COPYRIGHT

My Ruthless Husband

Copyright © 2024 by Sanjana Nidhi

Cover Design by Sanjana Nidhi

All Rights Reserved.

The copy is intended for the original purchaser of this book ONLY. No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without prior written permission from the authors. Please do not participate in or encourage the piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the authors’ rights. Purchase only authorized editions.

This book is the work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the authors’ imaginations or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

CONTENTS

Copyright

Contents

Dedication

Blurb

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Chapter Twenty-Three

Chapter Twenty-Four

Chapter Twenty-Five

Chapter Twenty-Six

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Chapter Thirty

Chapter Thirty-One

Chapter Thirty-Two

Chapter Thirty-Three

Chapter Thirty-Four

Chapter Thirty-Five

Chapter Thirty-Six

Chapter Thirty-Seven

Chapter Thirty-Eight

Chapter Thirty-Nine

Chapter Forty

Chapter Forty-One

Chapter Forty-Two

Chapter Forty-Three

Chapter Forty-Four

Chapter Forty-Five

Chapter Forty-Six

Chapter Forty-Seven

Chapter Forty-Eight

Chapter Forty-Nine

Chapter Fifty

Chapter Fifty-One

Chapter Fifty-Two

Chapter Fifty-Three

Chapter Fifty-Four

Epilogue

Hey, there!

Also by Sanjana Nidhi

About the Authors

DEDICATION

For those who’ve loved with everything they have and fought through the hardest battles to hold onto that love. Because a love worth having is worth fighting for.

BLURB

I never thought I would ever be deceived by Damian Montgomery—the love of my life.

My first everything.

My Ruthless Husband.

The man who I thought was my whole world, the one who made me believe in fairytales is the villain of my story. And now, I want to escape.

But how would I escape the notorious billionaire who is an unpredictable mastermind? Because no matter how hard I try to run, he is always there to catch me.

Despite what he’s done, I still can’t resist him.

So before I begin hating myself for wanting him, I need to find a way. A way to leave him. The only question is, will I succeed? Or will he find me again? Like he always does.

CHAPTER ONE

I try to push the unease out of my mind as I round a corner, but it’s persistent, clawing at the edges of my thoughts.

The sharp winter air of Paris pierces through my coat, sending a shiver down my spine, The wind tosses stray strands of hair into my eyes. I shove one behind my ear, forcing my feet to move faster. The urge to glance over my shoulder claws at me, but I grit my teeth and keep my gaze forward.

No one’s following me. I keep telling myself that, like a broken record.

They don’t know where I am.

He doesn’t know where I am.

Or does he? My steps falter, an icy cold dread settling in my chest. No, Damian doesn’t know.

The whole reason I picked Paris was because it’s my favorite place in the world. And that’s exactly why I thought it was the perfect hiding spot. Damian knows how much I adore this city—he’d never expect me to stay somewhere so obvious. No one would. Who’s foolish enough to hide in the one place everyone associates with them? By choosing Paris, I thought I was outsmarting him.

But what if I was wrong? What if Damian knows me better than I thought? What if he’s already here, waiting for me to slip up?

Because for the past hour, I couldn’t shake the feeling of being watched. Every few minutes, the hairs on my neck bristled, my instincts screaming at me to run, to hide. But every time I turned to scan the streets, I found nothing. Just tourists with their cameras, locals rushing past. Ordinary. Safe.

Until it wasn’t.

A figure caught my eye—just a glimpse at first. A man in a dark suit slipping through the crowd, his movements too deliberate, too familiar. My pulse spiked as my gaze locked on him for a fleeting second, and my stomach dropped.

Hal.

Damian’s chief of security.

It had to be him. The way he moved, the breadth of his shoulders, the subtle menace in his stride—it was unmistakable.

I was terrified. The kind of fear that seeps into your bones and locks you in place, paralyzing every instinct to move. For a few beats, I couldn’t even breathe. The mere thought of being caught by him—of being dragged back—made my skin crawl, my chest tighten until I felt like I might shatter.

But I couldn’t let fear win. Even with my heart racing and my legs trembling, I knew I had to be sure. I had to know if the man I saw was really Hal.

Because if it was, then Damian was already one step ahead of me.

So to confirm, I followed that man but he turned out to be someone else.

It’s been a week since I ran. A week since I slipped out of the life that felt more like a cage than a marriage. Maybe that’s all this is—paranoia. My fear playing tricks on me, twisting shadows into threats and strangers into ghosts from my past.

After everything I’ve endured, it’s no surprise my mind is conjuring up dangers where there are none. Spending a year trapped in a marriage that felt more like a prison leaves its scars. Maybe that’s why I thought I saw Hal. For a moment, I let my fear convince me he was here.

But he wasn’t. That man wasn’t Hal.

It’s just my fear.

I squeeze my eyes shut, trying to force the thoughts away.

You’re okay, River. You’re miles away from him.

But it’s useless.

Damian’s presence has haunted every moment of this week. I’ve tried so damn hard to shut him out, to bury him in the depths of my mind. But no matter how much I try, he’s always there, lingering like a dark cloud, just behind my thoughts.

Still rattled, I push open the door to the first bar I see, almost stumbling as I rush inside, desperate to drown out the noise of my own thoughts.

Dread fades with the first glass of wine and paranoia disappears by the third.

“Is this seat taken?”

I turn my head, surprised to find a tall, handsome man standing way too close. My eyes widen, caught off guard by how near he is.

My worried gaze darts around. It’s reckless of him to approach me, let alone lean in with that flirtatious smile.

When he lingers, waiting for my response, it hits me—I’m in Paris. Away from Damian’s reach. Away from his bodyguards. The bodyguards who would’ve torn this man apart by now, made him regret even breathing in my direction.

This further proves I was just being paranoid earlier. Because if Hal were here, there’s no way this stranger would be standing so close.

“Um… no.” I answer finally, not missing how he avoided the other vacant stools.

His gray eyes glint as he slides on the stool beside me, evidently ignoring the awkwardness in my tone.

“Clément,” he says smoothly, extending his hand.

I force a tight smile, slipping my hand into his briefly. “Raven,” I lie.

I remain quiet as he orders gin and tonic for himself in fluent French. When he offers to buy me a refill, I politely decline.

“So what brings you here?” He asks, his accent thick as he takes a sip of his drink.

“I’m on the run.”

His eyebrows shoot up. “Really?”

I nod slowly.

“You’re running from the law?”

I smile wryly at that. “No. Just from my lawfully wedded husband.”

The silence after my confession lasts for about a minute before he bursts out laughing. “You had me there.” Then he motions to my bare ring finger. “You have a great sense of humor.”

When I remain silent, he speaks again. “No, seriously. What are you doing here? Are you a tourist traveling alone?”

“Something like that. What about you?”

“Born and raised here. I…” His sentence trails off as his phone buzzes, cutting through the conversation. He slips a hand into his pocket, retrieving it. “Sorry, just a moment,” he says before bringing the phone to his ear.

But I’m already miles away in my head. My thoughts are pulling me under, dragging me to the one question that’s been pestering me—what now? Where do I go from here? I can’t keep running, constantly looking over my shoulder. This isn’t life.

And then, as if summoned by my despair, Damian’s face flashes in my mind. Breathtakingly beautiful but cold. The man I fell hopelessly in love with at first sight when I was just eighteen.

For four years, I’ve loved him but that wasn’t enough. I believed he could give me the love I’d craved my whole life.

He was my first love. My first everything. I gave him all of my love. And like the cruel unforgiving man he is, he took and took until I was empty.

He was the only person who made me feel like I wasn’t completely alone in this world. But I was wrong. Love wasn’t enough to reach him. I wasn’t enough.

I left everything behind for him—my father, my home, the comfort of my old life—and for what? To sit here now, broken and questioning every decision I’ve made.

Damian was supposed to be my safe place, my beginning and end. But instead, he’s the one who taught me what real loneliness feels like.

And yet, even after all of it, I can’t stop loving him.

Even after knowing he never loved me, I can’t stop loving him. My eyes brim with tears, and I swallow the lump in my throat, hating how weak I feel. I hate myself for this endless, foolish devotion to a man who barely cares.

At the mention of my name—well, the fake one I gave him—I glance his way, blinking back the tears. He’s still on the phone, leaning back in his seat, his words rolling off in French like he’s barely paying attention to the conversation.

He says something that makes me cock a brow. He catches my eye and holds up a finger, switching to English. “One minute,” he tells me with a lazy grin.

“Sorry about that,” he says after ending the call.

“Everything okay?”

He gives a small shrug. “Just a friend. He was wondering where I disappeared to.”

“Disappeared?”

He nods toward the back of the room. “See the group over there? The one in the white shirt?”

I follow his gaze, twisting slightly in my seat to look. My eyes land on a group of men, loud and animated. And then I spot the man in white shirt with light hair. “The blond?”

“Yep. It’s his bachelor’s party and I’m the best man.”

I look back at Clément. “Shouldn’t you be with him?”

“I should,” he admits, his lips curling into a smirk, “but when I saw a beautiful girl sitting alone, I couldn’t resist offering her my company.”

“Who said I wanted company? I have it right here.” I motion to my drink.

“I promise I’m far better company than a glass of wine.”

“Is that so?”

“Oui.” He grins.

I shake my head, half amused, half exasperated. Narrowing my eyes, I ask, “By the way, I heard my name while you were on the phone. What was that about?”

“Oh, that?” He waves a hand dismissively. “I just told him who I was sitting with.”

“Right.” I narrow my gaze even further. “Pretty sure it sounded like ‘Raven is hot as hell, and if you cockblock me, I’ll tell your fiancé you wanted to go to a strip club.’”

His eyes widen in shock. “You speak French?”

“Oui,” I say, taking a slow sip of my wine, my lips curving into a sardonic smile.

Recovering quickly from his shock, he says, “I like your smile.” When he flashes me a slow, deliberate smile, heat creeps up my neck. Embarrassed, I quickly avert my gaze.

“Shy.” His tone is teasing as his lips curl into a wolfish smirk. “I don’t usually go for the shy ones, but for you, I might make an exception.”

My head snaps toward him, disbelief plastered across my face. The warm buzz of alcohol loosens my tongue, pushing my irritation to the surface. “You’re ridiculously full of yourself,” I bite out.

“Confident,” he counters with a shrug, completely unfazed.

I take a breath, forcing calm. “Look,” I say, keeping my tone firm but civil, “I’m not interested. I’m not here for a hookup or whatever it is you’re after. I just want to enjoy my drink and some peace. So, really, you’re wasting your time.”

I plan to divorce my husband—that much is certain but that’s not why I shut Clément down. It has nothing to do with me being legally tied to Damian and everything to do with the fact that I can’t bear the thought of another man touching me. My heart still belongs to him, even if he never wanted it. It still aches for him, beats for him, no matter how much I wish it didn’t. The idea of using someone else to drown out those feelings feels wrong on every level. That’s not who I am, and never will be.

“That’s a shame, I won’t lie.” He sighs dramatically but stays put, showing no sign of leaving. “But hey, maybe I can still keep you company.”

“I really don’t think—”

He raises his hands, cutting me off. “Relax, I promise. No more flirting. Just two people hanging out. It’s gotta be better than sitting here all alone, right?”

I narrow my eyes, studying him. “You seriously want to hang out with me?”

“Of course. Why wouldn’t I?”

“Because I just told you—”

“That you’re not interested. Yeah, I heard you loud and clear.” He smirks, leaning back on his stool like he’s making himself at home. “But here’s the thing—I don’t want to leave you here all by yourself. Plus, having me around might work in your favor.”

When he waggles his eyebrows, I snort. “And how’s that?”

“No one’s gonna dare bother you if they think you’re with me. I’ve got that don’t mess with her vibe, you know?”

I can’t help the small laugh that escapes me.

“And,” he adds with exaggerated pride, “I’m great company. I’ll keep you entertained, help you forget whatever’s weighing on your mind. I’m the talker of the group.”

His goofy grin actually manages to pull a smile from me. Against all odds, I feel a bit lighter.

An hour drifts by, and I finally decide it’s time to call it a night. Rising from my stool, I turn to Clément with a small grateful smile. “Thanks for the company.”

“Anytime, Raven,” he replies with an easy grin.

I bid Clément goodbye before leaving the bar. As I step out, the cool night air washes over me.

True to his word, Clément had been a perfect gentleman. No flirty comments, no unwelcome advances—just endless, fun-filled conversations. He shared stories about his travels.

For a little while, I was able to forget everything.

He didn’t even ask for my number when we said goodbye. It was such a rare, simple kindness that it caught me off guard. I’d forgotten how refreshing it could be to meet someone who didn’t want anything in return. Clément was one of the good ones.

The walk back to my hotel suite feels unusually calm, the buzz from the wine dulling the chaos in my head. My thoughts, so loud all evening, have finally quieted. My feet stumble slightly, not entirely steady on the heels I regretted wearing hours ago.

At the door, it takes me a few tries to unlock it. I’m successful at last and push the door open, stepping into the dark suite with a tired sigh.

I toss my handbag onto the table, my jacket lands haphazardly on the couch. All I want is a hot shower to wash off the night, but exhaustion wins out. So I’m just going to wipe my makeup off and crawl into bed. That’s all I can manage right now.

With one hand braced on the couch, I lean down to pull off my heels, wincing slightly at the ache in my arches. The cool carpet soothes my bare feet as I straighten up, my body swaying slightly from the leftover buzz of the alcohol.

I’m halfway to the bedroom when my toe catches on something. I stumble, catching myself on the doorframe before I fall. I survey the object on the floor and frown. Because I see nothing.

That’s when the darkness registers. I forgot to hit the lights. Heaving a sigh, I feel my way inside the bedroom toward the light switch on the wall.

I reach for the light switch, but my fingers falter as unease creeps over me. The air feels different now, heavier, like something is watching me.

Awareness prickles at the back of my neck.

I turn and freeze. My breath catches in my throat. A man is sitting in the armchair by the window, shrouded in shadows.

I blink rapidly and shake my head to clear it. When the large figure sitting in the chair doesn’t fade, my heart slams against my ribcage, pounding a mile a minute. I reach up and hit the lights.

I gasp loudly, taking a hasty step back and colliding with the wall behind me.

“Hello, angel,” my husband says, his voice deep. “Did you have a good time without me?”

CHAPTER TWO

For a few heartbeats, I stay completely still, my body burning with heat before the chill sets in, creeping through my skin like ice.

It was a wonder I could hear the deep tenor of his voice over the ringing in my ears.

I stare at the man I’d thought I escaped. My brain is yelling at me, urging me to bolt. To escape. But my body doesn’t cooperate. I keep standing like a statue, helpless and weak.

Damian lets out a deep sigh, his broad shoulders rising and falling. I feel my legs start to give way. Reality finally manages to pierce through my shock and hits me.

I may have run away just a week ago but it’s been two long months since I last saw my husband. He was supposed to return home after a business trip, but complications kept him away longer than either of us expected. Two months stretched endlessly, and he even missed our first wedding anniversary. He didn’t call, didn’t text—not even a simple “I’m sorry” for missing it.

The next morning, I ran. You might think I left because I was angry or hurt. But that’s not the truth.

Yes, I was heartbroken when he missed our first wedding anniversary. Devastated, even. But to leave my husband over that? Who does that? Who walks out just because their feelings were hurt?

No, that wasn’t why I ran. I left because, on the very day that should’ve been a celebration of us, I discovered something so earth-shattering, it broke me.

For the first time, I was thankful for his absence. It gave me the space—the courage—I needed to walk away. If he’d been there, if I’d had to face him, I know I wouldn’t have dared. He’s not the kind of man who’d let his wife walk away.

He looks almost unrecognizable, harsher, more dangerous. The sharp lines of his jaw are coated in dark stubble. His velvety black eyes, once a source of comfort, now burn into me with a predatory focus that makes it hard to breathe.

His suit jacket lies discarded on the bed, leaving him in a black button-down that clings to his broad shoulders and his powerful frame. The top three buttons of his shirt are undone, revealing his tanned chest and the hint of dark hair beneath.

The half-empty tumbler resting on the table beside him tells me he’s been here for a while. Waiting.

With a gaze that could pierce through steel and a presence that demands obedience, Damian is a force to be reckoned with.

A part of me longs for the days before we were married. Back then, everything felt so much easier. So much better.

He was always the silent type. I used to think that his silence was just part of who he was. It didn’t bother me. In fact, I told myself that after marriage, he’d open up more, that things would change, that our love would grow into something deeper. But I was wrong. I couldn’t have been more wrong. Back then, there was warmth in our connection, even in the quiet. Now, it’s all just ice. And I don’t know how to break through. Now, his silence terrifies me.

Looking back on everything, the truth is undeniable. Damian’s emotional detachment wasn’t just a result of poor communication. He just didn’t care. He never loved me, not in the way I craved, not in the way I needed him to. Coming to terms with that truth is like swallowing broken glass. The love I believed in was nothing more than a fantasy I held onto far too long.

Damian is a self-made multi-billionaire. His empire is everything to him. A workaholic to the core, he always put his business above everything, including me. There were moments I’d needed him—whether it was for support or just to feel seen—but all I got was silence and distance. I told myself it didn’t matter, that it was just the pressure of running his empire but the truth was I was always an afterthought.

So, when I ran away, I assumed Hal and his team would track me down. Damian had never made me a priority, never once took a break from his empire to care for me. But now, here he is. In Paris. The man who’d never put me before his work, who had never once made time for me, has come all this way to find me himself. The very same man who built his world around business has stepped out of it, for me.

It wasn’t until I left that he finally paid attention to me. A sharp pang of sorrow twists my heart as I think about all the times I begged him to come home early, to just be with me. The calls I made, the voicemails he never bothered with, the texts that went unanswered. But it wasn’t until I left that he finally acknowledged me.

It wasn’t always like this, though, I admit to myself reluctantly. After those trips, Damian would spend a week or two with me. How could I ever forget those days?

Those weeks were everything. In those rare moments, he became someone who couldn’t seem to get enough of me.

It was as if a switch flipped, and suddenly, his desire was undeniable, consuming. Every touch, every look, was filled with a hunger that took my breath away. For those days, he was mine. Entirely mine. We spent every second wrapped up in each other. Only stopping for meals before falling back into each other’s arms.

I mistook his voracious sexual appetite, blazing passion for affection. Based on those weeks, I convinced myself that he really loved me.

But his insatiable appetite for me had never been about love. It was a temporary distraction, a means to satisfy his own desires without ever truly connecting with me on an emotional level.

