The Billionaire's Cruel Game Begging for My Forgiveness

Four years ago, he saved my life twice, making me believe I had met the love of my life. For him, I kept everything from Julian and lived as Damon's dirty little secret for four whole years. It wasn't until three days before my birthday gala that I found out his tenderness was nothing but a calculated trap. He only got close to me so he could ruin my family in front of the entire New York high society. I finally decided to walk away. Yet when his fiancée beat me bloody, the very man who swore to destroy everything I loved pulled me into his arms with bloodshot eyes. Damon, what kind of sick game are you playing now? Chloe's POV Three days before my birthday, I went to the hotel ballroom to do a final check on the decorations. The moment I pushed open the double doors, the massive LED screen in the center of the hall suddenly lit up. A sharp screech of static ripped through the speakers. Then, two unedited raw video clips flashed across the screen. The first was dashcam footage from four years ago, recorded in a dark alleyway behind a New York film studio. On screen, Damon had just pulled a trembling me into his car. Moments later, his personal assistant walked up to the thugs, tossing a thick envelope of cash at their leader. The audio picked up the assistant's voice with terrifying clarity: "Mr. Sterling said you put on a great show. Here's your final payout. Get the hell out of New York before dawn." The screen jumped straight to the second video. It was a montage of intimate clips—me, pinned beneath Damon in hotel suites over the last four years. Right above the video was a scheduled media broadcast time. It was set for three days from now, at my twenty-fourth birthday party. The press headline screamed in bold: [Vance Group CEO's Little Sister: The Four-Year Secret Romance with Their Arch-Rival] From the sound booth, a walkie-talkie crackled to life with the director's voice: "Is the feed ready? Mr. Sterling made it clear—the file stays only on his personal phone. Nothing gets saved on the ballroom computers." "The second Julian Vance sits down, Mr. Sterling will cast his screen. The hall and the press get the footage simultaneously." "Relax, there's no backup in the system. Everything triggers on Mr. Sterling's signal." "Once he hits send, every elite in New York will see who little Miss Vance really is." I stood in the center of the empty ballroom. The harsh fluorescent lights beamed down on me. My ears buzzed violently. Every drop of blood felt like it had been sucked dry from my veins. I couldn't believe what my eyes and ears were telling me. Yet the raw proof was screaming right in front of my face. My mind raced back. Four years ago, against Julian's furious objections, I packed my bags and flew to New York alone to study makeup and styling. Julian warned me that the business world was cutthroat, and that the Sterling family practically owned New York. Our families had been locked in a bitter blood feud for a decade. He begged me not to go. But I was stubborn. I refused to live under the Vance family's protection forever. I grit my teeth, survived on cheap bagels in a moldy basement, and started from the very bottom as an unpaid apprentice. And right when I was at my lowest, Damon appeared. Two ambushes. Two heroic rescues. The first was in that pitch-black alleyway. He pulled me out of harm's way, brushing my hair back, telling me softly that it wasn't safe for a girl to walk alone at night. The second was on the freeway. A semi-truck nearly ran me off the road, and Damon swerved his own car like a madman to slam the truck away. He pulled me into his passenger seat, his hands shaking, his eyes wild with terror for my life. I thought I had found my forever. For Damon, I hid everything from Julian. I stayed his submissive, secret lover in the shadows for four years. I even daydreamed that if we got married, it might finally end the decade-long corporate war between our families. It was all an act. From the very first second we met, every step was planned. Every tender touch, every whisper in bed. It was all a bullet meant for Julian. I stood there for a long time until the trembling stopped. I didn't storm off to confront Damon. I just stood in the middle of the empty hall, digging my nails into my palms until the skin broke and blood dripped onto the carpet. The phone in my pocket buzzed violently. "Julian" flashed across the screen. I took a deep breath, swallowing the bitter taste of copper in my throat, and picked up. "Chloe," Julian's warm voice came through, laced with tired affection. "Your new studio back home is ready. It's stocked with all the equipment you love." "Also, Mom and Dad found someone for you. Good family, incredible character. Would you be willing to come home and meet him?" For