian Ashford. Panic won out over logic. I scrambled for my clothes, ready to bolt. But at the door, I stopped. If I just left, it would look like I was running. Like I was scared. I dug through my bag. I always kept cash for emergencies. I pulled out ten bills. A thousand dollars. I grabbed a notepad from the desk and wrote the note. Sub-par experience. Zero stars. Don't bother with a follow-up—actually, I hope the hardware stays permanently out of commission. Consider this a tip for the effort. I slept with him, and then I humiliated him. Surely, he’d never want to see me again. The victory felt hollow. Deep down, I knew I couldn't face him. Not because of the sex, but because I knew he didn’t love me. Marcus had mentioned once that Damian had a diary full of entries about a girl he’d loved since they were teenagers—the girl who was finally coming back to New York. If I stayed, if I let him "do the right thing," I’d just be a placeholder. I couldn't do that to myself. My phone buzzed. It was Sophie. “Jane, huge news. Isabelle Vance is back in town.” 3 Isabelle Vance. Damian’s "The One." Their story was the stuff of elite gossip. He’d reportedly turned down billion-dollar deals for her. He’d once flown into a storm-ravaged mountain range just to find her when she went missing on a hike. And yet, she’d left him to go abroad. Thinking about what I’d done the night before made me feel sick. My phone rang. It was Damian. “Jane. About last night… I’m taking responsibility. We need to talk.” I could hear the tension in his voice. “Listen,” he continued, “Isabelle is back, and there’s something I have to handle with her first, but then I’m coming straight to you—” He still loved her. The realization was a dull ache in my chest. I didn't let him finish. I adopted my most bored, aristocratic drawl. “Oh, please. You’re making a federal case out of a one-night stand. We’re even, Damian. Go play house with your little first love. Don’t let the door hit you on the way out.” I hung up, blocked his number, and booked a flight. I hadn't actually left because of him—I’d been planning to go to London for grad school for years. I had the offer from London Business School in my pocket. The timing was just… convenient. As the plane took off, I told myself Damian Ashford was a closed chapter. When I landed, I planned to buy the morning-after pill. But nature beat me to it—my period arrived that afternoon. I felt a surge of relief. The next three months were a whirlwind of settling into London. But when my cycle skipped two months in a row, the relief turned into a cold, hard knot of dread. At the clinic, the doctor beamed at me. “Congratulations! It’s twins.” “Twins?” I whispered, staring at the ultrasound. “See here?” She pointed to two tiny flickers. “Two gestational sacs. One is round, one is more elongated. Very likely a boy and a girl.” I didn't know whether to scream or cry. Since my mother passed away, "home" hadn't existed. My stepmother and stepsister had squeezed me out of my father’s life. I was alone in a foreign city. How could I raise two children? “I don’t think I can do this,” I told the doctor. She gave me a sympathetic look and scheduled a procedure for three days later. I went back to my flat and cried until I fell asleep, clutching a photo of my mother. That night, she appeared in my dreams for the first time since her funeral. “Jane, my darling. I didn't want you to be lonely, so I sent two little angels to keep you company. Love yourself, sweet girl. I’m watching over you.” When I woke up, I placed my hand on my stomach. “Thank you, Mom.” I decided to keep them. The only person who knew where I was was Xavier, a close friend from back home. He’d moved to London years ago after a falling out with his family. He was now a titan in the venture capital world. With his help, the next five years were peaceful. But it was time to go back. The Montgomery Group needed to be returned to its rightful owner. A frantic email from Sophie arrived: “Jane, those two witches are trying to move your mother’s grave. They say it’s ‘bad feng shui.’ I can’t stop them. Where are you? Come home!” 4 My knuckles turned white as I gripped my phone. The "witches" were Lydia, my stepmother, and Tiffany, her daughter. Lydia had moved into our house while my mother was still in the hospital. I was thirteen then, powerless. I was twenty-five now. When I arrived at the welcome-back gala my father had arranged, I walked in holding Ben and Tess by the hands. The room went dead silent. “I didn't know the Montgomery heiress got married. Whose kids are those?” “Probably some fling from London. Unwed mother… how scandalous.” “And her father wanted to merge with the Ashfords. No one’s going to want her now.” Tiffany stepped forward, a smirk playing on her lips. “Sister, you’ve been gone five years and you come back with baggage? You’re a disgrace to the family name. Who’s the father? Or was it so many people you couldn't keep track?” Ben looked up at me, his little face scrunched in confusion. “Mommy, why is that lady barking like a dog?” Tess added, “I think she forgot to brush her teeth, Mommy. Her breath is scary.” I let out a sharp, genuine laugh. My father, whose face was a mask of fury, glared at me. “You think this is funny? You’ve humiliated me. I have no daughter.” I clapped my hands softly. “Perfect. Because soon, there won't be a Montgomery family left in this city.” I didn't say it aloud, of course. I had a role to play. Xavier, standing behind me, gave me a subtle thumbs-up. Suddenly, the heavy doors of the ballroom swung open. Damian Ashford walked in, looking sharper, colder, and more lethal than the boy I’d left behind. Isabelle was on his arm, draped in silver silk. Tiffany rushed over to Isabelle. “Isabelle, can you believe Jane? She shows up like this while you and Damian are finally getting back together. Only you are worthy of him.” Isabelle gave a modest, sugary smile. “Now, Tiffany, don't be unkind.” Damian didn't even look at them. He walked straight to me. “Jane Montgomery.” His voice was a low growl. I felt a traitorous shiver run down my spine. Xavier stepped forward, sliding an arm around my shoulder. “Easy, babe,” he whispered. Then he extended a hand to Damian. “Hey there. You must be the ‘ex.’” Damian froze. “And you are?” Before Xavier could answer, Ben and Tess yelled in unison, “Daddy!” Kids, not now! Damian’s eyes flashed with something that looked like pure venom. “Daddy? You have kids? Two of them?” Xavier picked up Ben in one arm and Tess in the other. “What can I say? I’m a high-achiever. Way better than the previous model, wouldn't you say?” Damian’s gaze swung back to me, his voice trembling with suppressed rage. “Jane. Explain.” “Explain what?” Xavier interjected, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “Who are you to demand an explanation? My wife doesn't owe you anything. Maybe go look after your own hangers-on and stop bothering my family.” I rubbed my temples. “Xavier, let’s just go. I want to see my mother.” At the mention of my mother, Lydia scurried over. “Jane, it’s not that we’re being mean. A consultant told us your mother’s plot is blocking the family’s prosperity. We’ve had three experts confirm it. The grave has to be moved.” I saw right through them. They wanted to erase every trace of my mother. Tiffany muttered, “Old woman is still haunting us from the dirt.” Slap. Slap. I didn't hesitate. Two sharp rings across Tiffany’s face. “If anyone touches her grave, I will end you. I’m not the little girl you remember. Try me.” 5 At the cemetery on the north side of the city, I found two security guards standing by my mother’s headstone. “What are you doing here?” I asked. “Mr. Ashford hired us, ma'am. Twenty-four-hour protection for the site.” Damian. My chest tightened. My mother, Elena Montgomery, had been the real brains behind our company. My father, Arthur, had been a mid-level investor who wooed her just as the business took off. Once they were married, he slowly took control, and my mother retired to raise me. Before she died, she gave me a file. She didn’t trust Arthur. I’d hidden it in a compartment inside her urn, knowing it was the only place he’d never look. I knelt with the twins. “Kids, this is your grandmother, Elena. She was a brilliant scientist. She saved a lot of people with her work.” Tears blurred my vision. Tess wiped them away and hugged me, while Ben knelt solemnly. “Grandma, we’ll protect Mommy. I promise.” Outside the gates, Damian watched them from his car. His eyes were bloodshot. “Get a DNA test,” he told his assistant. “I want to know if those children are mine.” He remembered that night five years ago with agonizing clarity. The way she’d challenged him, the way she’d tasted like wine and fire. He’d wanted to marry her the next day. He’d wanted to save her from her family. But she’d vanished. Why? Was it because he wasn't enough? Was this Xavier guy really that much better? Thinking of Xavier, Damian decided to add another hour to his workout routine that night. He had a lot of frustration to burn off.
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