He never saw me as more than an object to fulfill his cravings. The moments when he held me weren’t filled with love, but with a need to claim, to mark his territory.

But now, with clarity seeping through the cracks of my shattered illusions, I see the truth for what it is. He never wanted me beyond my body.

I ignored all the signs that were always present. It was entirely my fault.

One of the things I also learned about him is that he doesn’t like to lose. Ever. He is a ruthless man. He has clawed his way to the top, leaving a trail of rivals and adversaries in his wake.

His empire stands as a testament to his prowess, a kingdom built on the foundation of his ruthless work ethic and unyielding drive.

If you crossed him, he wouldn’t think twice before destroying your life as well as of those you love.

That rule applies to me, too. Being his wife doesn’t mean he’ll spare me. If anything, it makes me an even bigger target. I haven’t seen anything about my disappearance in the news yet, but I know I didn’t just risk ruining his reputation; I threatened everything he’s built. And now, with him breaking into my suite, I know exactly what this means. I’m in deep trouble.

I swallow hard “Damian.”

He leans back in the chair, spreading his thighs. “Come here.” He pats his right thigh, stealing all the air from my lungs.

Beyond the fear, something else tightens inside of me at his command.

It’s humiliating to even think about it, but being near him does things to me. He’s always had this effect on me, this way of getting under my skin and making me crave him, even when I shouldn’t.

It’s not just his deep voice slicing through the air like it’s meant to cut me open. It’s the way his presence owns the room without even trying.

I hate how my body reacts to him, how my pulse races and my skin heats under his gaze. It’s infuriating and embarrassing. He’s a dangerous kind of beautiful disaster, and the worst part? He knows exactly what he’s doing to me. The space between us feels like a live wire, buzzing with electricity I’m too weak to sever.

I take a small step to the side. Toward the bedroom door. If I can just be brave and dash outside in the living area, I can—

“Don’t even think about it, River.” He speaks unhurriedly and a burst of fear pricks my skin with goosebumps. The haze of the wine is fully cleared.

“What are you doing here?” My voice shakes as he drags his eyes from my red-painted lips down to my body, taking in my bare shoulders and the short black dress. His jaw ticks as he watches. He is searching for his timid wife who dresses in dull muted colors. The wife whose makeup screamed sophistication instead of bold and seductive.

He might think I am rebelling but truth be told, I was simply concealing my identity. Being the wife of one of the richest men in the world entails unwanted exposure.

To keep a low profile, I reinvented myself completely. But it was all for nothing—because now, I’m standing face to face with my ruthless husband.

So, earlier… that man… I wasn’t imagining things after all. Hal really was following me.

I clear my throat when his gaze stays on my bare thighs for a second too long. Slowly taking his time, he brings his eyes back up. “Come give me a kiss first.”

My mouth falls open in disbelief. Is he really going to pretend that everything is fine between us? I left him, and yet he’s acting as if it’s nothing out of the ordinary. As if this is just another routine part of his day.

“I am not doing that.”

His brow furrows. “Is that any way to greet your husband, angel?”

When I don’t move, he sighs and pushes to his feet. His large frame straightens to his full height of six feet three and suddenly the air in the room becomes stifling.

My heart thumps hard when he begins walking toward me. He does that so leisurely but the storm brewing in his dark as night eyes tells me I’m in trouble.

I plaster my back against the wall when he stops mere inches away from me. He raises his hand and tucks a curl behind my ear. Then he lets his fingertips trail down my cheek. For the briefest of seconds, I forget about everything and lean into his gentle touch.

“I thought you loved me, angel,” he murmurs as he cups my cheek.

“I do.” The words are out before I can swallow them. Dark satisfaction burns in his eyes. “Good.”

His reply jars me. I’ve loved Damian so much, enough for the both of us. That’s why I didn’t care that he never said those words back. But now? His “good” in response to my confession sinks like a hook in my heart, making it heavy with crushing disappointment.

He tilts my face up. “Did you miss me?”

“I-I didn’t.” The lie feels heavy on my tongue, because the truth is, he never left my mind. Not for a second. This whole week, I was a wreck. Miserable. Heartbroken. Devastated. I spent every moment struggling to accept the reality—that Damian, the only man I’ve ever loved, would soon be gone from my life. That I’d have to divorce him.

The word divorce brings a wave of pain that threatens to cripple me. I stare at him with moisture in my eyes and wonder if he ever longed for me more than my body.

“So my innocent wife has learned to lie?” His expression is chastising as he closes what little space separating us by putting his front flush with mine. “What else did you learn while I was away?”

My hands come up as I try to push him away. “Don’t touch me.”

“But you love me touching you.” He runs his knuckles along my throat. I shiver. The warm, spicy notes of his cologne drift to me, mingling with the unmistakable scent of him—a scent my body instantly recognizes and aches for.

It’s true, isn’t it? He’s right. I crave his touch—every part of him. I love every moment I can have with him. I want him. I need him. All the damn time. The worst part is that he knows it. He knows how much I long for him and he is using it to humiliate me.

I glance up at him with welling eyes. “Do you love me, Damian?”

He stills, then his hand falls to his side and with a deliberate step back, he studies me, his face blank.

The silence crushes what little is left of my heart.

“Let me rephrase that.” I give a shaky smile, but it’s a poor attempt to cover the raw ache inside. A tear slips down my cheek, and I wipe it away in desperation, my hands trembling. “D-did you… ever love me?”

“What is this about?” His tone is curt.

I cover my aching chest with a trembling hand. Trying to swallow a sob, I say, “Me.”

“Does it matter?”

I step forward and clutch fistful of his shirt desperately. “It does. I want to know why you married me when you never wanted me to begin with!” I sob. “I want to know why you played with me like that. You isolated me from everyone I loved. You made sure I was dependent on you financially, emotionally, and in every way possible.” I stare at him through the onslaught of tears. “Just tell me, damn it!” My voice trembles, and when he still says nothing, the silence hits harder than words ever could. I shake my head. “It was easy, wasn’t it?” I say, quieter now, almost to myself. “I was too easy. Too easy to push, too easy to fool. Too easy to manipulate.” I pause for a beat, then, “Actually, you didn’t even have to manipulate me because I was happy with the mere crumbs you gave me!”

“You’re upset,” he remarks.

I release a humorless laugh. “Yes! Thank you for noticing. God knows how much I craved to be noticed.” The last part was a silent murmur. A confession that really isn’t a confession because he knows how much I begged for his time.

I’m an introvert. I never enjoyed socializing or crowded rooms. Always preferred solitude. But even I can’t survive like this—cut off from the world. And that’s how my life was back home. When he’s away on his endless business trips, the loneliness becomes unbearable.

His guards won’t so much as glance at me for more than a second. The housekeeper and the maids keep their distance despite my numerous attempts to talk. It’s as though everyone in that house was instructed to treat me like a ghost.

And Damian? He’s no better. Even when he’s touching me, even when he’s inside me, he says nothing. He gives nothing. Just cold indifference. The thought of going back to that life grips me with panic. I press my trembling hands against my chest, trying to hold myself together as the words spill out. “I can’t live like this.”

He tenses. “It’s not uncommon to feel caged in our house given the huge space and few people. I’ll tell my secretary to ease up my schedule so we could go on a holiday every once in a while.”

I shake my head. “You know damn well a holiday won’t fix this.”

He checks his watch. “It’s late. Get some sleep. We leave in a few hours.”

I stare at him, unable to move, unable to speak. Did he even hear me? Or does he just not care? I poured my heart out, laid my pain bare, and he brushed it off like it was nothing. Tears sting the corners of my eyes, but I blink them away. He doesn’t deserve them.

I should confront him about the files I found in his home office. I should demand answers, force him to explain. But after watching him dismiss me so ruthlessly, I can’t find the strength.

This marriage has made me feel like a fool, desperate and pathetic. I’m already carrying more than I can handle, and if I add anything else to this weight, I’ll fall apart. I just can’t do it.

Right now, I should stick to what’s important. “I’m not coming back.”

He walks over to the chair and picks up his tumbler. Bringing it to his lips, he takes a sip, savoring the drink.

“Didn’t you hear what I just said?” I cry out.

He finishes the drink then sets the tumbler down. Without a word, he crosses the room. When he’s in front of me, he reaches out and cups my cheek. “I did. But what you’re asking, angel is simply out of the question.”

“You can’t force me.” I sniffle.

Tilting my face, he kisses my lips softly. “I won’t.” He then reaches into his pockets and retrieves something. He extends both his closed fists in front of me.

When I just stare dumbfoundedly, he sighs and says, “Choose one, angel.”

I reluctantly touch his right fist. He twists his hand, palm facing up, slowly revealing what he’s holding inside.

“My sleeping pills?”

He kisses my cheek. “Good choice, angel.”

My heart sinks. “What do you mean?”

He opens the other fist, revealing a syringe. I stagger back in shock.

“I would hate to hurt you unnecessarily. So the sleeping pill is the safe bet.”

Did he… Did he just? No. There’s no way he just implied that. I am speechless. He can… sedate me to take me home? A chill runs down my spine. He didn’t say it outright, but the implication was there.

He wants me unconscious, to keep me out of the way while he drags me back home like a possession. I’ve never seen this side of him before. Was he always this ruthless? Did I miss the signs? Or was I too blind to see the darkness in him?

I cry out in surprise when I’m swept off my feet. I clutch at Damian’s neck. “What are you doing?”

He doesn’t answer just carries me to the bed and lowers me down carefully, brushing the hair from my face as he does. Then he exits the bedroom and returns in a few seconds with a glass of water. He hands me the pills and the glass and watches me expectantly.

I need to do something. I need to act fast if I don’t want to end up in my gilded cage again, trapped by his rules. I can feel my freedom slipping through my fingers like sand. The thought of being locked away, controlled like an object, makes me dizzy with anxiety. He’s already shown me how easily he can take everything from me. I can’t let that happen again. “I’m hungry,” I blurt.

He narrows his eyes. “You skipped dinner?”

Heat rushes to my face. His disapproval makes me feel like a child rather than a grown woman. “I didn’t have an appetite.”

He examines me for a beat too long then relents. “I’ll order room service.” When I nod, he cups my chin. “And then you will do as you’re told.”

It takes a lot of effort to nod again. He bends down and presses a soft kiss to my brow before turning and leaving the room.

Staring at his retreating back, I make a vow to myself. No matter what, I refuse to go back to that life again. I can’t—won’t—let that happen.

I tighten my fingers around the pills as a plan begins to form in my head.

I’m running out of time, running out of choices. The plan in my head is reckless. Too reckless but what else do I have left? Every option feels like a dead end, and the walls are closing in tighter with each passing second. There’s no safe way out, no easy escape.

This plan… is risky. It’s insane. It’s dangerous. But I’m so damn desperate that it’s the only thing I can hold onto. If I don’t do this, if I don’t take this risk, then I’ll be trapped forever.

You left me no choice, husband.

CHAPTER THREE

Four years ago

My eyes scan the hall as I take a step back. Then one more, hoping like hell nobody catches me sneaking out of my own birthday party.

I turned eighteen today. And Dad threw a huge party to celebrate it. He personally appointed the best planners to decorate our mansion. Not only that, he invited countless people. From his business associates to Hollywood celebrities he likes to mingle with, he invited them all.

It’s safe to say that he spent a fortune to make my day special. And I am sneaking away, leaving all this behind.

I take a cautious step back, merging with the shadows. As soon as I'm out of view, the forced smile I’ve worn for the past two hours melts away.

It’s tiring. To pretend. I can’t do it anymore. Because not one person who’s present here really cares about me. Except for my dad. I crane my neck to find him in the sea of the ridiculously rich people.

A genuine smile lifts the corner of my lips when I spot him. Standing tall in a black tuxedo with a flute of champaign in hand, Dad talks to a group of men surrounding him. At fifty-five he looks years younger. All thanks to the strict fitness regimen and disciplined lifestyle he’s adhered to. The gray hair only makes him more handsome.

Christopher Gibson—my father—commands a level of respect in the business world that most could only dream of. A multi-billionaire with a reputation for being powerful, and precise.

But to me, he’s simply Dad—the man who’s always made sure I felt safe, loved, and cared for, even if it meant doing things I didn’t ask for. Like these grand gatherings. He hosts them, filling our home with strangers, because he’s convinced I need a bigger social circle.

He can’t seem to accept that I’m a shy introvert, his total opposite. He thinks I’m lonely. But I’m not. I’m perfectly content with my life. I’ve always had everything I needed in my own little world. Still, that doesn’t stop my father. He believes my lack of a social life is something he can fix, something he’s responsible for.

He still believes my loneliness is his fault. He thinks that the seven years he spent avoiding me after my mother’s death shaped me into the introverted person I am today. And maybe he’s right. Back then, I was just a baby, completely unaware of why my father—my only living parent—refused to see me, hold me, or even acknowledge that I existed. But now, I understand.

My mother, his wife, died giving birth to me. I was the baby who took her life, the reason she wasn’t here anymore. He never said those words to me, but he didn’t have to. His actions spoke for him. In those early years, he couldn’t bring himself to look at me because every time he did, all he saw was the person who took her away. So, he stayed away, drowning himself in his work while I was left to be raised by nannies and housekeepers.

For seven years, I grew up in a house full of people but still felt completely alone. Birthdays were the hardest. He never forgot them, not once, and he made sure I had everything a child could dream of—extravagant gifts, expensive dolls, even a pony once. But none of it ever mattered to me. I didn’t want any of those things. I just wanted him. I wanted my dad to be there, to tell me he loved me, to hold me and make me feel like I wasn’t some awful mistake. But he didn’t.

Even after all these years I still remember how I used to act out, throwing tantrums just to force him to notice me.

I didn’t understand it back then, why he ignored me so completely. He barely glanced my way, no matter what I did. I used to watch him smile and laugh with his business partners and their families when they came over. Especially with the kids. It stung. He could show them warmth, but not me. I was invisible to him unless I misbehaved. Because even if it meant being scolded or punished, those moments of his attention felt like a lifeline.

It was when I was eight that everything shifted. It wasn’t anything grand or sudden gesture of affection. He simply allowed me to sit with him in his study. I still don’t know why he said yes that day. Maybe he was too busy to care or too distracted to refuse. All he did was nod when I asked timidly if I could stay while he worked. But for me, that single nod was monumental.

I sat quietly on the floor, careful not to make a sound as he worked. With crayons and paper clutched in my tiny hands, I was so happy.

My heart felt light in years. I was determined to make something special for him—a picture of the two of us. I could’ve simply given him one of the hundreds I made over the years but I wanted to make him a new one.

I worked hard on that drawing, pouring every ounce of my love into it.

When I finished it, I nervously approached his desk, clutching the picture so tightly my fingers ached. My heart pounded as I took small, hesitant steps toward him. But in my nervousness, I accidentally knocked into his desk, and his coffee cup tipped over, spilling across the important papers he’d been reading.

My heart froze as he looked up, his face twisting in fury. His eyes blazed with anger, and before I could even stammer an apology, his hand lashed out. His hand struck my cheek with such force that I blacked out, crumpling to the floor.

I woke up later that night, feverish and weak. My cheek throbbed, and my heart felt even worse. That was the day I learned that love couldn’t be forced, no matter how desperately you wanted it.

But then, the next morning, something happened that I never expected. He came into my room. His face was drawn, his eyes filled with something I had never seen before—regret. He sat at the edge of my bed, silent at first, as though the weight of his guilt made it hard to speak. When he finally apologized, his voice trembled, and I felt my chest ache.

I opened my arms to him, instinctively, and the moment I did, he broke. He pulled me into his arms and held me tightly. He cried quietly against my shoulder, his grief spilling over after years of being buried. I didn’t fully understand it then, but I knew it was important. It was the first time he had truly let me in.

That was the day he finally accepted me. Not as some painful reminder of the wife he had lost, but as his daughter. I remember feeling so happy I thought I might burst. For the first time, I felt like I truly had a father. And that changed everything.

My world is small, just me and my dad, but it’s mine, and it’s enough.

Making friends has always been a struggle for me. The truth is, I learned at a young age that most people only care about what they can take from you. The so-called friends I managed to make were more interested in my dad’s wealth than in me. I was just a way to access luxury, a walking invitation to fancy dinners, expensive gifts, and exclusive parties. Once I realized that, I gave up on the idea of friendship altogether.

Instead, I found solace in pottery. It became my escape. It was calming and honest in a way people never were. I spent hours at it, perfecting the craft, preferring the solitude of my art.

Dad, on the other hand, was bothered by this. He saw my isolation as his failure. He blamed himself for my lack of social skills, convinced his years of neglect had made me this way—distant, withdrawn, unwilling to connect with others. I think his guilt ate away at him more than he ever let on.

To ease his worries, I became what he wanted me to be: the perfect daughter. I threw myself into lessons, classes, and etiquette training to mold myself into the ideal socialite heiress. I learned how to mingle with the right people, make polite conversation, and flash a charming smile on cue. I worked hard to keep my grades up, too, because being obedient wasn’t enough—I had to be exceptional.

After all, being the daughter of an influential billionaire comes with responsibilities. Big ones. Even on my birthday, I’m expected to carry myself a certain way, to play the part flawlessly because all eyes are on me.

And I’ve done just that. All evening, I’ve been pretending, mingling, making small talk as though I enjoy every second of it. But it’s exhausting. My face aches from the forced smiles, and my head is pounding from the constant chatter. I just can’t keep it up anymore.

That’s why tonight, I’m doing something different. Something for myself. Earlier, I spotted an uncorked bottle of red wine, and now it’s in my hand. I know, I’m only eighteen, and this isn’t exactly proper behavior for the daughter of Christopher Gibson. But tonight, I don’t care. For once, I want to feel like I’m the one in control.

Gripping the bottle tightly, I head toward the grand double doors leading outside. The soft shimmer of my golden sequined mermaid gown catches the light as I pause under the chandelier. Turning back for a brief moment, I glance at Dad. Sorry, Dad, I whisper under my breath. Then I step through the doors and vanish into the night.

The gardens are alive with soft light, thanks to strings of fairy lights twinkling along the tree branches. The music from the orchestra indoors drifts faintly into the open air, mingling with the murmurs and laughter of the guests outside. To my surprise, the place is packed.

Just how many invites did he send out for my birthday? My eyes widen when I recognize few of my classmates among them. What are those girls doing here? They don’t even like me.

When one of them turns my way, I scurry and hide behind a tree. I lean against the thick trunk and begin pulling the pins from my hair. The stylists would faint if they see me messing their art—my updo—which they spent hours perfecting.