some reason, his tone sounded unusually cautious. Hearing the voice of the only person in this world who genuinely loved me, my eyes burned. I bit the back of my hand, keeping my voice quiet, flat, and unwavering: "Okay. I'll come back." "I'll meet him."Chloe's POV Silence stretched over the line for a few seconds. Julian sounded stunned: "Chloe, are you serious? I thought you said you'd never marry anyone except Damon Sterling." "We're done," I said, staring at my own face on the giant screen. "I don't love him anymore. I'll never see him again." Julian caught the roughness in my voice: "Did he hurt you?" "No. I just want to come home," I answered quietly. "I'm wrapping up my projects. I'll be back on my birthday." I hung up, left the ballroom, and headed straight to my studio to submit my resignation. Back at our apartment, I pulled out two suitcases and packed my clothes and essentials. As for the designer jewelry Damon had showered me with over the years, I didn't touch a single piece. I left them locked in the wardrobe. Damon came home that evening. He dropped a velvet gift box on the table and wrapped his arms around my waist from behind: "I had a custom gown made for you. Wear it on your birthday." I slipped out of his embrace and walked toward the kitchen to pour a glass of water: "Why so sudden?" Damon lit a cigarette, speaking casually: "It's your birthday. It should be grand. I even had someone send an invite to your brother. After fighting him for so long, I ought to hand him a proper gift in person." I held the glass, saying nothing. Watching the smirk on his face, a wave of nausea hit me. Once Damon stepped into the shower, I picked up his phone. I tried his birthday. Then his usual office PINs. Wrong. The screen locked instantly. I set it back down. I knew the only original copy of those videos was on this phone. I had to wait until the party to find a chance to delete them. The next afternoon, I was boxing up the last of my things at the styling studio. The VIP lounge doors were suddenly kicked open. Victoria Caldwell walked in, flanked by two towering bodyguards. She glanced at my makeup kit, then tossed a silver envelope onto the counter. "Let me introduce myself. Victoria Caldwell, Damon's fiancée." I clicked my kit shut, my face completely expressionless: "Can I help you?" "Damon and I are getting engaged early next month," Victoria sneered, crossing her arms. "You've been his bed warmer in New York for four years—surely you didn't think he'd marry you? He's only keeping you around to ruin your brother on your birthday." "Take some money and run back to San Francisco. Don't humiliate yourself." Victoria stared at me, clearly expecting a hysterical meltdown. Instead, I glanced down at the invitation, my pulse steady. Early next month. Exactly three days after my birthday. He planned to destroy me and my family on my birthday, then seal his dynastic marriage right after. Seeing my lack of reaction, Victoria snapped: "Being the mistress of your family's worst enemy for four years... don't you have any shame?" I met her gaze, my voice deadpan: "Miss Caldwell, I know exactly what kind of man Damon is. If you want him, take him. You didn't need to come here to tell me." I picked up my case, ready to leave. Enraged by my indifference, Victoria grabbed a heavy hand mirror from the vanity and slammed it against the back of my head. Crack. A searing pain ripped through my scalp. Warm blood instantly trickled down into my hair. Victoria knocked over an electric kettle, scalding hot water splashing across my shoulder, and shoved me hard. I crashed into a shelf and hit the floor, my vision blurring into black spots. Right then, the door flew open with a deafening crash. Damon stood in the doorway, freezing at the sight of me lying in a pool of blood. His face went entirely pale, then black with fury. "Victoria Caldwell!" He lunged forward, shoving Victoria brutally against the edge of the vanity. He grabbed a glass of iced water from the table and threw it directly into her face. As Victoria shrieked in shock, Damon had already stripped off his trench coat, wrapping it tightly around my shaking body. His hands were trembling violently, his voice cracked: "Chloe... can you hear me? Where does it hurt?"Chloe's POV Damon ignored Victoria's screaming and looked down at me. "Be good. Go wait for me in the car. I'll handle this. It won't take long." I didn't make a sound. I let him help me up, taking one heavy step at a time until I reached the car outside. My ears were ringing. Only when I sank into the leather seat did my vision clear a little. Shortly after, Damon's assistant came out. He tapped on the window, offering an awkward, appeasing smile: "Miss Vance, please don't overthink this. The engagement is just an arrangement by the elders. Mr. Sterling