The Wife He Never Meant to Love (Lila and Damon) novel Chapter 29

Chapter 29

Chapter 29

“We’re working on it,” Damon replied simply.

Margaret’s smile deepened, pleased-hopeful.

Lila nearly choked.

Working on it?

:.

She forced a polite smile, though her pulse had begun to race.

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Margaret gave her hand a gentle squeeze. “Don’t overwork yourselves. These things require… dedication.”

Her gaze lingered meaningfully before she released Lila at last.

Damon stepped back.

“I need to see Father,” he said calmly.

Without another word, he left the living room and walked down the long corridor toward the study.

The air felt different there.

Heavier.

The study door was already slightly open.

Inside, his father waited.

Once, Richard Blackthorne had stood at the helm of Blackthorne Industries-a name built by Damon’s grandfather with discipline, instinct, and ruthless brilliance.

But Richard had never possessed the same sharpness.

The same restraint.

Under his leadership, the company had wavered. Profits thinned. Decisions faltered.

And then came the scandals.

Headlines splashed across every major outlet-infidelity, mistresses, whispered affairs that embarrassed the family name. Worse still were the accusations that followed. Darker rumors. Allegations of involvement in child prostitution rings that, though never fully proven in court, were enough to stain the Blackthorne legacy.

Investors pulled back.

Board members panicked.

Richard retreated from the spotlight soon after, citing “health reasons.”

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Chapter 29

When Damon’s grandfather passed away, there had been no debate.

Damon took over.

Young. Calculating. Unforgiving.

And under his leadership, Blackthorne Industries rose higher than it ever had.

Stronger.

Cleaner.

Untouchable.

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Now Richard sat behind the mahogany desk-not as a chairman, not as a leader-but as a man who once held

power.

“You’re late,” Richard said flatly.

Damon closed the door behind him.

“I was busy,” he replied, his voice cool, controlled.

There was no warmth between them.

Only history.

Richard no longer sat behind the desk as its master.

He sat there because Damon allowed it.

After the scandals, after the board forced him into quiet retirement, Richard had learned his place within the new order. Publicly, he remained invisible. Privately, he operated as something else entirely-

Damon’s subordinate.

His men handled what Damon could not afford to touch.

Cleanups. Silencing. Strategic pressure applied where contracts and lawyers were too slow.

Richard still held influence in certain circles-the shadow ring of businessmen, politicians, and nameless intermediaries who thrived where regulations blurred. It was a world of favors and leverage, of secrets traded like currency.

And Richard knew that world well.

Too well.

“I handled the media inquiry,” Richard said, sliding a folder across the desk. “The reporter won’t dig further.”

Damon didn’t sit.

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Chapter 29

:

He remained standing, flipping the file open with minimal interest.

“Keep it quiet,” Damon said. “I won’t repeat myself.”

Richard’s jaw tightened faintly.

“You think I’d risk this family again?”

Damon’s gaze lifted-cold, unwavering.

“I think you’re capable of underestimating consequences.”

Silence stretched between them.

Damon closed the folder.

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“The Shadow Ring is getting restless,” Richard continued more carefully. “Our competitors are moving funds through offshore channels. They’re preparing something.”

“I know,” Damon replied.

Blackthorne Industries had grown powerful-too powerful. And when competitors couldn’t win legally, they played dirty.

Smear campaigns.

Regulatory traps.

Fabricated scandals.

Damon needed his father for that side of the war.

When rivals moved in the dark, Richard knew how to move darker.

But there was a line.

“You will not,” Damon said evenly, “taint the Blackthorne name again. Everything you do goes through me.”

Richard studied his son for a long moment.

It used to be the other way around.

Now the power in the room was unmistakable.

“You’ve changed,” Richard muttered.

“No,” Damon replied calmly. “I learned.”

And unlike his father-

He never intended to lose control.

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Richard leaned back in the leather chair, folding his hands over his stomach.

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“How are you… and your wife?” he asked casually, though his eyes flicked with curiosity. “I’ve seen the headlines.”

Damon didn’t flinch. “We’re good,” he said simply, voice measured. Then he turned, leaving the study, the door clicking shut behind him.

Richard smirked, leaning back further, a trace of disbelief on his face.

He studied the boy who had just walked out-the same boy who carried his name, his blood… and yet, Richard could see something else in him.

It wasn’t his own DNA rising to claim dominance, as it had in the past. No fire. No instinct to challenge.

Because when he looked at Damon, he could see Margaret in him. Clear as day.

Damon was truly Margaret’s son.

Richard’s smirk deepened. He knew better than to cross that line.

Margaret Lee. That name alone carried weight. Ruthless. Dominating. In the courtroom, she had no equals. No record of failure. The law was her stage; its rules were merely a children’s storybook she bent as she pleased. Prosecutors feared her. Judges respected her. Everyone else learned to stay out of her way.

Richard had once seen her in action. He remembered how she could unravel the strongest cases, tear down the proudest men, and leave them scrambling in her wake.

And that was why he had survived.

Not because of his skills. Not because of his cunning.

But because Margaret Lee’s family had protected him. Their power, influence, and reputation had shielded him from prison, from ruin, from scandal when the world had closed in.

Now, looking at his son… he knew the next generation would not need him to protect them.

Damon had inherited her sharpness, her ruthlessness, and the unshakable command that came with it.

And Richard… Richard would stay in his place. Always.

Because crossing Margaret Lee’s bloodline was not an option. Not now. Not ever.

Lila sat beside Damon at the long dining table, watching him eat quietly. The clinking of cutlery on fine china was the only sound for a moment, punctuated by soft conversation between Damon and Margaret.

They exchanged comments and opinions on business matters, political shifts, and strategic alliances-words that carried weight, though Lila barely followed. She simply observed, quietly absorbing the controlled authority of the man beside her, the effortless command Margaret wielded, and the way Damon mirrored it in small, subtle ways.

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When dinner was finally over, they left the Blackthorne estate and returned to the forest villa. The night air was crisp, the winding roads lit only by the faint glow of headlights. Silence hung between them, heavy and charged.

Once inside their bedroom, Lila could feel it immediately-see it in Damon’s eyes. Hunger. Sharp, unapologetic, magnetic.

He knew her body, knew exactly where to touch, exactly how to make her shiver before she even realized it herself.

“Damon, sto-.” Before she could finish speaking, a soft moan escaped her lips. Instantly, she pressed her hands over her mouth, cheeks flushing crimson.

Damon’s lips curved in a barely-there smirk, clearly enjoying the reaction, the sound, the control he had over

her.

Then, the unexpected: his phone rang, slicing through the tension. Damon didn’t even glance at it. He continued, unbothered.

It died for a moment, then rang again.

Lila pushed against his chest lightly, exasperated. “Answer it,” she said firmly, voice catching just slightly. “It might be important.”

Damon’s hand paused in mid-air, a faint frown flickering across his brows. He looked at her, dark eyes questioning, almost teasing, but he didn’t respond immediately.

The phone rang again, insistent.

Lila’s patience wore thin. “Damon,” she pressed, harder this time, “just answer it.”

He finally exhaled, picking up the phone with one long, deliberate motion, his fingers brushing over hers as he did. The hunger in his gaze didn’t waver, but now there was a flicker of curiosity-and something else, sharper, calculating-lurking beneath.

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