The mass of dark glossy curls falls down like a drape all over me. I weave my fingers into the roots and shake the curls apart and push them over my shoulder. It cascades down my back until it touches the small of my back. Much better.

Next, I lean down to slip off my heels, the bottle of wine balancing precariously in one hand. But as I tug off the first heel, the bottle wobbles in my grip. My eyes widen in panic as it slips through my fingers. “Oh no!” I squeak, lunging forward just in time to catch it. Relief washes over me but in a split second the imbalance of standing on one heel sends me tumbling. I crash down onto the grass with an ungraceful thud, the bottle still clutched tightly in my hands.

A wide grin spreads across my face. “Well, at least you’re safe,” I murmur, holding it up triumphantly.

I place a hand on the ground to push myself up, but the dampness seeps through my fingers. My grin vanishes as realization dawns. My stomach sinks when I look down and see the wet grass clinging to my gown.

“Great,” I mutter under my breath, brushing futilely at the ruined dress. This is why I don’t do bold things. Why I don’t take risks. It always ends like this. Awkward. Clumsy. A mess.

I scramble to get up but the gown is skin tight and it’s making every movement difficult. The more I struggle, the more the delicate fabric snags against the wet grass, leaving streaks of green and dark stains in its wake.

“Stop.”

The single word cuts through the night, deep, low and commanding.

I freeze.

A pair of legs, clad in impeccably tailored black trousers, suddenly appears in front of me. My breath hitches as the figure lowers to one knee in front of me.

I lift my gaze slowly, startled, and then the world seems to tilt on its axis. My lungs forgetting their purpose and everything inside me comes to a shuddering halt when my gaze collides with eyes as dark as the night.

His eyes hold me captive, pulling me into their depths, and for a moment, I forget where I am, who I am. All I can register is he’s the most striking man I’ve ever laid eyes on.

The clouds picks that exact moment to make way for the moonlight to fall over his chiseled features.

Is he human? How can he be so beautiful yet terrifying at the same time? I’ve heard angels are said to look like this. So perfect… charismatic but carrying an intimidating aura.

Even kneeling, his towering frame makes me feel small in comparison. His features are striking, almost unreal in their perfection. His jawline could cut glass, sharp and defined, leading to cheekbones that looks sculpted.

His glossy black hair glints in the moonlight, almost appearing midnight blue. “Here,” he extends his bronze hand out to me.

Still wide eyed, I place my hand in his. Taking in the stark contrast of my pale skin against his tanned complexion.

Gorgeous. He is utterly gorgeous like a movie star. In fact, he is so gorgeous my mind goes blank. He is dressed entirely in black, the tailored suit revealing he’s no stranger to wealth. The fine fabric of his pants stretches over his muscular thighs as he kneels.

Kneeling. On the wet grass. For me.

Heat rushes to my cheeks, and before I can even think to apologize for ruining his suit, he stands in one smooth motion and pulls me up. It’s so fast that I stumble right into his chest. And that’s when his cologne hits me—spicy, intoxicating.

As if the universe is conspiring against me, the wind picks up and his scent swirls around me, making me lose focus.

“You okay?” he asks, his large, warm hands wrapping around my bare upper arms. I shiver, glancing up at him with wide eyes.

I am balancing on one six-inch heel and still barely reaching his chin. He is so tall. And… so hot. The observation makes my cheeks warm. I go ahead and do something I’ve never done before. I let my gaze roam over his face in pure admiration.

Starting with his mouth—those full lips, so sensual that just looking at them makes my heart beat faster. His sharp jawline is shadowed with stubble. It makes him look even more... irresistible.

I can’t seem to stop looking at him. His face is perfect, like someone painted him, and there’s not a flaw in sight. His lashes are impossibly long, like something out of a dream. And those eyes—dark, deep, like they’re pulling me in.

My stomach does a flip, but it’s not just the butterflies. There’s something... more. I didn’t expect this reaction—this ache that’s suddenly there, between my legs. I don’t know why it’s happening, and it makes me feel... embarrassed.

I try to pull my eyes away, but I’m so lost in him, I don’t even know where to look anymore. But then I find his brows furrowed in a frown. He is frowning at me. Why? Why does he look upset?

Confused, I stare at him.

“I asked you something,” he says, reaching up to tuck a stray curl behind my ear. The simple gesture sends a wave of heat through me, and I blush fiercely. I take a deep breath, trying to steady myself, but the action causes my chest to rise and brush against something solid. His chest. My breath catches as I realize just how close I still am to him.

I gasp, stepping back in panic, immediately slipping off the heel to regain balance. “I-I’m sorry,” I stammer. “I mean, I’m fine. Actually, I just…” I stop myself, mentally wincing as I realize my body’s reaction to his nearness—my nipples now painfully sensitive.

I feel his gaze on me and I blush even harder.

“You just what?”

I shake my head, murmuring, “Nothing.” This good-looking stranger is so broad and muscled. Unlike the boys in my school. Well, that’s because they are boys. And this stranger… is a man. He looks older than me. He looks like he’s in his late twenties. I pray he doesn’t notice the effect he has on me.

I want to say something, anything, but the words catch in my throat.

This is my first time having a conversation with a man this close. Dad is awfully protective of me. While he always pushes me to make new friends, he also has his men guarding me. They were always dressed sharp and intimidating, driving any would-be suitors away before they could even look at me. I didn’t mind it all as no one interests me in school.

But this… is different. Good different. As I stand here with him, I realize that I want to spend some more time with him. He is making me feel things I never felt before. I can’t help but wonder if he’s one of my father’s colleagues. I have never seen him before, so he could be one of dad’s new acquaintances. Even if he is, I don’t mind.

“All right. Don’t wander in the dark alone.”

And then, just like that, he turns to leave.

I’m disappointed, more than I should be, so I blurt out, “Wait!”

He stops and turns back to me. I swallow, running my tongue over my suddenly dry lips. My voice is barely a whisper when I speak. “You can keep me company.”

The words leave me before I can stop them, and the embarrassment rushes in as soon as I realize what I’ve said. His brow arches, and I feel my face burn even hotter.

“Uh…” I try to justify it, my awkwardness only growing. “It’s my birthday today.” I lift the wine bottle, awkwardly. “I just thought… maybe… we…” I trail, offering a sheepish smile. It falters when he doesn’t return it.

I want to die. Why did I say that? Why did I think he’d want to stay with me when there are hundreds of beautiful women inside? He probably thinks I’m just some silly, desperate girl who doesn’t know how to talk.

Why did I let myself believe, even for a moment, that someone as incredible as him would spare a second for a girl like me? It’s foolish. I should have known better.

“N-Nevermind.” Shooting him an apologetic smile, I bend down to grab my heels before turning away in haste.

The chilly air alongside something close to emptiness penetrates my skin and rattles my bones. I clutch my shoes and the wine bottle tighter, my fingers numb as I break into a run.

As I reach the mouth of the woods that’s spread wide around the mansion, I halt abruptly. The thought that this might be the last time I ever see him, this beautiful stranger who’s already left a mark on me, hits me hard. And it hurts. A lot. I don’t even know why.

Unable to stop myself, I turn my head.

My breath catches when I find him already staring at me. My heart thrashes against my breastbone. I stay rooted on the spot; afraid I would lose his eyes on me if I so much as breathed wrong. And I don’t want that. I want him to watch me.

I choke in appalled horror at the thought. I’ve never wanted or craved anyone’s attention before. I liked being invisible to the world. I preferred it. But now… as I stand here, with a flushed face and heaving chest, I know something has changed inside me.

The way my body reacted to him, with such heat and urgency, it was something I’d never experienced before.

What is happening to me?

Before I could evaluate this foreign feeling, my classmate—a leggy blonde dressed in tight short dress—approaches him. My brows pull together when she touches his arm, probably to get his attention.

The grip on my shoes and the bottle tightens. I wait with a knot in my stomach for his response to her. But he continues to stare at me while she talks to him.

What is she saying? Is she flirting with him? Is she asking for his number? Would he give it to her? He might. Because she is really beautiful. She is the most popular girl in our school for a reason. She is a charmer and has no problem chatting up a handsome stranger.

Unlike me.

When her hand touches his arm again, my grip on the bottle tightens so fiercely I’m surprised it doesn’t shatter. My sullen expression turns into surprise when he shrugs her off. Not so subtly.

Then he is striding in my direction. I’m so shocked by his powerful stance that I stumble a bit.

Quickly straightening, I watch with parted lips as he reaches me.

He doesn’t stop there. My mouth goes dry when his hand connects mine as he takes the bottle from me. Then he starts toward the forest.

“W-what?”

He stops and looks over his shoulder. “You wanted my company.” He says in a flat voice. He sounds pissed. Of course, he is. Because he thinks he has to babysit the birthday girl.

“Yes… but I…” don’t want to force it on you.

His shadow falls over me. Without any words, he offers his hand to me.

I stare at it. Then up into his night eyes. He is intimidating. And he looks like someone who can’t be forced to do things he doesn’t want to do. So does that mean he wants to come with me? No, no. That’s wishful thinking. He is probably one of my dad’s associates and is worried for my safety.

“It’s okay, you don’t have to—” my words get stuck in my throat as he reaches down and clasps my hand in his big one. My heart skips a beat.

Then he begins walking. As if he knows his way around the forest—my favorite hiding spot—better than me.

As he takes me farther and farther away from the mansion, my heart begins to sing. He rejected my classmate and chose me. Me. I duck my head to hide my smile.

◆◆◆

This is the best birthday of my life!

I’ve walked through the woods more times than I can count, but tonight, it feels like the very first. Maybe it’s because I’m not paying attention to the path at all. Because all I can focus on is him, the one walking beside me.

I bite back a smile when he halts and glances around, likely confused which direction to go. He doesn’t talk to me while he contemplates his options. And I like it. Not the silence. But the fact that he’s still holding my hand.

The touch of his large warm palm against mine feels so good. So right. Unconsciously, I squeeze his hand, making him glance at me. My cheeks heat. “Right this way!” I squeak and start toward my left, dragging him behind me. He lets me without question.

Disappointment hits me the moment we reach my destination and he lets go of my hand, shoving it into his pocket as his eyes scan the place.

I shrug away the hurt and glance around, trying to see the place through his eyes. Right in the heart of the forest is my little magical haven. “What do you think?” I ask, my voice brimming with excitement.

“Is this safe?” He asks gruffly and I can’t help it. I giggle softly.

I touch the ladder and stare up at the treehouse fondly. “It is. Dad had it made by professionals.”

“Do you do this often?”

“Hmm?” I turn my head to him distractedly and freeze. He is towering over me with a clenched jaw.

“Do you bring strangers with you here?”

My heart lurches. “No…”

“That doesn’t sound so sure to me, angel.”

Why does the nickname sound more intimidating than endearing? My skin prickles when I stare up at him through my lashes. He sounds jealous. Instead of irritation, excitement fills me. A series of romantic scenarios begin playing in my head. All of them starring me with him.

My pulse throbs in my neck. “You’re the first.” The first to step into my sanctuary, the one place I escape to when the world feels unbearable.

He’s also the first person to ease the feeling of utter loneliness in my chest.

“I brought you here because for the first time in my life, I…” Inhaling a long breath, “wanted to share this place with someone. With you.”

“Why?”

I shrug my shoulders, giving him a small smile.

He doesn’t say anything. Dropping my heels on the ground, I grab hold of the ladder and start climbing up. Once I’m settled inside, I glance down, expecting to see him still standing below. But instead, he’s already halfway up, his massive frame effortlessly making its way up the rickety ladder, even in that perfectly tailored suit.

He manages to ascend with ease, the wine bottle still firmly gripped in one hand.

He’s ducking his head to step inside when the darkness registers. I’d completely forgotten how pitch-black it gets in here, so I rush over to the corner where I stash the scented candles, fumbling a bit as I quickly light one.

He sits beside me, on the old cushions, his presence dwarfing the space. When his arm brushes against mine, a shiver runs through me. He notices it and shrugs out of his jacket. Then drapes it over my shoulders.

“Thank you,” I say breathily.

He inclines his head slightly in acknowledgment. I clutch the jacket with both hands and bury my nose in the fabric and inhale deeply, my eyes fluttering shut. As I pull away, I realize too late that he’s watching me.

God, I can’t believe I just did that. I probably look like a complete weirdo, sniffing his jacket like I’m obsessed with it or worse, with him.

I clear my throat. “I’m sorry.” My cheeks burn as I add, “I never asked your name.”

When he remains silent, I bump my shoulder with his. “That was your cue to tell me.”

“Damian.”

“I’m River.” I offer him my hand. “Nice to meet you.”

He stares at it for a beat then takes it. Electricity shoots through me like I touched a live wire. And I want more of it. The temptation to hold on longer is strong. Earlier, when he was holding my hand, I squeezed it but I can’t do it again. I jerk my hand away, forcing the sensation to fade, before it has a chance to consume me. “Shall we begin?”

He passes me the bottle. But when I reach to take it from him, he doesn’t release it. “You’re not old enough to drink.”

That wasn’t a question. Still, I answer. “No, I’m not.”

“What’s the reason behind this little rebellion?”

“I’m tired of being a good girl.” My smile is wry.

He finally releases the bottle, and I take a long sip. The wine is rich, smooth, like velvet sliding down my throat. My eyes close for a beat as I savor it. I can’t help the little hum of appreciation that escapes me.

I glance at him, then hold the bottle out, offering him a taste.

He takes it from me, and brings the bottle to his lips. My breath catches in my chest as I watch him, unable to look away.

He tilts the bottle, and my eyes follow the line of his neck, watching his throat work as he swallows. God.

His lips glisten when he passes it back to me. The wine doesn’t hold my interest any longer. It’s latched on the ruby droplets clinging to his lips. My mouth goes dry and I try to swallow.

I still want to taste the wine but now I want to do it from his lips. The sinful thought makes my toes curl.

To hide my emotions from reflecting in my eyes, I lift the bottle and chug, trying to drown the fantasy of him kissing me passionately. I keep taking healthy swigs until the bottle is ripped from me.

I cough. His hand lands on my back, rubbing and patting gently while frowning down at me. With his free hand, he tilts my chin up. His gaze slides down on my wet mouth. Still frowning, he touches my bottom lip with the pad of his thumb and wipes it.

A thrill soars through me and I find myself inching closer to him. My chest heaves from my shallow breathing as my hand lands on his chest, my fingers digging into his shirt.

“River,” he warns and I lift my eyes, now heavy-lidded, meeting his gaze.

Ignoring his warning, I inch closer to his lips. His fingers fist my hair at the nape, stopping me. “You’re being reckless.”

I lick my lips as I stare at his. “I told you I’m done being a good girl.”

His face darkens. “Be careful, angel. I’m not the man you should trust.”

My breath hitches. But I don’t let his words sway me. It may be the alcohol or it might be his intoxicating scent. All I know is, I’m not going to shy away from taking what I want. At least not tonight.

“I’ll take my chances,” I murmur before touching my lips to his.

Happy Birthday to me.

CHAPTER FOUR

Present

“We have to go shopping, River! We are so partying tonight!” She grins at me, her beautiful heterochromia eyes glinting.

I find myself smiling back at my best friend. Summer’s dark hair cascades down her shoulders in waves and reaches to her hips. She’s wearing hot pink shorts and orange top with neon green bucket hat.

She is a complete opposite of mine. And I’m not referring to her obsession with bright colors. We are different in many ways. Take our heights for instance. She has a frame of a model because she is around 5’9” and has facial features that should be on a magazine cover. I on the other hand am petite with thick dark curls that reaches to the small of my back and most of the time refuses to behave.

I’ve often been told that I possess a haunting beauty, one with a touch of melancholy woven into its essence. My pale green eyes, in particular, seem to hold a perpetual hint of sadness whereas Summer’s unique eyes are the source of sunshine.

She is always hyperactive unlike me. And her voice raises an octave higher when she is excited. Like now.

I met Summer on my wedding anniversary over a month ago. The exact same day when my delusions and the world I was living in came crashing down. We met by chance and bonded immediately.

We might be polar opposites. But that’s why we fit so well together. Our friendship may have bloomed in a saddest point of our lives, but I couldn’t have been luckier.

“Earth to Riverrrr!” Summer sings loudly, snapping me out of my thoughts.

“Sorry, what were you saying?”

Her gasp is so loud and dramatic it makes me chuckle. She drops on the couch beside me before throwing an arm over my shoulders.

“You promised you’d do as I say.”

I nod. “I did, yes.”

“Then why are you overthinking again?” She narrows her eyes. I open my mouth to speak but she beats me to it. “You insisted on not talking about your marriage and about the time when you just disappeared into thin air for a month and I respected that. You showed up this morning at my doorstep with a suitcase and dark circles which told me you didn’t sleep for days on end and yet, I didn’t question you even when I was dying with worry.” She turns her body to me and covers my hands with hers. “Look, River, I don’t know what’s happening in your life right now, but there are signs that tells me enough. If you need help, you know I’m here for you, right?”

I swallow thickly and nod. She squeezes my hands. “You wear your heart on your sleeve and it kills me to see you like this.”

“I’m okay—”

She shakes her head and gives me a sad smile. “And you’re a terrible liar too.”

We both stay silent for a few beats before she speaks again, “If you can’t tell me what is it that’s bothering you, then you have to stop thinking about it all together and focus on us as you promised.”

“Woof!” Summer’s cute golden retriever puppy jumps on her lap, as if agreeing with her.

I take him in my arms and snuggle my cheek in his soft fur. “But I don’t want to go out tonight.”

“Who said about going out anyway?” She grins wider before excitedly planning for a house party. It’s our first New Year together, and she’s practically buzzing with energy about the night.

“How many people are you inviting?” I ask quietly. The thought of being around a crowd isn’t something I’m ready for. But for her, I’m willing to make an exception. I just hope it won’t be too much.

“Including you?”

I nod.

“One,” she says matter-of-factly.

I stare at her for a beat before letting out a laugh.

“Sounds perfect,” I say, letting her drag me along on a shopping trip.

She took me to a couple of thrift stores and bought things that had me side eyeing her. She blissfully ignored me the entire time, whisking me from one place to another. Grinning mischievously, rubbing her hands every time she found a unique item to buy.

At one point, I was mortified when she hopped on a shopping cart with Goldie and asked me to film. When the staff caught us, I was shaking, but Summer was doubled over with laughter.

She grabbed my hand, and we ended up running out of that store. The whole thing was terrifying and thrilling all at once.