never took it seriously." "He didn't tell you because he didn't want you to worry." "You know how much he cares about you, don't you?" I sneered internally. On the surface, I kept my head down, expression blank. A few minutes later, Damon emerged. Behind him, Victoria was running away in tears, looking completely wrecked. Damon waved his team away, slid into the driver's seat, and pulled out a first-aid kit to dress my wound. His touch was remarkably gentle, his voice hoarse: "Chloe, the wedding talk was my father's idea. I'm not marrying her." "I'll make it clear to my family tonight. Don't let it bother you." I stared out the windshield. "Understood. Just drive, Damon." Damon looked at me, his lips parting as if to say something, but he swallowed it down and started the engine. The car was dead silent, save for the hum of the engine. I closed my eyes, my thoughts spinning out of control. Suddenly, a screech of tires tore through the quiet. My eyes snapped open. A massive semi-truck was barreling straight toward us. In the split second my pupils contracted, Damon threw himself over the console, pinning me tightly beneath his chest. BAM! A bone-shattering impact flipped our world upside down. Agony engulfed me, and darkness swallowed my senses. When I woke up, I was lying in a hospital bed. The white ceiling lights stung my eyes. I twitched my fingers; every muscle screamed in protest. Damon was sitting by the bed, his face as pale as a ghost. The moment he saw me open my eyes, a spark lit up his gaze. "Chloe! You're awake! God, you scared me to death!" My lips cracked as I whispered, my throat dry as sandpaper: "Are you... badly hurt?" "I'm fine. Just two fractured ribs." Damon reached out, brushing the tips of his fingers against my hair. "It's my fault. I didn't protect you." He pushed himself up, wincing. "Lie still. I'll go get the doctor." The moment he stepped out, the room door pushed open again. I thought it was the nurse. When I turned my head, it was Victoria. Victoria gripped her phone tightly, walking straight to my bedside. "Awake? Perfect. Here's something you should watch." She shoved the screen in front of my face and hit play. The video showed the interior of a café. Victoria, eyes red and voice shaking, was confronting Damon: "Damon, tell me the truth. Is it real? Everything you did with Chloe Vance—was it all just for revenge?" Damon's expression on screen was unreadable. He glanced toward the street, where my car was parked. Then, he nodded. Victoria threw her arms around him, sobbing: "I still can't trust you. We're about to get married, and you're still acting like her devoted puppy." "Prove it to me. Tamper with the brakes later. When you hit something, jerk the steering wheel toward the passenger side. Let her take the hit. Do that, and I'll believe you." Damon went quiet for several long seconds. Then, he spoke a single word: "Fine." The video cut off. Victoria pulled her phone back, a venomous smile spreading across her lips. I opened my mouth, but not a single sound came out.Chloe's POV Even the car crash was staged. I shut my eyes, a suffocating weight crushing my chest. I couldn't understand how far Damon was willing to go. I remembered the moment of impact clearly. He had jerked the wheel toward the passenger side. Yet in the very last fraction of a second, he threw his body over mine to take the brunt of it. If this was all revenge, shouldn't he be thrilled to see me mangled? Why throw himself in front of me? Why break his own ribs to shield me? A dangerous thought flickered in my mind. I crushed it immediately, refusing to entertain it. Damon Sterling. You better truly feel nothing for me. You better have used me from start to finish. Because if you didn't, you will suffer ten thousand times worse than I ever will. Over the next few days, Damon never left my hospital room. Even with two broken ribs. The doctor ordered him to stay on bed rest, but he refused, hovering over me day and night. The families of other patients in the ward whispered among themselves, praising what an incredible, devoted boyfriend he was. Only I knew it was all theater. His tenderness, his devotion, his sleepless nights—it was all a lie. On the day of my discharge, Damon said I had been cooped up too long and wanted to take me out to unwind. The venue was a friend's newly opened photography studio, hosting an evening launch party. The lighting was dim, the music pulsing. Damon stayed glued to my side, catering to my every need. His friends and associates treated me with unnatural deference. Yet the gnawing dread in my gut only grew worse. The doors swung open, and Victoria Caldwell walked in. The room stiffened. Just as Damon was about to snap, several of his associates hurried over to intercept her, muttering under their breath: "Didn't we already agree on