Chapter 7
The suffocating silence hung heavily under the bright, flawless cinematic light. The crisp, clean air of the tennis court smelled faintly of ozone and impending doom. Evelyn lay tangled in the thick, white spare netting, her breath hitching in ragged, terrified sobs as she clutched her burning, rosy cheek. She looked up at Damon, her eyes wide with unadulterated fear, finally understanding the true, monstrous nature of the man she had planned to marry.
Damon stood perfectly still in the center of the wreckage. His tailored dark three-piece suit remained impeccably crisp, not a single thread out of place. The loose strands of wavy hair falling over his forehead gave him a chillingly calm, romantic appearance that contrasted violently with the brutal assault he had just executed.
He breathed slowly, his chest rising and falling with absolute control.
Damon lowered his gaze to the green surface of the court. Resting just a few feet away from his polished leather shoes was the black plastic ball-machine remote that Evelyn had dropped.
He took a slow, deliberate step forward. The sharp, refined tattoos on his hand flexed as he reached down and picked up the remote. The plastic clicked softly in his grip.
He turned his cold, intimidating eyes toward his fiancée. He walked slowly toward the padded court bench where she lay weeping. Every step he took sounded measured and purposeful, echoing like the ticking of a doomsday clock.
Damon stopped. He slowly crouched down, bringing his face level with hers. He reached out and set the black remote on the green court, placing it directly in front of Evelyn.
Evelyn stared at the remote, her fair skin completely drained of blood. She was trembling so violently that the heavy diamond engagement ring on her finger shook against the court surface.
"Damon... please," Evelyn whimpered, her American accent reduced to a pathetic, broken whisper. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I won't ever look at her again. We can just walk away from this. My family will give you whatever concessions you want for the merger."
Damon did not raise his voice. He spoke slowly, with those terrifying, highly controlled pauses between his words. His volume was incredibly low, a quiet, lethal delivery that promised absolute destruction.
"This time," Damon whispered, his cold, sharp eyes piercing straight through her cowardly soul.
He tilted his head slightly, his tone completely devoid of any human empathy or mercy.
"You stand... where she stood," Damon concluded.
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Evelyn’s breath caught in her throat. Her face became a portrait of pure, paralyzing fright. The color drained entirely from her lips. She slowly turned her head, her terrified eyes moving from the black remote resting on the ground, across the bright green expanse of the court, until her gaze locked onto the silent, heavy barrel of the ball machine.
She realized with sickening clarity that the execution had not ended with a slap. It was only just beginning.