“You’re crazy!” I gasped once we were safe outside. She beamed, her pride shining through. “I know, and you love my crazy, bestie.”

I shook my head, smiling.

She bumped her shoulder with mine. “You do, admit it!”

“No,” I suppressed my smile and she gasped loudly. Then plopped on the tarmac, pouting.

My eyes widened. “What are you doing?”

“Protesting.” She deadpanned.

“Okay, okay! I do love your crazy and silly tactics! Now get up before you get us arrested!”

She made me repeat it before getting up and we finally returned to her place.

“Do you trust me?” she asks as we walk into her apartment building, our hands full of shopping bags.

Summer is all about color. She wears it like no one else, often mixing shades that don’t quite match, but somehow, only she can pull it off. Honestly, I bet if she wore a burlap sack, she’d still slay it. But me? I’ve always stuck to muted, lighter colors—Summer calls them ‘boring’ and I guess she’s right. They’ve always mirrored my life.

Judging by our shopping spree, I have no doubt she’s planning to replace my beige dress with something much bolder.

To answer her question, I give her a sheepish smile before muttering, “Yes?”

She gasps. “That was a question! I’m deeply hurt, River Gibson!” She takes two steps ahead then stops. She looks at me over her shoulder. “Don’t talk to me,” she juts her chin then resumes walking only to stop two seconds later. Turning, she gawks at me. “Wooow, so you’re not even going to stop me?”

I smile as I go to her. “You can’t shut up for even a minute, Summer.” Looping my arm with hers, I haul her toward the elevator.

She opens her mouth and my smile grows.

“Wanna bet?” I raise a brow.

When she furrows her brow, I motion toward the dog carrier bag I am carrying over my shoulders. “If I win, Goldie is mine.”

Her eyes go round. “Keep my pup out of this!”

“There you go.” I turn my head and stare at the cute face panting just beside mine. “You’re mine now.”

“That’s cheating. You can’t bring my son into this. And besides, you shouldn’t rile me up. It’s not helping your case after you just admitted that YOU DON’T TRUST ME!” I wince as we both board the waiting elevator.

“I didn’t say that.” I suppress my smile.

“You so did.” She gives me the stink eye. “Need I remind you, you offered me your apartment which I’m now living in when we first met? To a stranger. You didn’t think twice before handing me the keys back then.”

“That was different,” I say, glancing at Summer. “You needed a place, and I just happened to have a vacant apartment.”

She’s living in the apartment I called home during my college days, a place filled with so many memories. It’s dear to me, and I can’t think of anyone more worthy than my best friend to be here.

“Which you offered to a stranger.”

“We weren’t really strangers by then,” I say gently. Her face softens. Then in another breath, “Even so, it’s still weird that you are down to trust me with your apartment but not your clothes.”

“So you are admitting those flashy dresses and accessories are for me.”

She shakes her head. “Not just for you.” She grins and saunters out as the elevator door opens.

I glance at Goldie with wide eyes. “I’m scared.”

He barks in response, as if agreeing with me, making me laugh.

◆◆◆

As soon as we enter the apartment, Summer grabs the shopping bags from my hands and vanishes into her room.

A few moments later, she reappears, whips up a peanut butter and jelly sandwich, and sets it in front of me.

“Eat.” She orders.

“But we had lunch,” I murmur, my cheeks warming as I remember how her worried eyes kept scanning my dark circles and sunken cheeks. A few times, I caught her almost blurting out questions about my appearance, but she held back. Summer has this motherly instinct when it comes to me. She forgets sometimes that I’m a twenty-two-year-old woman—just five years younger than her. She has her own struggles, her own hardships. Yet she never lets them show, always treating me like a child.

Others might find it unusual but for me, it’s everything. Growing up I never really had a friend. Apart from Dad and my governess, no one cared about me. Not even my husband, for whom I left my dad for. So having Summer care for me feels wonderful.

She is an orphan. Apart from his foster brother, Raleigh, she had no one in her corner. But now she has me. We both provide emotional support to each other. Which leads her to sometime lecturing me about my habit of skipping meals. Like right now.

“And when was that?”

“About an hour ago.”

“That means you need to eat.”

“I don’t—”

“You picked at your food the entire time.” She pushes the plate forward on the coffee table. “Finish this so we can get to the good part.”

She keeps guard until I finish the last bite then claps her hands in glee. “Now let’s get to your makeover.”

“O-kay.”

“You gotta close your eyes though!” She announces.

She was so adamant about surprising me that she even helped me change. The entire process was so amusing. Especially when she was reprimanding me for wiggling too much.

I can’t remember the last time I laughed this much. Like a real laugh where tears roll down your cheeks. The kind where you can’t breathe and your sides hurt.

It felt pretty amazing. She kept feeding me her chocolates and snacks throughout the process of my makeover. When I complained about being full, she glared at me. But still didn’t once mention my obvious weight loss. I was more grateful to her in that moment than I’d ever been.

Somewhere along the way we began sipping margaritas. As a result, we are tipsy.

“No peeping!” Summer grumbles as I try to peek through her fingers that are wrapped over my eyes.

“I wasn’t.”

“You can’t bluff the bluffer.” She stumbles over something and in turn, making me wobble. We might’ve consumed one too many margaritas.

“Okay, okay.” I hold my free hand in surrender, knowing full well arguing with her would result in both of us falling.

She walks me three more steps ahead before stopping me. “Okaaay, now I’m lowering my hand. But don’t open your eyes just yet.”

I wait patiently as she lowers her hand, I feel her breath around my face and I’m pretty sure she is checking if my eyes are still closed.

“Okay! Now you can see!”

We are standing in front of a huge floor-length mirror in the living room.

With wide eyes, I take in my sexy little red dress. Then her sparkly golden one.

A giggle escapes me. “I look silly.” I’m not referring to the dress. It fits me like a glove, and I admit, it looks great on me. The reason behind my amusement is the blue wig hiding my thick curls.

She grins at our reflection, her eyes meeting mine through the mirror, and I can’t help but burst out laughing. She’s wearing a wig just like mine—shoulder-length hair with bangs. The only difference is the color. Hers is bright red.

Tilting her chin up, she arches a brow. “You don’t like my hair?”

I bite down on my lips, trying to stifle a laugh as I watch her tuck a strand of bright red hair behind her ear, her wig sitting slightly askew. She tugs at it a little too hard, and it slips right off her head.

I snort and begin laughing again.

“Don’t laugh!” She tries to right her wig, huffing.

Watching her struggle sends me into a fit of laughter. I clutch my sides, barely able to breathe, as she grows red with frustration, huffing and muttering under her breath.

“Stop right this second, or I’ll snatch your wig,” she warns, lunging at me. I quickly step back, barely dodging her. Whoa—I almost lose my balance.

I eye her unsteady stance, amusement tugging at my lips. “You’re drunk.”

“So are you,” she slurs.

For a moment, we just stare at each other, trying to keep straight faces, but then the laughter bursts out. It only gets worse when she scoops up Goldie, who’s sporting a hot pink wig.

Alcohol has unraveled me, easing the tight grip of pain I’ve been carrying. The ache that once consumed me is fading and I can finally breathe again.

I begin dancing the night away with my best friend and Goldie. The dark living room is glimmering with the lights of the disco ball hanging from the ceiling, giving the vibe of a night club.

Like my very own cheer leader, Summer lauds and praises me as I really start to move.

At one point, my wig slides down and my curls tumble down and fall all around me.

We laugh and sing the lyrics of the songs out loud, uncaring about how awfully loud we are. The clock read two in the morning an hour ago. Which means it’s way too late. My body is slowly losing the energy, but we aren’t stopping.

“So are you going to travel some more?” she asks, sliding her silver star-shaped sunglasses she bought for the party over her eyes.

I take off my pink heart-shaped glasses, the question sobering me a bit. It reminds of someone I’ve been trying to forget.

My husband.

Drugging Damian’s food was relatively easier than I imagined. He underestimated me a great deal. He never thought I would be brave enough to do something like that which only worked in my favor.

I acted my role of a timid wife, begged him to eat with me and saw the opportunity to mix the powdered sleeping pill into his soup and waited until he passed out.

Damian had everything meticulously planned. He thought handling me would be easy, which is why he didn’t bother having his men patrol outside the suite. His overconfidence worked in my favor, and I was lucky enough to seize the moment.

When I first ran from the mansion, deceiving his guards, I felt nothing. I was numb, my body moving on autopilot. But leaving Damian behind—that felt different. I felt very guilty and the regret and emptiness had drowned me.

After all, I still love him. You can’t just turn off feelings like a switch, no matter how much you try. They stay with you, lingering in the corners of your mind. Love doesn’t simply disappear, no matter how hard you fight it. It lingers, twisting inside you like a constant reminder of what you once had and what you’ve left behind.

When I married him, I believed, with all my heart and soul, that our relationship was sealed. For eternity. The thought of saying goodbye to him never even crossed my mind. I couldn’t imagine a life without him, not even in my worst nightmares. He was my forever, and I never thought I’d have to let go.

In these three weeks, all the money I had from selling my diamond studs, slowly dwindled away. Each day, the balance grew smaller, and with it, my hope.

I wanted to reach out to Dad. Several times, I even dialed his number, my finger hovering over the call button, but I always aborted it before it connected. What would I say to him? I had chosen love over the billion-dollar empire waiting for me as an heiress, turned my back on wealth and privilege just to marry Damian. I did this to myself. I had no right to go back to him, no face to show after everything I had thrown away.

My anxiety was spiraling. I could barely manage a couple of hours of sleep each night. All I wanted was to bury myself under the covers and never wake up. Nothing seemed to help. The grief was overwhelming, so much so that I had to fly back to L.A. just to be with Summer, to hold onto my sanity.

She asked me about my travel plans, but I knew the truth. I wasn’t running anymore. Running from him had proved useless. He’d made that clear in Paris by tracking me so easily.

But after I ran again, after drugging him, three weeks of radio silence made me believe he had already given up on me. As much as that thought hurt, there was a strange sense of relief too.

Maybe chasing down the wife he never wanted wasn’t something he was willing to waste his precious time on.

Before I can answer Summer, a knock at the door grabs my attention. I frown, glancing at her. “Expecting anyone?”

She shakes her head, a little too hard, sending her bright red wig spinning around her face. It’s barely staying on. “Nope. Are you?”

“No one even knows I’m in L.A., Summer.”

“Then who is it?”

The second knock is louder, more urgent, and Goldie lets out a frantic bark before sprinting down the hall, likely off to hide under her bed. Summer’s eyes go wide, and she starts hyperventilating, her breath coming in short gasps as she bolts after him.

I just watch, swaying, trying not to fall over as I follow her with my eyes.

Then, she comes flying back out of her room, baseball bat in hand like she’s ready to face off with some intruder. I blink, almost toppling over myself, but she catches me just in time, steadying me.

She shoves me onto the couch. “Sit tight,” she says, sounding like a superhero in a badly fitting wig and huge glasses. “I’ll be back.” Without waiting for a response, she slams the music off, her red wig almost falling off in the process, and storms toward the door like she’s about to take on a whole army.

I try to get up, but my body, already exhausted, refuses to cooperate. I lean back, close my eyes, and massage my temples, hoping the throbbing in my head will subside.

Then, the door crashes open with a loud bang, making Summer jump and causing my heart to freeze for a split second before it starts pounding wildly in my chest. Wide-eyed, I scramble to my feet, my legs wobbly from the alcohol and the sudden rush of panic.

“Where’s my wife?”

My movements freeze at the deep voice, every muscle in my body locking in place. I don’t dare turn to face the owner of that voice. Fear tightens in my chest, gripping me from the inside out.

“Excuse me?” I hear Summer’s startled tone.

“My wife. Where is she?”

The bite in the tone makes the hair on the back of my neck stand on end. A burst of anxiety hits me right in the gut. This can’t be happening right now.

Damian. He has found me once again.

But why did he choose this moment to come for me, after three long weeks? Was it a deliberate delay, a calculated move to make me believe I’m safe before revealing his presence? Is he once again playing mind games, toying with my head in his own mysterious way?

Regardless, my time has run out. He is done playing with me. And has cornered me when my guard was down. A cold sweat breaks out all over me. Holding my breath, I slowly begin to turn. Fingernails dig in my palm as I come face to face with my nightmare. My husband.

A gasp is ripped from my throat at the sight of him. My heart plummets to my stomach as his dark eyes lock onto mine, drilling into me over Summer’s shoulder.

He moves past Summer with a predator’s grace, prowling toward me. Each step he takes matches the frantic thumping of my heart, growing louder as the distance between us shrinks.

His face is harder than the last time I saw him. The stubble on his sharp jawline is darker, more pronounced. Even now, at this hour, he wears a black three-piece Armani suit, the fabric stretching tightly over his muscular frame, emphasizing his intimidating presence, suffocating the room with his dominance.

He steps closer, and I force myself not to step back. His gaze sweeps down my short dress, his eyes darkening with every inch they travel, before slowly returning to my face. He reaches up, his hand gentle as it cups my cheek, and his voice is soft when he speaks. “I’ve been looking for you, angel.” But the softness vanishes as he hardens, his words turning cold and menacing. “How dare you run from me?”

A bone-chilling cold settles in my stomach, the blood draining from my face. Immobilized under his stare, I try to speak, “Da‒”

He presses a calloused finger against my lips, his touch prickling my skin with goosebumps. “Shh… we’ll talk about this later. Let’s get you home first.”

I take a hasty step back.

He stalks toward me. “Tsk. Tsk. That’s not wise.”

I take a few unsteady steps back, my pulse racing, but he closes the gap in an instant. Before I can react, his arm wraps around my waist, pulling me flush against his chest. “You have no idea how angry I am. You shouldn’t test me now, angel.”

My anger surfaces. “Let go of me. I am not going anywhere with you!”

“Oh, I don’t remember asking you.”

His response only probes the wounded self-respect of mine. It’s a slap to the face, a brutal reminder of how much I’d bent myself for him, how I let him walk all over me.

“Fuck you.” My hands slam against his chest, but it feels like pressing against pure steel beneath his black shirt. I push with everything I have, but he doesn’t budge. Not a single inch.

Tears of frustration gather in my eyes.

“Where are your rings?”

“I threw them away.” My voice is small.

After drugging Damian that night, I couldn’t stand anything that reminded me of him. So, in a fit of desperation and anger, I tossed my wedding band and the eight-carat engagement ring into the trashcan at the airport. It tore me apart to do it, because I had cherished those rings. They weren’t just jewelry; they were symbols of him, of our love—my very own fairytale. At least, that’s what I used to believe. The loss still hurts, but now all I feel is a new wave of rage crashing over me.

“You are in a lot of trouble.”

“Get out!” I cry out, struggling again.

Summer marches toward us, her posture stiff with irritation, though her face is still hidden behind the oversized party glasses she’s been wearing all night. I can practically feel the scowl radiating off her. “You heard her, buddy.”

There’s dead silence for several heartbeats before he turns his head to look at her. Without a word, he slides his gaze back to me. “Let’s not trouble your friend any longer. We can talk about this at home.”

I whimper when his fingers dig into my skin. Damian pauses, noticing the way I flinch, and with a sudden shift, he loosens his grip. The small gesture makes my heart believe that he might care. But I know better than to let myself hope.

Wrapping my arms around myself, I stare at him with unshed tears. “I am not coming. I’ve told you that. I want a divorce. I‒”

He’s suddenly crowding my personal space, pressing his body against mine. A muscle flexes hard in his jaw. “Divorce?”

I lift my chin. “Yes.” I’m grateful that my voice doesn’t tremble even when my heart is racing impossibly fast.

His face is expressionless but his eyes. Something dangerous burns in those eyes at my response. It makes me shudder.

His breath skates over my face, his intoxicating smell enveloping me. Reminding me of the powerful hold he has on me and my body. The dull ache in my core is the proof.

Damian is my kryptonite. Now that I’ve told him about the divorce, I have to get as far away from him as possible. And hopefully he will let me. Apart from being ruthless he is also prideful. He won’t have a woman against her wishes. He can have anyone, and I mean anyone he wants. He has women begging to please him so he can easily let me go.

“Well, until we get a divorce, you’re my wife, aren’t you?” His calm reply sends a chill down my spine. I don’t get a chance to answer as he jerks my left hand up and thrusts something on my ring finger.

“Where did you get them?” I gasp as I stare down at my rings. The same set I threw away.

“Doesn’t matter.”

I’m still gaping at the rings when he bends and lifts me in his arms, bridal style. “Put me down!”

“No.”

With ease, he strides toward the door carrying me.

CHAPTER FIVE

“Why are you doing this?” I thrash. I fight with everything I have, forcing his hold on me to loosen just enough to make a break for it. My feet hit the floor, and I dash toward the apartment, but before I can even make it halfway, his steely arm wraps around my waist, lifting me effortlessly off the ground.

A low growl catches my attention, making me glance down in surprise. There, tugging on Damian’s slacks with all his might, is Goldie. His tiny body shakes with the effort, his eyes wide and fierce as he growls up at Damian, not backing down an inch.

“I said let go!” I pant.

The thudding of footsteps reaches my ears, and I twist my head to see Summer standing a few feet away. She’s frozen as she takes in the sight of Damian holding me effortlessly against his side, my feet still inches off the ground. She stares at him in disbelief, eyes wide.

“Release my friend, NOW!”

Damian’s indifferent gaze slides toward Summer, his expression cool and completely unaffected by the anger radiating off her. He looks almost bored. With one hand still holding me, he easily subdues my violent elbow as I try to break free, his grip tightening just enough to remind me how helpless I am in this moment.

Summer stops beside us, her eyes blazing with fury. The baseball bat in her hands is raised above her head, her knuckles white from the pressure. “Put her down. Or you die,” she growls.

When there’s no response from him, her grip flexes on the bat. “I will beat the shit out of you. I mean it. I won’t let you kidnap my friend. I will fight till my last breath if I have to.”

My heart warms at her words. She is willing to risk fighting a man twice her size for me.

Damian snorts. It triggers her and she swings her bat, stumbling. I gasp out loud. As if the time has slowed, I watch as the bat gets bigger and bigger. Realizing with horror that it’s heading toward my face with full force.

I wait for the hit but instead, I’m whirled around at the last second causing Damian to take the hit on his bicep. With wide eyes, I watch as he plants me behind him. He assesses my face and body. Palming my cheek, he asks. “You okay?”

