Ghosts Wear Lipstick

Damon Thorne had built his empire with precision—brick by bloody brick. He didn’t believe in luck, and he didn’t believe in ghosts.

But the woman across from him felt like both.

He studied Aurora Devereaux with the same scrutiny he reserved for hostile takeovers and billion-dollar mergers. Her presence was... disarming. There was elegance in her movements, confidence in her silence. And yet, something in her eyes—a flicker, a storm—made his instincts coil.

Damon prided himself on recognizing threats. And she was one.

She sat down without waiting to be offered a seat, crossing one leg over the other with the grace of royalty. That red dress should’ve been a cliché, but on her, it was power incarnate.

"Let’s talk numbers," she said, placing a black portfolio on his desk. “I’ve invested fifty million through several shell firms into your upcoming luxury resort project in Montenegro. As of this morning, I own 18% of Thorne Enterprises’ shares.”

Damon’s jaw tightened. He hadn’t expected that.

He opened the folder. Inside were precise financial records, transaction trails, and legal documents so tightly constructed not even his best lawyers could poke holes in them.

“You’ve done your homework.”

Aurora smiled. “I do more than homework. I play for keeps.”

A beat of silence passed, thick as syrup.

“Why Thorne?” he asked. “There are hundreds of investment opportunities in New York alone. Why choose me?”

Her smile faltered for the briefest second. But then it returned, polished and sharp.

“I like challenges.”

Damon narrowed his eyes. “Is that what I am to you? A challenge?”

Aurora leaned forward. “A profitable one.”

Their gazes locked. A slow, simmering heat pulsed beneath the surface of their words.

Damon had faced boardroom battles, hostile acquisitions, and cutthroat politics. But none of it prepared him for her. She was... familiar. Not in face, but in presence. As if she knew the rhythm of his heartbeat before he did.

He hated not knowing where someone came from. Power players always had pasts—billionaire daughters, venture capital prodigies, oil heiresses. But Aurora Devereaux had no trace. She appeared six months ago in Paris, charmed the financial elite in London, and now here she was—poised like a queen in his office.

Who the hell was she?

And why did it feel like he already knew her?

---

Meanwhile — Queens, New York

In a modest brownstone tucked between flowerless hedges and rusting iron gates, a little boy with tousled dark curls and hazel eyes hummed a tune as he painted a race car on thick white paper.

“Is that for Mommy?” asked the nanny, Miss Carla, smiling as she folded the boy’s laundry.

“Nope!” the boy beamed. “It’s for Mommy’s first day at work. It’s gonna be the best day ever.”

The boy’s name was Caleb. He was five years old and had never met his father. Whenever he asked, his mother would say, “He’s far away. But you have me—and I love you for both of us.”

Miss Carla gently smoothed the boy’s curls. “You’re just like her, you know. Smart. Strong.”

“I’m gonna be a boss too,” Caleb declared. “With a desk. And a pen that clicks.”

Carla laughed. “Then you’d better keep coloring.”

---

Back at Thorne Tower

Damon walked Aurora to the private elevator. The city sprawled beneath them like a kingdom. But in that moment, he wasn’t thinking about profits or stock values. He was thinking about the woman next to him and the hurricane she carried behind her eyes.

“I’ll have my legal team review the documents,” he said. “We’ll formalize your role next week.”

“I don’t wait well, Damon.”

He turned to her, surprised at the casual use of his first name. No one called him that unless they wanted something personal. Or they had a death wish.

He decided to test her. “You think you can handle this world? The press, the pressure, the wolves?”

Aurora stepped into the elevator and met his eyes as the doors slid closed.

“I don’t run from wolves,” she said. “I run with them.”

And just like that, she was gone.

---

Later That Night — Damon’s Penthouse

Damon poured himself a glass of Macallan and sat in silence, the skyline a jagged outline through floor-to-ceiling windows. His home was minimal. Cold. Strategic. Just like him.

But his mind wasn’t calm.

He pulled up Aurora’s dossier on his tablet. It was thin. Too thin.

No birth records. No parents listed. Just a string of offshore accounts, boardroom appearances, and glowing press blurbs from European tabloids.

“I don’t believe in ghosts,” he muttered.

But Aurora Devereaux was starting to feel like one.

---

Elsewhere — A Journal from the Past

August 7th. He doesn’t know. He’ll never know.

Damon Thorne destroyed my life. My mother’s death. Our eviction. The scandal. He let it happen to protect his family name.

And still… I loved him.

I hate that I still do.

But I have a son now. A reason to survive. And one day, Damon will look into my eyes and realize he gave up something that would’ve changed everything.

---

Closing Scene

Aurora stood on her balcony, the wind teasing strands of her hair. Her phone buzzed.

A message from her attorney:

“Confirmation received. You now hold 20% ownership. With two more acquisitions, you’ll gain controlling interest.”

She smiled.

Damon Thorne had taken everything from her.

Now, she would take it all back—his company, his legacy, and finally… his heart.

Even if it broke hers in the process.