The Young and the Restless has transcended mere drama; it has become a masterclass in psychological terror. Secrets, often more terrifying than violence itself, had poisoned the very air of that cursed train, hurtling toward ruin under Dumas’s orchestration. But no secret was more harrowing, more utterly soul-shattering, than the one whispered by a dying man whose very presence should never have been possible. Damian.

Until that impossible moment, he had been little more than a forgotten name, a casualty swept up in the shadow-play surrounding Dumas, a victim whose death had occurred too quietly, too cleanly, without meaning. But now, as the train bucked violently under the pressure of its own desperate acceleration, and as the digital countdown screamed forward toward annihilation, the door to one of the middle compartments was flung open with a force that stole the breath from everyone watching. And there, swaying, a crimson river streaming from his abdomen, stood Damian. His hands clutched his stomach, blood oozing between his fingers, his face pale and broken, eyes glazed, but burning with one final, terrible mission.

The sight of him was almost supernatural. A ghost returned from the grave, a corpse reanimated by vengeance and the desperate need for truth. Screams tore through the compartment. Sharon staggered back in visceral horror. Summer clung to the wall, and even Dumas, for the very first time, faltered. His impenetrable composure fractured, a tremor of disbelief ripping through his control.

But Victor Newman, ever the strategist, ever the apex predator, did not flinch. Instead, he moved forward, pushing past the others, his eyes locked on Damian with a volatile mix of suspicion, recognition, and a dawning, terrible hope. The world seemed to slow as Victor reached out and caught Damian just before he collapsed to the floor. He pulled the dying man into his arms and whispered, not with pity, but with a hunter’s urgency. What had happened? Who had done this? Why now?

And then, with the faintest, most chilling smile, Damian leaned in close, so close only Victor could hear. He spoke not in full sentences, not in coherent declarations, but in fragments, phrases, names, coordinates, warnings, hints of systems buried deep within the train’s infrastructure, mentions of Dumas’s past, of a sprawling network, of a direct, unimaginable connection between Dumas and someone within the very core of the Newman family. And something else. Something Victor didn’t expect. A word. A name. A betrayal that changed everything.

Victor’s expression shifted from laser-focus to pure horror, then to gut-wrenching disbelief. His hands trembled as Damian whispered his final breath. Whatever was spoken would never be repeated. No one else heard. No one else could. And then Damian was gone. His head lolled backward, his body sagged in Victor’s arms, and the final glimmer of light in his eyes disappeared like a flame snuffed by the wind. The train kept moving. The countdown kept ticking.

But Victor had changed. He stood slowly, gently placing Damian’s body on the ground. His face was unreadable, but his mind was already racing, constructing an entirely new architecture of vengeance. Because what Damian had just given him was not just a secret. It was leverage. It was the ultimate weapon. And if wielded correctly, it might be the one thing that could bring Dumas to his knees.