My heart is in my throat but I manage to nod. His eyes darken and he spins around to face Summer. With one fluid motion, he snatches the bat from her hands. A thunderous look shadows his onyx eyes as he towers over her. “You could’ve hurt my wife.”

Summer pales, her eyes jumping to my trembling body propped against the wall. “N-no. I was trying to hit you!”

He takes a threatening step toward her. “You are intoxicated.” He sounds disgusted. “While it was amusing that you think you could tackle me, your bat was inches away from my wife’s face.”

She glances at me again, her face still hidden behind those oversized glasses, but even through the lenses, I can see the way her complexion goes deathly pale. “I’m so sorry, River.”

I shake my head, unable to talk with the dry throat. So I attempt to reach her but Damian pulls me back. Then he gets in her face. “If my reflexes weren’t quick, she could’ve gotten hurt. And you don’t want to know what I do to people who hurt my wife.”

He can’t just threaten my best friend! I open my mouth to tell him just that when a booming sound echoes the hallway. “I suggest you back away from her.”

All heads turn toward the tall, strikingly handsome man who leans casually against the doorframe of the apartment across from Summer’s. He has that charm, the kind you’d find in a leading man of a k-drama. He’s in a white fitted t-shirt, and gray sweatpants. His hair is rumpled, clearly disturbed from sleep.

I blink in surprise—he's the neighbor who barely interacted with me when I was living here. In fact, I hardly remember him ever acknowledging my existence.

Something flashes in his eyes when he sees Damian towering over Summer. A muscle in his jaw twitches. He steps away from the doorframe and walks toward us, stopping only when he's toe to toe with Damian. “Back. Off.”

“You stay out of it.”

The man tucks his hands in his pockets and regards him with an unreadable gaze. “I decline.”

“You decline?” Damian cocks a brow.

Goldie barks, making the newcomer glance down. The attention makes Goldie excited. Bending down, he lifts him. Then stares at Summer. And I can’t help but notice the familiarity they share when their eyes lock. “Take him to the apartment. Lock the door behind you.”

She opens her mouth, probably to argue but he cuts her off. “Do as you’re told for once, Summer.”

So they know each other. Enough for him to recognize her stubborn nature. But what confuses me is the way Damian goes still when the neighbor calls her by her name.

Damian watches Summer, his expression unreadable. He stays frozen, even after she leaves, leaving just the three of us in the hallway. But it's only for a minute before Summer returns, this time without Goldie.

The neighbor sighs as he watches her. As if he expected her to defy him.

“Where were we?” The neighbor asks no one in particular. It snaps Damian out of his thoughts. The man continues, “Ah, yes. I just witnessed a man threaten a woman half her size in my hallway.”

My husband’s face remains impassive at his direct attack.

“Hmm. Let’s pretend that I was. What are you going to do about it?”

The man looks at Damian with a piercing gaze. “I am not a violent man. But that doesn’t mean I wouldn’t consider becoming one if need be. But the real question is whether there is a need for it.”

I tense. No one dares to talk to Damian Montgomery like that. He’s not just filthy rich; he’s immensely powerful. This man might not be violent, but Damian is.

Damian may have morals about not laying a hand on a woman, but that’s where his code ends. I’ve seen his enemies quake in fear. I’ve seen someone black and blue, just because he touched me. This guy has no idea what he’s getting into.

My husband doesn’t get offended. Instead, he lifts a single brow. “Is she your woman?”

I hear Summer sucking in a sharp breath at the question.

“What if she is?”

“Then I think you should have her on a short leash. So she would keep her nose out of other’s business.”

I gasp and Summer’s eyes flare.

The neighbor’s lips tighten in a thin line, his fingers curling in tight fists. “She will do whatever she damn well pleases. If I were you, I would shut my mouth and think twice before disrespecting her.”

That’s the last straw that snaps Damian’s patience. He stalks forward. They snarl at each other, seconds away from breaking into a physical fight. I have to do something. Not because I’m worried for Damian. It’s the opposite. I’m worried for Summer’s neighbor because I’ve seen Damian train with his men often times to know this can easily turn into a bloodbath.

“Enough!” I snap, pushing between the two men. The moment I touch Damian, his entire attention latches on me. Like nobody else exists except us. This used to make me swoon before. But now I know what it is. It’s not love. It’s obsession. Dark and raw. He is obsessed over his possession. Me.

“Stop it.” I grind out then glance at Damian, eyes locking eyes with his. “Fine. I’ll go with you.”

His eyes blaze with satisfaction. My face heats with anger and knowledge of what I just uttered. It means he won. Yet again. As if reading my mind, his gaze intensifies.

“River,” Summer interrupts. “You don’t have to. He can’t force you.”

I smile sadly. “It’s okay. I’ll live.” With that, I snatch Damian’s wrist and enter the waiting elevator.

In sync with the door, my eyes flutter shut. Releasing his wrist, I  plaster myself to the far side, my body still trembling with what just happened. All of my efforts were for nothing. He has me back in his possession, probably looking forward to whisking me back to his mega mansion—my gilded cage—in Bel-Air.

The thought of returning to that house where my whole world shattered weakens my knees and my legs give out. My tired brain is vaguely aware of Damian’s urgent leap as he reaches me. His arms wrap around me, my face planting against his hard chest.

With a hand in my curls and another banded around my back, he begins speaking but my ears fail to catch his words.

My traitorous body melts against him while a sensible part of me is screaming to pull away.

His fingers tighten in my hair as if to get my attention. He’s successful as I feel his mouth brushing the shell of my ear. “You shouldn’t have run.”

My breath hitches. I lift my head to stare at him. The man I had run from not once but twice now. The man with eyes like burning coal. The man who is staring down at me with a calm that betrays the storm in his blazing gaze.

I begin pushing against his chest. He doesn’t budge. “I only agreed to go with you because I want to end this with some semblance of dignity and respect.”

A muscle ticks in his jaw. “End what?”

I give up struggling and fist the lapels of his suit jacket. “Didn’t you hear what I said earlier?” I glare at him. “I want a divorce. I want to end this sham of a marriage.”

“Real marriage.” His grip on my hips tightens as he corrects me.

“It’s ironic hearing you say that after I saw multiple proofs in your office claiming otherwise.”

He tenses, his expression shifting to a more dangerous territory.

“What happened?” I tilt my head to the side. “Cat got your tongue, Mr. Montgomery? Or are you concocting more lies to feed me in that manipulative head of yours?” A tiny shiver shoots down my spine as he leans closer.

He stares at me for a few seconds before smoothing a curl from my face. “You’re scared,” he murmurs. “Saying that cost you a lot of courage.”

My lower lip trembles. Yes, it did. But it’s the mocking pity glinting in his eyes that shatters it completely. He backs away, leaving me chilled, as the elevator doors slide open.

Seizing my hand, he steps out and begins to drag me behind him. “I see you went snooping behind my back.”

“I didn’t—”

“But it seems you failed in your task miserably.”

What?

As if sensing my confusion, he stops in his tracks and faces me. “Because angel, your snooping should have taught you that you surrendered the rights to your life to me the moment you married me.”

CHAPTER SIX

Two years ago

A smile spreads across my face as I tape up the last box, ready to move out of the dorms.

My roommate, Jessica, and her friends lounge on the floor, chatting excitedly about a frat party tonight.

When I turn to face them, they fall silent as if they are noticing me for the first time in the room.

“Hey, River.” Jessica recovers quickly and smiles. “There’s a frat party tonight. Wanna come with us this time?”

Jessica and I get along just fine, but I wouldn’t say we’re exactly friends. That’s mainly because I’ve politely declined every party invitation she’s ever extended. To be honest, loud crowds and thumping music just aren’t my scene. I’m more of a quiet night-in kind of girl. But there’s another reason too, one that’s hard to ignore: my dad.

As the daughter of a wealthy business tycoon, I’ve grown up under the scrutiny of the tabloids. Every move I make, every step I take, is watched and waited for. One misstep, one careless mistake, could damage my dad’s reputation and hurt his business. So I’ve learned to be careful, to always think twice before acting. It’s not always easy, but it’s just part of who I am.

My dad wasn’t thrilled when I decided to move into the dorms in the first place. His fierce protectiveness can sometimes make him unreasonable. But I was determined to learn to be independent and self-sufficient. I wanted to prove to myself that I could survive living with strangers and making my own way. It took some time adjusting, but I’m happy with the independence it has given me.

The only drawback has been my roommate’s boyfriend, who seems to think our dorm is his own personal crash pad. He’s always spending the night, and let’s just say their... activities make it impossible for me to get a decent night’s sleep.

So, I’ve decided to take the plunge and move out for good. This summer, I’ll be finding an apartment off campus, and I couldn’t be more excited to start this new chapter of my life.

“I can’t. I’m leaving in a few.”

Jessica’s friend with pink highlights and nose piercings stares at me while popping her chewing gum. “You’re such a goody two shoes.”

“What the hell, Sasha?” Jessica throws a pillow at her.

Easily dogging it, she glances at Jessica with a bored expression. “What? Isn’t it the truth?” She turns her eyes to me. “Never went to any parties or stayed out past curfew. Hell, I bet you’re still a virgin.”

I stiffen. The other girl gasps out loud while Jessica pushes to her feet. “Seriously, Sasha. Cut it out.”

“I was just saying that she needs to chill and get out more. You know, to live.” The last part is said while giving me a pointed look.

A jolt of distress hits my stomach. Yes, I kept to myself the past two years. Yes, I am a bookworm. Boring with a pretty face. And yes, I am a twenty-year-old virgin. I’m going to turn twenty-one in six months and I don’t see myself losing my virginity any time sooner. Is that so bad?

I struggle with connecting to new people. Regardless being fluent in multiple languages, I am an introvert. I talk to others when necessary. It’s because I’m designed this way. I am yet to find someone who could accept me as I am. And not force me to do things in the name of friendship. Though, Sasha’s words hurt, explaining myself to a stranger is a waste of time.

There’s a knock on the door and I turn to find Derek, dad’s security chief. He is wearing a navy suit. His eyes are hiding behind black shades.

“Ms. Gibson.” He inclines his head.

“Derek,” I say warmly, smiling as I step aside to let him in.

My eyes back to the girls. “Hope you all have a pleasant summer.” Giving them a last smile, I walk out.

But as I turn to leave, two more guards appear in the doorway, their eyes scanning the room before coming to rest on the stacks of boxes. My roommate’s eyes widen in surprise, and her friends stare, open-mouthed.

Nobody here knows that I’m Christopher Gibson's daughter. I’ve worked hard to keep it that way.

Within minutes, I am seated in the back of the SUV. Shaking my head at the sight of two more cars lining behind me. I pull out my cell phone and dial Dad. He picks up on the third ring.

“Hello, sweet pea. Are you on your way?”

I melt hearing my nickname. “I am. But dad… I told you not to send the guards.”

“You think I’m going to let you do the heavy lifting?”

“Why send so many then?”

“Because it saves time.”

“Ever the strategist.” I smile.

“That I am. Come home soon. I miss you, sweet pea.”

“I miss you too, dad. So much.”

“I am officially on leave starting today. We are going on a vacation.”

Sometimes I wonder if he still blames himself for abandoning me on my birthdays when he was grieving mom. He has spent his every waking day making it up to me ever since. I only hope he knows that I’ve long forgotten those empty days and nights. He should know that he doesn’t have to set aside his work just because I’m coming home.

“Dad, you don’t need to—”

“Ah, but I do,” he replies. “I’ve missed my daughter, and I’m not about to let work get in the way. Besides, you stood me up over spring break. I’m collecting on that rain check.”

“Okay. Where are we going?”

“It’s a surprise.”

“Really?”

“Yes. In fact, you’re not coming home. You’re heading straight to the airport.”

I sit straight. “What?”

“Yes. That’s why I sent Derek to bring you.”

I glance at him who is sitting ahead in the passenger seat.

“Now I know what you’re thinking. Don’t pester him with questions. He won’t reveal anything.”

“But dad, I’m not ready. I need to know the location to pack and—”

“Everything has been taken care of.”

“Okay,” I mumble. When he hangs up, I scoot to the edge of the back seat and peer at Derek silently.

“Derek—” I start but he just shakes his head, and I scoot back, grumbling.

He’s loyal at heart. It’s useless to convince him to spill the beans. Plugging my AirPods in, I close my eyes and enjoy the music.

◆◆◆

Today is a bad day. It has to be because when we reached the airport. We couldn’t fly because of the bad weather.

Dad was in a terrible mood because he was stuck in his office. And I was just bummed. I didn’t much care about the vacation. I just wanted to see Dad.

We end up going to a hotel near the airport. Although we have a private jet, and can fly any time, Dad insisted on flying out as soon as the weather settles. And to avoid the unnecessary hassle of moving to and from our mansion, he suggested we stay at a hotel nearby instead.

So here I am, in the lobby of a luxurious hotel, waiting for Derek who’s at the front desk.

I stroll over to the wall of mirrors, giving myself a once-over. My light blue puff-sleeved sundress, which hits just above the knee, is slightly rumpled from the long drive. I smooth out the wrinkles, my fingers tracing the soft fabric. My dark brown curls, secured in a messy bun atop my crown, have begun to unravel, with a few stray tendrils framing my face and grazing my neck. I tuck a few behind my ears.

As I smooth out the last wrinkle on my sleeve, my gaze drifts up to the mirror, and that’s when I see him. My lips part in shock, my eyes widening in stunned surprise. Time seems to freeze, my hand hovering in mid-air as if suspended by an invisible thread. My breath catches in my throat, and for a moment, I forget how to exhale.

It’s him.

He is here.

The mere sight of him makes my heart stutter. My first kiss, the one person who’s haunted my thoughts since my eighteenth birthday. The man who left me with a bittersweet ache in my chest. Those piercing onyx eyes have invaded my dreams every night for two years, refusing to let me go.

I spin around, my legs trembling beneath me, as if my body can’t keep up with my eagerness. And then, I see him again—really see him—standing there and I know it’s not just a dream.

It is him.

Damian.

He stands tall and intimidating in a crisp black button-up and black trousers. From where I stand, only his side profile is visible, but it’s more than enough to confirm my suspicions. The sharp lines of his face are etched in my memory forever—the straight nose, the high cheekbones, and that strong, chiseled jaw. Every feature is unmistakably his, and my heart skips a beat.

As he listens intently to the phone call, his fingers rake through his silky dark hair, the gesture sending a shiver down my spine. The frown etched on his face is ridiculously attractive, making my heart stumble. It’s really him! The man I’d impulsively kissed that night.

Memories of that night come flooding back. I often wonder how differently things would have played out if I’d restrained myself. But I don’t regret that kiss. What I regret is the awkwardness that followed. The way he’d wordlessly escorted me out of the woods, his expression unreadable. The memory still makes my cheeks flush with embarrassment.

“Be good.” He had said gruffly, his eyes lingering on me for a moment before he turned and vanished into the darkness. I’d been left standing there, feeling bewildered and embarrassed, with no way to track him down. I didn’t even know his last name.

Despite my aversion to social events, I’d attended every single one, scanning the crowds with a mixture of hope and desperation, praying that I’d catch a glimpse of him again. But it seemed my luck had run out. Months turned into years, and I’d all but given up on the possibility of ever seeing him again.

The rational part of my mind had long given up on the possibility of ever crossing paths with him again. But my romantic side? That part of me had refused to let go, spinning a million different scenarios, imagining countless ways our paths might intersect again. It had fueled a hope that had burned bright and true in my heart, refusing to be extinguished.

And here he is.

Damian.

The man of my dreams.

My smile falters as Damian checks his watch, frowning. He starts striding away, his long legs eating up the distance. Panic surges through my veins like ice water, jolting me out of my stunned paralysis. My brain snaps back into gear, and I spring into action, my feet seemingly moving of their own accord. I dash after him.

“Ms. Gibson!”

Concerned voices call out my name, but they’re distant, muffled by the thundering of my heart.

My bun disintegrates as I run, dark curls tumbling down my shoulders and back like a wild waterfall.

I take a sharp left, hot on Damian’s heels. I refrain from calling out his name out loud. I don’t want to draw unnecessary attention, and the mere thought of speaking aloud sends my anxiety spiraling.

I collide with strangers in my haste, but I don’t stop. This is my one chance, my only opportunity to reconnect with him.

I have no idea what I will say to him. There’s a possibility he might not even remember me. But I know deep down that if I lose this chance, I would regret it forever.

He is easy to spot with his tall frame and broad back.

“Ms. Gibson, River!” Derek’s voice rings out but I’m too focused on catching up to Damian.

I pump my arms faster, my feet pounding the floor in a frantic bid to reach him.

He suddenly stops dead in his tracks. And I’m moving too fast to react, and I crash into his broad back.

He almost trips but steadies himself and twists his body toward me, fiercely scowling.

The moment his other-worldly night eyes meet mine, I lose my footing. I’m a breath away from dissolving into a helpless, needy mess at his feet. But before I can embarrass myself, Damian’s strong arm folds around me, steadying me. He reaches up, his fingers grazing my skin as he tucks a stray curl behind my ear. The gentle touch sends shivers down my spine.

I melt into his chest. My gaze frantically sweeps over his features, drinking in every detail.

Two years, six months, and three days—the exact measure of time since our paths last crossed. But as I search his face, my heart sinks. His expression remains impassive, devoid of even a flicker of recognition.

A crack forms in the fragile dam holding back my emotions. “Hi,” I whisper, my voice trembling as a lone tear escapes, rolling down my cheek. The truth hits me. He doesn’t remember me. The lack of recognition in his eyes is a painful reminder that, to him, I’m nothing more than a stranger.

I’m being silly. Why would he remember me? We were strangers, and that awkward kiss was just a fleeting moment in his life. I was just a timid eighteen-year-old, and he was... well, he was Damian.

The sound of a guard calling out “Ms. Gibson” makes me tremble even harder. I don’t know why I’m being so emotional.

Damian’s gaze sweeps over my shoulder before locking onto mine. I stare up at him, my eyes misty, as he pulls me into the waiting elevator. In my peripheral vision, I notice two guards attempting to follow us, but the doors slide shut, sealing us inside.

As Damian turns to face me, my legs wobble again. His arms envelop me, holding me upright. “Are you all right?”

I stare up at him, wide-eyed and unresponsive. He grips my chin, his fingers warm against my skin, and says, “River?”

A big smile spreads across my face as I stare up at him. My fingers close around his hand, still cradling my chin, and I give it a gentle squeeze. My heart dances in my chest as I whisper, “You remember me.”