this?" "Leave the rest to us. Just sit back and watch the show." Victoria smirked: "Don't worry, I'm not here to start a fight. I'm here to join in." "Damon's going to be my husband anyway. If he's taking down his enemies, shouldn't I lend a hand?" She leaned in and whispered something into one guy's ear. The man exchanged a knowing, sickening look with the person beside him. I strained my ears to listen, but the pounding bass drowned out their words. Her instructions delivered, Victoria strolled over to me with a plastic smile: "Miss Vance, I was wrong earlier. Damon already chewed me out." "He never agreed to the family marriage. He only has eyes for you." My brow furrowed, the warning bells in my head screaming louder. I couldn't fathom her sudden change of heart, but instinct told me she was setting a trap. Damon looked equally dark, his eyes darting between Victoria and me. Victoria acted as if nothing was wrong, pulling a set of keys from her designer purse and handing them over: "Miss Vance, this is the key to my new yacht. Take it as an apology." I didn't reach for it. "No need. I'm not staying in New York." Damon's face went rigid instantly. He grabbed my wrist with enough force to splinter bone. The man who was always in absolute control suddenly sounded frantic: "Chloe, what does that mean?" "I'm in New York. Where else would you go?" "You're going to marry me..."Chloe's POV My wrist throbbed in his grip, but I didn't pull away. "Who knows what the future holds?" Victoria watched the two of us, suddenly breaking the silence: "Aren't you a makeup artist, Miss Vance?" "The studio just opened, and there are models backstage waiting for touch-ups. Why don't you show us your skills?" "Let us see what you're capable of." The crowd immediately jumped on the bandwagon: "Yeah, Chloe, do one look!" "Come on, it's a launch party, don't be a buzzkill!" Damon looked like he wanted to demand an answer to my earlier comment, but with the crowd pressing, he hesitated for a second before nodding: "Go ahead. We'll leave as soon as you're done." Victoria guided me toward the back of the facility, into a private photography bay. My stomach churned. All I wanted was to finish quickly and get out of here. The moment I set my brushes on the vanity, Damon's phone buzzed violently. It was an urgent call from his family's driver, claiming his father was having a massive heart attack in the front lounge. Almost simultaneously, Victoria rushed in, her face white: "Damon! Your dad just collapsed in the lobby! Go check on him!" Faced with his father's life, Damon's expression shattered. He turned, whipped his jacket off, and draped it over my shoulders. He barked at his men: "You three. Stand outside this door. Do not leave her side for a single second." The guards nodded repeatedly. Damon bolted toward the front. Yet the second he disappeared around the corner, Victoria's personal assistant approached with glasses of champagne. A few muttered words were all it took to draw those bribed guards toward the side exit: "Need to take a quick call." "Me too, client issue." "You guys carry on, be right back." One by one, they vanished. Within minutes, the cavernous studio went dead quiet. I was completely alone. A cold chill raced down my spine. I snatched my bag and bolted for the door. The door swung open from the outside. A group of men wearing ski masks and third-party security uniforms piled in, their eyes filthy and predatory. They locked eyes on me and fanned out, blocking the exit. "Well, look at that. All by herself." "Damn, she's gorgeous. Looks like our lucky night, boys." Terror spiked in my blood. I spun around to dash for the fire exit, but two of them cut me off. They lunged, their rough hands ripping at my clothes. The sound of tearing fabric was deafening in the empty studio. "Get off me! Don't touch me!" I fought with everything I had, raking my nails down one man's face, but another pinned my wrists to the concrete. I screamed at the top of my lungs. My cries were swallowed whole by the roaring bass from the party down the hall. They shoved me down, their hands groping my body as my clothes were shredded to ribbons. BAM! The heavy soundproof door was kicked clean off its hinges. Damon stood in the doorway, his eyes wild and dripping with murderous rage. The sight of me on the floor snapped whatever sanity he had left. He charged in, his fists raining down like a freight train on the attackers. "You're fucking dead!" His blows were brutal, calculated, and terrifyingly heavy. Within seconds, the men were broken on the floor, howling in agony, completely unable to stand. I curled into a ball on the cold concrete, shaking uncontrollably. My clothes were ruined, tears streaming down my bruised face. Watching Damon's berserk, bloodied back, darkness rushed in, and I passed out.