CHAPTER SEVEN

Present

I bite my lip, fighting tears, as the pain I’d tried to escape comes flooding back. Memories of our past haunt me, and I realize that chasing Damian had been a painful mistake from the start.

The day I ran after him, I unwittingly sealed my fate. I was blindly pursuing a dream, never realizing it would become my worst nightmare. I once thanked the universe for giving me a happy ending, but now I'm left shattered, wondering how something that felt so right could be the beginning of such unbearable pain.

The massive sleek black gates of the mansion slowly slide open and the driver navigates forward in the driveway. My heart sinks to the pit of my stomach as the palm trees lining the driveway comes to view.

I dare not glance to my right, toward Damian. Since he forcibly ushered me into his car, he’s been giving me the cold shoulder.

In the dimly lit back seat, the glow of his phone screen casts a light on his face as he types away, ignoring me. I’d tried to speak to him, to ask the questions swirling in my mind, but he’d remained silent, treating me like a ghost. Defeated, I’d turned my attention to the window, watching the city blur by.

Now, as the car comes to a stop, my stomach twists into knots. The marble walkway leading to the front door is eerily familiar. Memories of me pacing this very path, eagerly awaiting Damian’s return from his work trips, come flooding back. The nostalgia is suffocating and painful.

Memories of my twenty-one-year-old self, dolled up for my husband, now bring only pain. I recall the anguish of waiting for his return, unaware that it would become my life: endless waiting, endless agony.

“Mrs. Montgomery.”

I startle and look up to find Hal peering at me expectantly while holding my door open. His tanned face appears pinched slightly. Even he is pissed at me for running from his ruthless boss.

As Damian’s right-hand man, Hal takes everything personally, and my escape from his team here and in Paris is clearly a betrayal. He’s the one who stalked me through the city’s winding streets, scaring me. Now, his expression makes it clear that he’s angry, not just with me, but with himself for letting me slip through his fingers.

Without taking his offered hand, I climb out. Damian rounds the car and snatches my hand in his. It’s just as well he is dragging me inside because I don’t think I possess the strength to walk back into hell myself.

With each step forward, my stomach contracts painfully. I don’t want to go in there. Being here is inflicting more damage to my soul.

My marriage gave me wealth and luxury, but it took away the one thing I truly wanted: love. The fancy clothes, jewels, and mansion only made me feel emptier. I was surrounded by beauty, but my heart was breaking.

Hal swings open the front door, standing aside as Damian pulls me into the grand foyer. He stops at the center, near the enormous swan centerpiece made of white marble. The chandelier’s light falls over us as we stand facing each other.

“Go to bed, there’s something at work that needs my attention.”

“It’s four in the morning.” The words are out before I can think.

He cocks his eyebrow as he takes a step closer. He cups my cheek tenderly. “You want me to come to bed right now?”

My jaw drops at his clear hint. Before I could set him straight, he continues, “I fired all the staff.” At my stunned silence, he says, “Now I have guards stationed outside as well as inside the property.”

“To babysit me?” We both know I don’t wish to stay here. Just standing here feels like someone has twisted the knife that has been lodged in my chest ever since I ran.

“Something like that. You’re free to do as you please within the house; they won’t interfere.”

“I can leave the house?” I ask sardonically.

When he gives me a warning look, I shake my head and push his hand away. “Thought so. But just for your information, you can’t keep me locked up in here forever.”

“I’m not.”

“But you implied I can’t leave the house.”

He cocks a shoulder, riling me up.

I rub my temples. “I’m not interested in your mind games. What the hell do you mean?”

“You heard me. I told you that they won’t interfere. They won’t stop you from running.” He leisurely unbuttons his suit jacket before taking it off and handing it to Hal. Then continues, “but if you do leave me again, I’ll punish them.”

My eyes go wide. “What?”

He slides his hands in his pockets. “If you ran, they will pay the price.”

I inhale sharply. “Why?”

“Because someone has to bear the consequences.”

I shake my head in part confusion and part fear. “But why would you punish innocent people for my actions? That’s so messed up.”

“So don’t run. Don’t give me a reason to make them and their families suffer.”

His words shock me to the core. I take a step back, gaping. I knew he is a ruthless man. He ruins people who crosses him. But that was in business. He likes to strip people from their power and money and status who cheats him. Sure. He wades into gray territory. Might have crossed legal boundaries in some cases but he wouldn’t harm people. Would he?

“What’s wrong with you?”

He eats up the space between us and cradles my chin in his hand. “You. You’re what’s wrong with me.”

I push him and take a hasty step back. “Don’t you dare put this on me.”

He sighs and glances at his watch.

“You can just leave if you’re getting bored.” It was meant to be a jab but the words come out sounding melancholic.

In the beginning, Damian’s words were sparse but sweet, just enough to satiate my love-starved heart. He’d whisper phrases like “you’re beautiful” or “you drive me crazy” in my ear, and I’d melt into his touch. But after we got married, those tender words disappeared and I was left with a husband who spoke to me in a detached, calculating tone.

Watching him like this, so uninterested, so openly indifferent, hurts. He doesn’t respond. But once again, he invades my personal space and brushes my curls back. He kisses the top of my head and walks away, Hal following.

I stare at his back, pursing my trembling lips. For the first time, I assessed him accurately. He was indeed getting bored. I quietly swipe at the lone tear that slips down my cheek. Why am I being emotional? He is openly treating me as the unwanted wife now. This shouldn’t come as a surprise. But… I shake my head. I won’t dwell on it anymore. Getting out of this situation without harming anyone in the process as he not so subtly threatened is my main motto. It is trickier than I thought but I have to find a way to get out of his hold again.

Sniffling, I start toward the master bedroom but instead of entering I move past it and walk toward the end of the hallway and step into the guest bedroom.

This property has twenty-one bedrooms including the master. If I have to live here, I would prefer to have as much distance as possible between Damian and me.

After a quick shower, I shrug on the fluffy gray bathrobe and fall on the bed. I make a mental note of moving my clothes from the master to this room tomorrow.

Fatigue from the flight then dancing all night with Summer and topping it all with the drama that unfolded at the end wore me out so much that I go to sleep as soon as my head hits the pillow.

◆◆◆

I was floating. Feeling lighter than water as if earth has tilted on its axis. I grunt in my sleep and move my head, frowning when my cheek presses against something solid instead of the pillow’s softness. “Mm.” I shift slightly, wondering what the warm hard thing against my face is. I nuzzle it and the familiar faint scent pulls me in.

The sound of door opening and then closing fall on my ears. My brain slowly begins working and I blink my eyes open. Damian stares down at me as he carries me further inside what I now see is the master bedroom.

I try to pull back but his arms tighten around me. When he reaches the king-sized bed, he lowers me on it. I immediately scoot back and rub the sleep from my eyes. “What the hell?”

He is not in the black suit anymore. He also got rid of the beard he was sporting, his face now clean shaven. His jet-black hair is wet and hangs over his forehead making him appear younger than his thirty-two years. He is only wearing pajama pants which is riding low on his hips. He is ripped. Damian always had a Greek god body. And he worked out every day to maintain it. I swallow hard as my gaze runs over his defined abs. He is huge. Broad and muscled.

I follow his veiny arm as he reaches up to push his inky strands back. When my eyes meet his, he quirks a brow, making me flush. My face feels hot and I flush some more knowing that Damian can easily see my red face even in the muted lights of the bedroom.

Too embarrassed to speak, I scramble off the bed and start toward the door. His arm wraps around my stomach, stopping me. “Where do you think you are going?”

“The guestroom.”

He effortlessly turns me to face him. Gripping my chin gently, he leans his head down. “Why?”

“I told you I wanted a divorce.”

His eyes darken but other than that his face remains impassive. “And?”

I stare at him, dumbfounded. “And?”

He tucks my unruly hair. “What about it?”

Is he serious? “I don’t wish to share your bed anymore.”

“Is that right?” He buries his nose in my hair and for a moment, for one weak moment I forget everything. My eyes drift close as I nuzzle the base of his throat with my face, my nails digging at his sides. His expensive aftershave makes me dizzy with desire. This feels amazing. Natural. My body recognizes his. It’s demanding what only Damian can give. Carnal pleasure.

I push out a long breath when his arms draw me tighter against him. Familiar tension begins to bloom inside me. The moment Damian’s lips meet the crook of my neck, everything inside me tightens. My thoughts are muddled. I can’t think because every fiber of my being is screaming in need.

I begin to pant and angle my head when he buries his face in my sensitive nook, kissing and nibbling on my neck. Sinking my fingers in his hair, I fist it as he drags his mouth along my throat.  His mouth is surprisingly ravenous. Something feels different. Like never before. There’s a new kind of hunger. The kind that has a dangerous, possessive edge to it. In the past, he always appeared to be in control. When it came to sex, Damian never hesitated to take what he wanted. I can’t put my finger on it but something about tonight feels like he is barely hanging on the last threads of his control.

I stifle a moan when his warm breath grazes the shell of my ear. “If I told you to lie on our bed and spread your legs for me, would you do it, angel?”

Before I could utter my consent, I’m lifted off the floor. I squeal and wrap them around his waist. And a second later, we stumble on the bed with me still wrapped around him.

He pulls back and stares at me, searching my face. A strange kind of satisfaction glints in his eyes as he watches me breathless underneath him. “Can’t resist me, can you?”

I tense. I am doing exactly what I swore I wouldn’t. His head begins to descend, clearly to kiss me but I turn my head before his lips could touch mine. “Don’t.”

He stops and props himself on his forearms. I can feel the weight of his gaze on my cheek as he studies me. “What do you mean don’t?”

“I don’t want to sleep with you, Damian.” I finally look at him.

“Well, that’s good because sleep is the last thing on my mind right now.” He goes for my lips again and I put my hand over his mouth.

“I’m not having sex with you.”

“Why not? You clearly want me.” His eyes flicker down and I follow and gasp when I find my robe gaping open, revealing my hard nipples. I pull them shut.

“You’re keeping me against my will. I agreed to it only because we have things to talk about. Me coming back with you doesn’t mean anything. We are still very much over. I still want a divorce.”

His jaw ticks as he rolls over and drops next to me. I gape at him. He listened to me? Just like that? Anyway, I don’t waste time pondering on that and make a move to get up only to be dumped back down by his arm over my chest.

I glare at him.

“My wife’s place is right here. Next to me.”

“But—”

“Don’t be difficult, River.”

I clench my teeth. “This is ridiculous. Why do I have to sleep with you?”

“You heard me.” He throws an arm over his eyes, dismissing me.

“I’m not your wif—” Words get stuck in my throat when he removes his arm to glare at me.

“Go to sleep.”

“You can’t force me.”

“I can and I am.” He goes back to covering his eyes with his arm.

“Domineering jerk,” I mutter under my breath.

“That’s not polite,” he murmurs and adjusts his pants. Naturally, my eyes track his movement. He is hard. Painfully hard.

“I’m not going to have sex with you.” I blurt out.

He sighs. “Relax. I’m not going to fuck you.”

For some reason, I believe him. Just when I’m about to turn on my side, he speaks again. “Not unless you beg me to.”

I turn on a gasp. “I’m never going to beg you to fuck me!”

He turns toward me and props himself on his elbow. “Not only will you beg me to fuck your brains out, but you’ll also beg me to stop.”

My mouth falls open. He reaches over and drops a kiss on my parted lips. “Goodnight, angel,” he says against my mouth before rolling to his side, leaving me flustered.

CHAPTER EIGHT

Past

I can count on one hand the times I was genuinely happy. And this moment right here tops it all.

He remembers me.

He remembers me.

I am mesmerized. Mesmerized by the man in front of me. Mesmerized by his onyx eyes as they search my face. Mesmerized by his stubble covered jaw that clenched slightly when I squeezed his hand that’s still gripping my chin.

Seeing him inches away from me brings back the memories of our first kiss. My first ever kiss. The kiss he never returned. That one small contact that wasn’t welcomed. And the silence that followed after told me it was certainly something I was not allowed to pursue with him. But God do I want to.

For the first time in my life, I don’t want to do something that’s expected of me. I don’t wish to walk on the road that’s already paved for me. Is it selfish? Can’t I want something and do something for me this one time?

He frowns at me as if he can read my mind. Am I transparent? If so, what exactly is he seeing right now?

“River,” he warns as the look in his eyes change. Oh, so indeed I am transparent. Anyway, his warning does the complete opposite. Instead of intimidating me, it makes me grin.

“Please say that again.”

He steps back, still frowning. “Say what again?”

My fingers fiddle with my curl as I glance up at him through my lashes. “My name.”

He ignores my request. “What are you doing here? And who were the men chasing you?”

Damian is talking to me. I have dreamed of this day so many times but nothing compares to reality. His deep voice that made my toes curl two years ago was still the same. The effect he has on me is still very much potent. It wasn’t a teenage fascination. It wasn’t a passing crush. I may have been enamored by him instantly but there was something about him that my mind and heart refused to let go.

“River.” He stresses, and in an attempt to make me answer, he says my name again.

I respond with a tenuous giggle.

Damian’s expression softens slightly. “Are you going to answer me now?” His tone is very dry, making me suppress another round of giggle.

“My flight got delayed so I had to come here. And those men were my bodyguards.” I suppose he knows about me as he was at my birthday party so I refrain from explaining why I have so many guards following me.

“Why were they chasing you?”

“Because I ran away without a word.”

“And why were you running from them?”

I shake my head. “I wasn’t running from them. I was running toward someone.” I stare at him intently, silently telling him who that someone was.

When he keeps staring at me mutely, a hot flush creeps up my neck. “Are you…” offended? I’m sorry? The elevator door opens then and he steps out without a word. I fall into step beside him. Helplessly, I watch his side profile which reveals nothing. What was he thinking?

His silence is answer enough. He’s not interested. He made that painfully clear two years back. But I had hoped… I thought…

Damian stops abruptly, startling me. “Do you know how old I am, River?” His dark rumble makes my heart race.

I shake my head. I don’t know and I don’t care. He is certainly older. Not one guy on campus can match his built and height. He is definitely a man. A man that makes me weak in the knees.

“I’m thirty.”

“O-okay.”

He frowns. “Okay? That makes me ten years older than you, do you understand that?”

I nod wordlessly. We fall into silence that makes me squirm.

He bends his head to peer at me. “Didn’t I tell you to be good?”

Swallowing thickly, I nod again.

“Then why were you running after me?” He asks softly.

“Because I think about you all the time. I-I… I just can’t stop. I can’t get you out of my mind,” I confess ruefully. “And when I saw you today… I couldn’t stop myself from running after you.”

All my life I was barely acknowledged, barely heard apart from the role I play of Christopher Gibson’s daughter and heiress. Even in a room full of people, I’ve always felt alone. Boys approach me for my dad’s money. Girls love the limelight they get from me. No one has ever done anything for me without an ulterior motive.

But with Damian, it’s different. That night, he chose to hang out with me without an ulterior motive. In the two encounters we shared till now, he made me feel seen. Heard. It feels like he can really see me. The real me. Without the big name and the big bank account.

When his eyes lock onto me, it’s more than just a glance. It’s like he’s peeling away the labels and expectations, acknowledging the ordinary beneath the extraordinary.

In his presence, I’m not a symbol of success or privilege; I’m just a girl—no special treatment. He treats me as if I’m any other person, and it’s in those moments that I feel truly seen and valued. There’s a comfort in being regarded for the person I am, unburdened by the weight of my name and status. It’s refreshing and I want more of that.

Years weren’t enough to forget him. I don’t want to waste another couple of years in torment. I know he is not interested but if I’m persistent, maybe I can change his mind.

In a silent battle of wills, I blurt the question, “Are you married?”

His mouth pulls in a tense line. “That’s none of your business, angel.”

My heart does a silly little back flip at the endearment. It gives me hope. “So that’s a no.”

He stares at me for so long that I get awkward again. “W-what’s your last name?”

“Why?”

“I want your full name so I can stalk you.”

He raises his eyebrows.

“I spent two years looking for you to no avail.” I look over my shoulder, expecting Derek to show up any moment. “I don’t have much time. Please can you…”

“Montgomery. Damian Montgomery.”

I didn’t expect him to give it to me so easily so I stare at him for a beat in shock. Then I remember hearing his surname tossed around in the business affairs and fundraisers I attended with Dad recently.

“Now I want you to go back down.” He glances at his watch again. “I’m running late for a seminar. I’m the speaker, so I have to cut this short—”

“Can I get your number please?”

Those dark eyes rake over my face like he is having difficulty figuring me out. Just then the elevators door open and Derek and two other guards step out. I wring my hands. “Maybe we can be friends?”

When he says nothing, I speak quietly, “I won’t pester you, I promise.” I lick my lips. “I don’t really have friends. You’re the first person to…” See me. who heard me. Who made me feel something.

“Ms. Gibson,” Derek is few feet away and I bite my quivering lip. I lost my only chance with Damian.

I threw myself at him and he rejected me. Shoulders slumped; I begin to face Derek when I feel something slip into my hand. I look down and see a black visiting card. My eyes fly up to Damian.

“Be good,” he murmurs and leaves me there stunned and so happy that tears well up my eyes. I hug the card to my chest and whisper. “I will.”

CHAPTER NINE

Present

I open my eyes at the sunlit room, my heart still beating fast like it did when I hugged his card to my chest that day.

I remain perfectly still when I feel Damian moving in his sleep. He is an early riser so I wasn’t expecting him to still be in bed. We got in bed in wee hours. So it’s understandable.

A second later, his heavy arm drops over my waist, pulling me snugly against his warm body. My eyes burn.

I had dreamed of this years ago. Of sleeping next to him and waking up with his scent and arms surrounding me. I’m living it now. I’m living my fantasies of being next to the love of my life. Only now, it’s pure misery.

Every touch, every look, every conversation hurts me. And it is worse now that I have to act indifferent. And put on a mask of nonchalance so he won’t suspect how heartbroken I am.

Growing up, I had a multitude of tutors shaping my every move, dictating how to act, behave, even how to walk and talk with a prescribed finesse. One might assume that feigning nonchalance about the divorce and his betrayal should come naturally. Yet, it’s far from easy.

I’m not sure how long I can last. This is the reason I didn’t want to return to L.A until I’d figured out a way to divorce without facing him. I can’t believe Damian is the same man who I once ran after like a fool to just get a glimpse of. And now don’t have the strength to face.

I close my burning eyes. Realizing with shame that I don’t possess a smidgen of strength to push his arm away. The grief twists my gut as I lay awake in his hold for a long time.

There was a time when he was my protector. My lover and ally against the world. And now he is my worst enemy. My husband who I have to stand against and fight for freedom.

As my concerns shift toward Dad, I reflect on the decision to leave him and sever ties in favor of being with Damian. But now that I have an inkling of his motives, there seems to be no reason to withhold myself from the affection of my dad any longer. I miss him greatly.

It has been so long since I heard his soothing voice. I don’t even know how he’s doing. I was too hurt to reach out but when the days turned to months, I eventually resigned myself to a painful truth—I believed Dad wanted nothing to do with me. Now, the desire to reconnect with him stirs within me but fear lingers, whispering that perhaps he wouldn’t welcome it.

The little cash I had was all spent on travelling. Damian didn’t let me work because he wanted me to be entirely dependent on him.

Now, I find myself without money, without a home, and without a job. A heavy sigh escapes me. My whole life is in shambles because of the man I love. Ever since he came into my life, everything’s turned upside down. Nothing’s the same anymore.

I jump slightly as his arm tightens around my waist. He mumbles something in his sleep before clutching me tighter. I twist my head and find his eyes clenched shut and face damp with perspiration.

“Damian?” Frowning, I touch his cheek. His face contorts, his bare chest rising and falling rapidly.

Grabbing his arm, I attempt to loosen his grip. My breath catches in my throat when Damian crushes my ribs. I wince and try again. It takes a minute for me to free myself and hover over him. Cupping his face, I try to wake him. “Damian, wake up.”

I run my fingers to smooth down his damp hair. “Please, Damian, wake up.” His eyes flutter and I whisper soothing words as I cradle his face. “Yes, come back to me.” A tear escapes from his closed eye and slides down his temple and wets my fingers. Something inside me squeezes hard when I realize he’s crying in his sleep.

What’s happening? Is this why he avoided sleeping beside me? We used this bed mainly for sex. At the beginning when I started waking up alone, I simply assumed he was an early riser. Come to think of it, I rarely caught him sleeping with me.

What’s troubling him? He’s never opened up about his past. All I know is that he was an orphan until Mr. and Mrs. Montgomery adopted him at the age of 12. Unfortunately, his adoptive parents passed away when he was in college, leaving him with little financial support. He forged his own path without relying on his father’s money. Beyond these details, I’m in the dark about his history. It’s a subject I’ve learned not to broach because it always makes him distant and guarded.

I press my lips to his cool forehead and stroke his hair. “Shh, it’s okay. I’m here.”

He says something again before jerking in my arms. “Damian,” I whisper, willing him to fight his demons and come back to me.

As if my plea reaches him, his eyelids begin to lift until he stares at me.

For a moment, his eyes are disoriented but then they sharpen and he quickly detaches himself from me.

My arms fall limply at my side as I stare at him helplessly. I know if I try to touch him, or console him, he would reject it. So I get off the bed and run outside the bedroom.

My feet thud on the floor as I hurry down the stairs. I pass the spacious dining room area and library before reaching the kitchen.

“Mrs. Montgomery?” A middle-aged woman dressed in white blouse and black slacks appears around the counter.

I startle, obviously not expecting company since Damian said he fired all the staff. “I’m Edith. Your new housekeeper.”

“Hello, sorry I’m in a bit of a hurry.” I stride to the fridge.

“Do you need anything? You can tell me—”

I grab a bottle of water from the fridge. And pause for a second then decide to grab a small bottle of orange juice. “I got it, thanks.” I respond then I’m running back to the bedroom, vaguely noticing the guards I might’ve missed in my haste here. I ignore them as I quicken my pace. This place is awfully huge.

Upon entering, I find the bedroom empty. The sound of the shower running grabs my attention. So I pace the room as my gaze keep straying at the bathroom door.

My throat is dry as I try to swallow. I need to talk to him. Make sure he’s okay. I’m so wired up that I give a start when the door opens and he comes out with a towel wrapped around his waist.

I hurry to his side and extend the water bottle. He ignores it and marches to the walk-in closet. I follow him but stop at the doorframe. “Damian,” I avert my gaze when he drops the towel. “I…” I glance at the bottles in my hand. “You should… this,” I turn my head to see if he’s decent and find him in his boxers, rummaging through his dress shirts.

I hesitate for a second before stepping inside. “Here.” I offer both the bottles. He doesn’t even spare them or me a glance as he picks up a black shirt and pulls it on.

I place the juice on the rack before uncapping the water bottle.

When he goes to button it, I cover his hand.

He finally glances at me. I pull his hand free from where he’s holding the shirt button so I can hand the bottle to him. Or at least try to because he resists it.

“Drink,” I mutter quietly then try to pull his hand again but he doesn’t let up.

I look up at him and find his black eyes focused on me. I tug again and he resists again. I just want him to hand the bottle and get out of here so I could escape his probing eyes.

“Damn it, Damian, I didn’t poison it.” I yank his hand again. He has slammed down his defenses again but I won’t back down. I won’t cower away this time.

“You sure?”

I jerk when he speaks.

“Yes. Now drink it—” I trail when he edges closer. I am so much smaller compared to him. His hard body invades my personal space. I suck in a harsh breath and stare up at him.

“How can I trust my wife, who seems so eager to leave me? What if you did poison it to get rid of me.”

My lips part. “Do you really believe I would do something like that?”

He takes another step forward and traps me against the wall. He isn’t touching me but his black eyes caresses my face then my body which is still clad in a bathrobe I slept in.

“I don’t know, angel. I used to believe you’d never leave me, but you did. I never thought you’d be sneaky enough to spike my soup with sleeping pills, but you did, didn’t you?”

“I did that because you left me no choice!” I sputter with anger and hurt.

He braces one hand on the wall beside me. “Is that right?”

“Yes! You know it is.” How could he even entertain the idea that I’d stoop to something so cruel? My love for him is undeniable, and the notion of intentionally causing harm to anyone much less him is repulsive to me. Doesn’t he see who I am at my core? Yes, I drugged him, but it wasn’t driven by malice. The desperate act was my only way to break free, even though every ounce of my being had rebelled against the very thought of doing that.

“Prove it then.” He clutches my hand holding the bottle and lifts it.

Seriously? This is what I get for caring. I don’t even know if he is being defensive or he actually thinks I poisoned the water but anyway, I’m going to prove it.

Locking my eyes with his, I bring the bottle to my lips and take a swig. And because my throat was parched, I down half the bottle without realizing it. “Happy?” I ask, licking my wet lips.

His eyes darken. A small part of me is aware how close he is. How his shirt is still unbuttoned and the sides of his shirt is touching my quivering chest. I inhale sharply and immediately regret it. The scent of his shower gel mingled with his male scent creates an intoxicating allure that makes it hard for me to focus on the situation at hand.

Despite his hurtful assessment about me, I can’t deny the magnetic pull I feel toward him. His dark, intense eyes bore into me and something familiar begins to brew in me.

I try not to gaze at his sculpted chest. Try not to think about the conflicting emotions of anger, desire and lingering hurt. In his close proximity, locked in this intimate space, memories of our making love begin to surface in my mind. This proves that despite everything, my feelings for him still runs deep.

“What’s your game, angel?”

“My game?” I ask with hurt in my voice. “You had a nightmare, Damian. I was so worried so I rushed to get you something to drink to help you calm down.” I lower my eyes. “I can’t see you suffer.”

He steps back. “I don’t need your pity.”

“Pity?” This time, I erase the gap between us. “You think I pity you?”

He remains silent and my vision blurs. “Pity is the last thing that drove me to run around first thing in the morning like a crazy woman for you.”

“Then why did you bother yourself with it?”

“Because I care about you!” My chest heaves as I cry out. “I still do. Even after I know you never loved me. I can’t just turn off my feelings.”

“Hmm. So you still love me.”

I jerk back. “I d-don’t.”

“You were always a bad liar.” He tucks a curl behind my ear. I push his hand away.

“I’m not the girl you married anymore. I won’t let you manipulate me.”

He leans in, pressing me against the wall again. “Well, I don’t have to try hard, do I?” His gaze runs over my face. “I see the desire in your eyes.”

I push his chest, the bottle crashes down on the carpeted floor. “That’s just my physical reaction to you. Don’t worry, I will make sure to bury it so deep it wouldn’t ever resurface.”

He grabs my wrist and presses it against the wall. “Can you really? You—the naïve little girl who once gave everything to me without even asking—have it in you to resist me?” He mocks.

“You’re heartless.” My voice cracks.

“Sometimes you have to be in order to survive in this world.”

“That’s not true.” I say softly.

His expression darkens. “Of course, the spoiled princess would think that.”

I wrench my eyes away. He takes advantage of it and buries his face in my neck. “You can hate me all you want, but you can’t deny what we have.”

My eyes fall shut when he begins kissing my neck. “You’re so easy.”

I freeze. Then, with a pained groan, I push his chest hard. It catches him off guard.

Without any word, I run and don’t stop until I’m out of the bedroom and into the guestroom. Locking myself in, I fall against the door before sliding down. Covering my face, I cry softly.

◆◆◆

After having a good cry, I took a long shower and dressed myself in a new robe as I am still hiding in the guestroom.

“You’re so easy.”

Fresh tears spring in my eyes as I recall his words again. I wish he could see for himself the pain those words caused me. I wish he could see how much loving him costs me.

His disdain when he called me a spoiled princess was something I never faced. Today, he showed me he truly despises me. Then why marry me?

What could’ve been his agenda for marrying me? He has more money than God. He certainly didn’t marry me for it. In fact, he was pleased when I dropped out of college and had to depend on him financially. He even encouraged and paid for my desire to do the random online courses. So if not money, then what could it be?

I let him in. I bared my soul only for him to take advantage of my vulnerabilities. I need to know why he played me like that. I need answers. But before that, I need to call Summer.

I reluctantly leave the safety of the guestroom and make my way to the master. I let out relieved breath when I find it empty. I quickly dress in short sleeve thin v neck white jumper and calf length cream slip skirt.

As I stand in front of the mirror, my pale green eyes meet their own reflection. My dark brown curls frame my face, a stark contrast against my pale skin. A wave of melancholy washes over me as I take in the sight of myself in my old clothes. I shake my head.

I look like the old version of me—the delicate little wife of a ruthless billionaire.

But I’m not naïve anymore. I possess a newfound strength now. I’m more than just the reflection before me. I’m more than the foolish wife of Damian Montgomery. I might look like the old me but I’m nothing like her now.

Straightening my posture, I meet my eyes in the mirror. A determination starts to rise within me. I won’t let him define me. He thinks of me as a spoiled princess. A wanton woman who can’t resist her husband. I’ll prove him wrong. The road to the new goal is rocky but I promise myself that I won’t let him walk over me again.

Damian doesn’t deserve my love nor my care. It’s time to give him the taste of his own medicine.

I turn away from the mirror and venture out of the master bedroom.

I walk down the stairs and along the long hallways to reach the family area.

“Good morning, Mrs. Montgomery.” Edith’s gray eyes are kind as she greets me.

“Good morning. Please call me River.” I approach the kitchen counter.

“You must be hungry, Mrs. Montgomery.” She smiles before continuing to wipe the counter. My eyebrows lift slightly. She completely disregarded my request to be on the first name basis. I suppose it’s because of Damian.

The staff before were not this strict. I had a little solace thinking I had someone to talk to in his absence. Now he took that away from me as well. He wants me alone and miserable.

“I was looking for my handbag and a duffle bag. Did you see them anywhere?”

“No, I’m afraid not. What would you like to eat?”

I need to talk to Summer first. And for that I need my phone which is inside the handbag. “I’m not hungry—”

“Ma’am you must eat something. Mr. Montgomery’s orders.”

I clench my teeth. “Well, I don’t follow his orders.”

“But we do.” A deep voice interrupts. I whirl around to see Hal striding toward me. He is wearing a black suit with a white shirt and black tie. His dark blond hair is short on the sides and thick on top and styled perfectly as usual.

“Any problem?” he asks Edith.

“Mrs. Montgomery refuses to eat.”

“Why?”

“She needs her bags—”

I raise a hand stopping her. My voice, sharp and assertive, slices through the air as I address them both. “Don’t talk about me as if I’m not here. I won’t allow you both to disrespect me like that.”

Edith pales and Hal raises his eyebrows, a glimmer of surprise as well as something close to respect shines in his eyes. Edith apologizes profusely while Hal keeps regarding me silently. Then a minute later, he says, “Your bags are in his home office.”

I tense. “Why? I need my things.” My phone. Not to mention my passport and some valuables.

“If you want your bags, you should ask Mr. Montgomery himself.”

I don’t want to face him right now. Not before talking to Summer. I need my best friend. “I’m asking you. Answer me why he has my bags.”

“To avoid unnecessary conflicts.”

“What does that mean?”

He doesn’t answer. He doesn’t have to. Damian has my phone because he doesn’t want me to reach out the outside world.

“I need my belongings. Right now.”

He examines me as if I’ve grown another head. Well, before this, I never talked back to anyone, much less Damian’s security chief.

“I can’t go against his orders. Talk to him if you have a problem.”

I shake my head. “You do know this is wrong, right? I’m not a prisoner here.”

But you are. His silence says.

I fist my fingers. “Where is he?”

“He left for an important meeting few minutes ago. I’ll notify you when he’s back.”

“Why are you here if he’s not?”

He is silent again.

“I’m not a child who needs to be monitored.”

No response.

“Why did I expect better from you?” I say wryly.

“My loyalty lies with Mr. Montgomery, ma’am.”

Don’t I know it? I turn to leave when he speaks again. “He is not a bad man.”

I don’t turn as I answer, “I beg to differ.”

“Eat your breakfast, please.”

“I’ll eat when I get my things back.”

I’m not a pushover anymore. If Damian thinks I’ll let him dictate my life this time around, he is gravely mistaken.

CHAPTER TEN

Past

Every inch of my heart feels like it’s wrapped in a cozy, warm blanket of happiness. A constant grin is plastered on my face that just won’t go away as Dad and I stroll along the picturesque streets of Paris.

This is my first ever trip to Paris and I think I’m in love with this city.

Every mundane stuff feels interesting. I swear my steps have an extra bounce and for the first time, the shadow of the guards following us doesn’t bother me.

The world seems to sparkle a little brighter and I catch myself humming to a tune. This feeling is so addicting. Like I’ve cracked a code to this happiness thing. It feels like my favorite song is playing on repeat. Everything is glowing inside me, making everything feel like a scene out of a feel-good movie.

Is this place truly magical? Or maybe the magic lies in the small rectangle card that’s tucked in my blazer? The card given by the man I lost my heart to.

Pulling the blazer tightly around my midi dress, I loop my arm with Dad’s. He is wearing a tailored, slim fit blue designer dress shirt paired with cream-colored chinos.

“Dad, do you ever meet someone and just… feel like they’re a part of something you’ve been missing?”

His eyes were full of understanding. “Absolutely, sweetheart. Sometimes certain people come into our lives for a reason. They show us we can be… more. Whole.”

I couldn’t help but think of Damian again. Even thousands of miles apart, I can feel his presence. I caress the pocket where his card sits hidden.

“Is this about that man you were running after in the hotel lobby?”

I jerk a little and shake my head vehemently. “I told you I mistook him for my—”

“Professor. Right.” He gives me a sidelong glance.

“Derek said that man whisked you in the elevator.”

“Because he thought I was in danger! He saw the guards running after me and acted on impulse.”

“And you let him.”

“Because I was confused,” I murmur. Then narrow my eyes at him. “Are you implying I’m lying?”

He stops and faces me. Cupping my face, he plants a kiss on my forehead. “You’re very innocent, sweet pea.”

I frown up at him. “I’m not a kid, Dad.”

“I know, my love but as you navigate through life, it’s essential to be mindful of the company you want to keep and the situations you find yourself in.”

Dad is very insightful. I’m grateful that he’s humoring me and not outright interrogating me about Damian. I don’t want to put him in danger. Dad is very protective of me and if I show even an inkling of my feelings for Damian—who’s ten years older than me—then Dad wouldn’t think twice before sending him a warning.

“You’re right. I’ll be careful.” I won’t let anyone know about Damian. Specially Derek. “I don’t want to worry you, Dad. You mean the world to me.” I mean every word.

“And you mean the world to me, too. Just remember, sweet pea, I’ll always be here to guide you.”

I smile up at him and we resume our stroll. As we meander through the streets, the conversation is forgotten.

At one point, his steps slows and I look up at him. His eyes hold a mixture of nostalgia and affection, a tender, bittersweet smile gracing his lips as he glances toward the Siene River.

I squeeze his arm in a silent inquiry.

“Sweet pea,” He begins, “this city, it holds a memory that’s very dear to your mother and me.”

My chest aches at her mention. I never had the fortune to know her and still I feel her absence every single day. She gave me life and lost hers in the process.

In the quiet depths of my heart there’s a longing, a yearning for mother’s love. No matter how many years pass, time could never soothe the ache of her absence. I could only imagine his pain. A love cut short. The love of his life was snatched away by fate.

He may not talk about her but I know how much he misses her. His laughs conceal the longing beneath, the ache of living without her. It shows how strong he is.

His gaze flits to the side and settles on a nearby café. “Back when we were younger, before you came into our lives, your mother and I embarked on a romantic Paris holiday.”

“Really?” My eyes widen.

“Yes,” he says, a reminiscent smile playing on his lips. “It was a summer much like this one. We had just finished university and decided to explore Paris together.”

We walk over the bench overlooking the river. Sun was still shining, its golden hues dancing upon the water’s surface.

He continues, “We spent our days wandering these very streets, hand in hand, exploring the city’s hidden corners and savoring its delectable pastries.” His eyes hold a faraway look as if he was transported back to the past. The time when he was with Mom. When he was free from the burden of running a billion-dollar empire.

I lean in, eager to hear more, my heart swelled by the glimpse into their past.

“One evening we found ourselves at a small café as the Eiffel Tower glittered in the distance.”

“That sounds so dreamy.” I say softly.

He smiles. “We sat there for hours.” His voice is soft yet brimming with thick emotions. “Your mother was radiant that evening. She took my breath away.”

I squeeze his arm when his voice cracks.

“We decided to end the night by watching the last light show of the Eiffel Tower. And as if the universe was writing our love story, a street musician began playing a beautiful melody on his violin.”

His words painted a vivid picture and for a second the surrounding dissolves and I find myself staring at my parents. The strains of music echoes in my ear as I watch them lost in a world of their own.

“We danced right there, by the Siene, beneath the starlit sky,” he murmurs, his eyes misting with the memory. “I never visited Paris again after she…”

I lay my head on his shoulder. “Thank you for sharing this place with me, Dad.”

He rests his head atop mine. I wish she was here. I can’t help but long for my mother’s embrace at this moment. As if he heard my wish, Dad wraps his arm around my shoulders, pulling me to his side. “She’s right here with us. In every step we take, she walks with us. I believe she always has and she must be so proud watching you grow into the incredible young woman you’ve become.”

I smile through my tears.

This is the best holiday of my life. In a way, I got a way to feel closer to Mom. And just like that, Paris became my favorite city in the world.

◆◆◆

As soon as we reach our hotel, I fetch my phone and the card from my blazer and get under the covers. My heart is beating wildly.

After listening to Dad’s beautiful memory and the significance of this place, I couldn’t help but picture my very own love story starting here.

My finger hovers over the screen, contemplating my next move. For someone as shy as I was, this was a leap into the unknown, a huge step toward a realm I had only ever dared to dream about. Every sleepless night, every fruitless attempt of finding him has led to this moment.

I shake my head. Why am I so nervous? I didn’t think twice before chasing him two days ago. I just have to type out a text and hit send. It’s not like he’ll jump out of the small screen of my phone and eat me alive. My cheeks heat when I find that possibility appealing.

Giggling, I cover myself with the sheet to hide my burning face. After spending several minutes giggling and kicking my feet on the plush bed foolishly, I gather myself.

Taking a deep breath, I pick up my phone again.

“It’s now or never.” I whisper to myself and begin typing with my slightly trembling fingers. Then press send.

Me: Hey there! This is River Gibson.

I briefly wonder whether I should add about our encounter in the hotel lobby for reference. There’s a possibility he’d forgotten about me. The unpleasant thought clenches my heart. But I shake it away. He’s a busy man. It’s okay if he forgot about me. I can remind him.

Me: Remember me? Your new friend. We met at the Four Seasons Hotel two days ago.

As seconds tick by, doubts and insecurities begin to claw at the edges of my mind, overshadowing the spark of hope that had ignited within me. My fingers clutch the phone as if physically holding my sanity.

It’s noon there. He might be in a meeting. That reminds me I still don’t know much about my mystery man apart from his name. I make a mental note of googling him later.

I gaze at the time on the phone screen. Ten minutes passed.

The anticipation is killing me. With each passing moment, the knot in my stomach coils tight. Did I sound too casual? Too eager?

Maybe he’s just busy.

I keep checking my phone, hoping to see his name pop up. It’s like time has slowed down.

I pace the room, staring at the phone on the bed while biting my thumbnail.

I wish I could distract myself but all I can think about is his response. It’s driving me crazy. I just hope he texts me soon. But what if he doesn’t? What if—

Ping!

My heart skips a beat as the screen of my phone illuminates. I lunge to pick up the phone and lose my footing.

Wincing, I heave myself up and over the bed. Swallowing hard, I tuck my curls and lift it. I open the message.

Damian: I remember.

My heart flutters as I read it. I don’t let the clipped response dampen my excitement. One can never understand the tone or feeling behind the text anyway. Maybe he is confused like I was and sent me the two-word text. Did his curt acknowledgement mask hidden feelings? Or he is hesitating to express more because of our age difference. Or is he simply being polite?

I flop down on the bed. My thoughts race, analyzing every possible interpretation.

I’m still thinking when my phone pings again.

I jackknife into sitting position and gasp when I find another message from him.

Damian: Are you enjoying your holidays?

I blink once. Then twice before letting out a loud squeal of excitement. Pushing to my feet on the bed, I begin dancing and singing, my curls flying.

The main door to my suite opens suddenly before Derek and Dad come barging in my room, making me gasp.

“Sweet pea?” His eyebrows are pulled together in concern.

“Dad! what are you doing here?” I squeak, swiping my curls back from my face and climbing off the bed.

“We heard some commotion and thought you might be hurt.” Dad says as he settles on the bed beside me. He signals Derek to leave before asking, “What’s going on? Are you okay?”

I laugh nervously. “Oh! I’m perfectly fine. Everything’s fine. My limbs were a bit sore from the outing so I was just… you know, stretching a little.”

He raises an eyebrow. “Stretching? On the bed? By dancing?”

I wring my fingers in my lap. “Yeah, I mean, I read somewhere that dancing is a great way to relieve stress and increase flexibility.”

He crosses his arms. “Is that so?”

“Mm-hmm.”

“What about the giggling?”

I hesitate for a bit then remember I was indeed giggling. “I-I was just thinking of the rom com I read earlier.”

His eyes soften. “Well, as long as you’re okay and having fun. Just be careful not to hurt yourself, all right?”

It feels as though Dad isn’t just referring to my impromptu dance routine. But I’m so high on feelings that I don’t pay it much attention and simply nod. “Thanks for checking up on me.”

He smiles and stands. “No problem, sweet pea. Just remember. You can always talk to me if something’s bothering you or if you want to share something exciting.”

I walk him to the main door. “I know, Dad. Thanks. I appreciate it.”

“All right then, carry on with your… stretching.”

We both laugh.

“Will do, Dad. Will do.” I flash a big smile as I close the door and rush to grab my phone to text Damian back.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

Present

I stir on the plush bed and mumble something before settling in a comfortable position. After the argument with Hal, I returned to the guestroom.

Bearing the weight of both physical exhaustion and emotional fatigue, I felt utterly drained. So I let the comfort of the plush bed lull me to sleep.

Through slumber, I escaped into a place where time faded away. A place where I relived the time of my life when I was so young and naïve and in love.

A soft warmth grazes my cheek, and a quiet sigh escapes me. Still caught in the haze of sleep, I keep my eyes closed, savoring the gentle touch for just a little longer. A lazy smile tugs at my lips before reality settles in, pulling me fully awake.

In an instant, my eyes fly open, revealing Damian’s face. And his eyes, like pools of night, hold an untamed intensity that draws me in and traps me immediately.

I stay motionless as his fingers trace a feather-light path across my cheek, leaving a trail of warmth in its wake.

My heart races as I meet his gaze that holds a smoldering fire I was all too familiar with.

“Do you have a secret desire to be swept off your feet?” He drawls, his voice sends shivers down my spine.

I push his hand away, forcing a façade of indifference despite the tingling sensation I feel where his fingers had been. “What do you mean?”

His features remain impassive, revealing nothing as he withdraws his touch. “Well, it seems like you’ve got a thing for being carried around. Deliberately disobeying my instructions by sleeping here just so I’d have to haul you back to our bedroom.”

I gasp in part surprise and outrage, sitting up. “You’re unbelievably full of yourself, and completely wrong!”

He doesn’t move an inch, making no effort to give me any space. So, we end up sitting incredibly close, just a few inches separating us.

When he remains silent, I shake my head. “What are you even doing here?”

I check the clock on the wall and confirm that I barely slept for twenty minutes. Hal said Damian was in a meeting so I assumed he would be gone for at least a couple of hours.

He arches an eyebrow. “You’re asking what I’m doing in my own house, with my own wife?”

“You know what I mean,” I grumble.

Instead of answering, this infuriating man takes off his black suit jacket, revealing his strong shoulders. The black shirt he’s wearing underneath hints at the hard contours of his physique.

“What are you doing?” I blush and avert my eyes, torn between ignoring and acknowledging his irresistible presence.

This man, my husband—the one I was, and still am, so crazy about—is my greatest weakness.

Why do I often find myself in a clash of desire against determination? A simple act of him shrugging out of his jacket turns me on. It has always been like this. My desire for him is undeniable. How can I feel this way even after what happened this morning?

He lashed out purposely because I witnessed something I shouldn’t have. His nightmare... it showed me that Damian isn’t as untouchable as he wants everyone to think.

I take a shuddering breath when I feel his fingers brushing my curl and tucking it behind my ear. My defenses begin to crumble when he trails his fingertips down along my jaw and then over the sensitive skin of my throat.

My heartbeat quickens. His touch holds an unspoken promise. An unspoken vow of carnal pleasure that only he can deliver. It’s a seductive invitation, a snippet of what’s awaiting if I surrender.

When his fingers trail over my collarbone, I swallow hard and my eyes fall shut.

An electric jolt surges through me as his breath grazes my ear. “All you have to do is ask, angel and I’ll have you crying out in pleasure, begging for more.”

The fog of desire dissipates as clarity takes hold. Jerking away, I stumble out of the bed.

“S-sorry.” I rub my neck, eyes lowered. What am I apologizing for, I have no idea, but I realize a bit too late that it was stupid of me to say it. I grimace.

He rises to his feet with a fluid grace. He is not affected in the slightest with that intense moment we shared.

He steps closer, his presence dwarfing mine. “Are you sorry for wanting me too much?” he murmurs huskily and my knees almost buckle.

“Didn’t you have an important meeting?” I say, desperate to ease the tension that is brewing between us again.

“I did.”

“What happened?”

He reaches out and tilts my chin. “I heard my wife needed me.”

My mouth falls open. That’s it. He heard about what happened earlier and came rushing back because of me?

“So you skipped your meeting because I demanded my phone?”

“I skipped it because you refused to eat.” He glares at me.

“You never jeopardized your work.” At least never for me.

He withdraws, his demeanor turning distant as he pushes his hands in his pockets. He regards me with a mocking gaze. “Maybe I am a changed man.”

“Forgive me if I don’t fall for the act this time.” When he merely studies me silently, I speak again, “I don’t care about your games anymore. Just give me my phone back.”

“Ah, yes. That reminds me,” He muses as he circles the room with a languid grace. “Why do you need it so bad? As far as I recall, you don’t have anyone to talk to.”

His words slice through me, leaving fresh wounds. Damian made sure I was truly alone after our wedding. He wasn’t satisfied that dad had cut ties with me. He wrenched me away from the few acquaintances I had, trapping me in this cage.

“I-I do have a friend.”

“The one who tried to hit you with a baseball bat?” He taunts.

“She was trying to save me!” I cry out. “Anyway, I don’t want to argue anymore. Give me my phone, I want to call Summer.”

Damian grows very still.

I furrow my brows. “What’s wrong?”

In a blink of an eye, he regains his composure and his features resumes their usual stoic mask, revealing his ability to swiftly regain control.

“What’s her full name?” he asks quietly.

I watch him skeptically. “Why do you want to know?”

“Don’t respond to my question with another one.” His voice is sharp.

“I will.”

His eyes darken, the muscle in his jaw jumping.

A tremor runs through me as a chill of fear grips me, but I steel myself. “I won’t tell you her full name. You’ll just use it against me.”

I won’t let him manipulate me with this. Summer is off limits.

“You think you’re in control now?” His voice is low, filled with dark amusement. “You haven’t even begun to understand what it means to defy me.”

“I’m not afraid of you,” I say, though my voice wavers.

“You should be.”

I tremble but bravely respond, “You can keep playing your games, but I won’t let you control every aspect of my life from now on.”

He stalks toward me, and it takes a lot of effort not to run. When he is in front of me, he leans in, his voice a low, dangerous whisper. “But that’s where you’re wrong, angel. You said you won’t let me control everything, but as far as I remember, I control everything. Including you.”

“Not this time.” I can feel the heat of his body as he towers over me. The tension thick.

“We’ll see.” He states with a dangerous intensity.

“We will.” I jut my chin at him.

Without sparing me another glance, he strides toward the door. “You’ve got ten seconds to be downstairs for brunch.”

“I’m not coming—”

He doesn’t even look back. “If you want your phone, you’ll do as I say.”

I glare at the empty doorway, my teeth clenched in frustration, hating that he’s won this round.

◆◆◆

Damian is an unpredictable man. He’s like a puzzle, always doing things I can’t quite wrap my head around. In the past, he never forced me to spend time with him. Never demanded my company for meals like he did now. Well, I know he did this to prove who holds all the power here. But still, it’s unsettling.

Just when I thought I had him all figured out, he goes ahead and completely shift the dynamics of the situation.

I don’t for a second believe that he left his important meeting because I refused to eat. He has never done that. Not for my birthday. Not even for our first wedding anniversary. There has to be more to it than meets the eye.

Whatever this is, I can’t afford to make a mistake. I have to tread carefully, which means keeping my mouth shut and following his rules, even if every part of me wants to scream. It’s not like I have a choice. But just because I have to do it doesn’t mean it’s going to be easy.

It takes every ounce of willpower to step out of the guestroom and follow him. The urge to turn around and lock myself in is strong, but I push it aside and keep walking down the stairs.

I pause at the doorway to the dining room, my self-respect faltering at the thought of facing him again. It’s humiliating, this feeling of being treated like a child.

Taking a deep breath, I enter the formal dining area.

The midday sunlight streams through the floor-to-ceiling windows, illuminating the opulent space with a warm, golden glow. The air is filled with a subtle hint of freshly cut flowers.

My eyes drift toward the head of the table, where my husband is sitting with an air of authority. The soft glow of sunlight highlights his profile, casting a gentle halo around him.

His beauty is so captivating, it’s easy to mistake him for an angel. I certainly did when I first laid eyes on him. But as time passed, I recognized the darkness that lingers within his handsome features.

I stare at his fingers which are wrapped around his phone and feel the heat rising, tinting my cheeks red. Only moments ago, those same fingers were caressing my cheek, trailing down the curve of my throat. Shame trickles through me as I try and fail to evoke hate for this man.

His dark head tilts up and his eyes land on me. The icy detachment leaves me grappling with the ache in my chest.

No time in this world would be enough to get over the failure of my first love. And every time I glance at him, the betrayal slaps me across the face.

“Do I need to carry you to the chair or can you handle sitting down yourself?”

“No need for that.” I say before taking the chair opposite him at the far end.

“Good. It’s better when you don’t act like your true self.”

Every muscle in my body tenses. “My true self?”

“Entitled little princess.”

I flinch, then quickly mask the hurt with a forced smile. “You know me so well, husband.”

That makes his jaw tick.

Is he disappointed that I didn’t take the bait? Did he expect me to lash out, to give him something in a fit of rage that he could twist and use against me later?

He leans forward, resting his elbows on the table. “I do, don’t I?”

I lower my eyes, focusing on the soup in front of me. Just as I lift a spoon to my lips, his voice breaks through the silence. “Does it run in the family?”

I freeze, the spoon suspended in mid-air. The color drains from my face as I set it down slowly. “What?”

“This,” he gestures toward me. “This. Using people when it suits you, then discarding them when you’re bored.”

I frown, genuinely confused. “What are you talking about?”

“You claim to love me, yet you walked away without a second thought. After everything I’ve given you—the luxurious lifestyle and everything money can buy... So why did you run?”

When I remain silent, he presses on. “How did it feel, living without all the luxury this past month? How did you manage without the cards, the chauffeur, the car?”

I begin to tremble. Damian watches, his eyes not leaving me.

“I’m surprised you didn’t rush back to Daddy. Then again, it would have been pointless, wouldn't it? He doesn't want you.”

My chin wobbles. “That’s not true.”

“No?” he taunts. “Come on, River. You know your father. He loathes you. He’d slam the door in your face the moment you showed up.”

“Shut up.” I bite my quivering lower lip.

“You’ve always been unwanted—”

“Stop it!” I cover my ears. “Please! Stop!” I shout desperately.

He’s never been this cruel before—never openly attacked me or disrespected me. He was distant, yes, indifferent, but never like this. But now he has changed. For the worse.

Did I really leave my father for this? Did I truly go against everything I knew, everyone who cared for me, just for this man—this man who’s now treating me worse than anyone would treat their sworn enemy?

“Why are you doing this to me, Damian? You… this—”

“I don’t have time for this,” he cuts me off, his tone cold and final. “If you want your phone, you’ll finish your meal.”

I don’t look up as I lift the spoon again with trembling fingers.

My cheeks feel wet and with horror, I realize that I’m crying. I swipe at my eyes with the back of my hand, but they keep falling. “I-I’m sorry,” I choke out between sniffles.

“I’ll finish my meal, as you ordered.” The tears blur my vision, making him a hazy shape. “I just want to…” My words are broken by my sobs. “I-I just want my p-phone—” I gasp when I’m suddenly hauled up from my seat.

My eyes lock with dark ones as Damian looms over me, his hands gripping my upper arms tightly. I struggle against him, tears pouring down my face. He curses under his breath, pulling me against his chest, his arms locking around my back.

Sobbing, my face buried in his shirt, I choke out, “What have I ever done to you to make you hate me so much?”

He keeps holding me as I sob against him, my body shaking with every breath. His hands stroke my back, almost soothingly, as if trying to calm the storm of emotions swirling within me.

After a while, my cries quiet, and I pull away slightly. I stare at his chin rather than his eyes. “L-let me go,” I mumble weakly.

“Look at me,” he growls. When I don’t comply, he tilts my chin up, forcing me to meet his gaze. “Stop crying.”

“Now I’m not even allowed to cry—”

He takes my mouth, forcing my head back in a kiss so brutal it takes me by surprise. Yet in spite of all the hurtful things he said, my body responds, shivering under his touch.

I whimper and he lifts his head. He stares at me for a second before kissing me again. His free hand tightens in my curls, making my lips part on a gasp. He spears his tongue between my lips and I moan, remembering his taste, consumed by the feel of his tongue as it rubs against mine. A low guttural groan emanates from deep within his core as he draws me even closer to him. I shiver when my achy breasts rub against his chest.

The surprising tug of desire distracts me and I break the kiss to stare up at him with tears still clinging my lashes. My chest rises and falls rapidly, my breath coming in short gasps as I ask, “W-what are you doing?”

He leans down and brushes his lips against mine. “What does it look like?”

“I don’t get you,” I whisper, my breath shaky. “One second you’re tearing me apart, and the next, you’re kissing me like you can’t get enough of me.”

“It’s true. I can’t get enough of you.”

I shake my head.

“I want you,” he says, his voice low. “It doesn’t matter if we’re fighting or arguing. I’ll always want you. I’ll always want my wife.”

Those words. They hit me right in the chest. “I may still love you, Damian but I won’t let myself be close to you like this again. Ever.”

“Is that what you truly want?” he murmurs, gliding his hand down my side until it grabs my hip. That one touch makes my whole body tremble and Damian catches it with a satisfaction gleam in his eyes.

“Yes,” I breathe as he begins to lower his mouth to mine. The slow and deliberate move makes me wetter, the fabric of my panties clinging to my drenched pussy.

“Yes?” He taunts. “Yes what?” His mouth lands on mine, not giving me a chance to answer. When he presses his erection against me, my body betrays me, melting into him despite myself.

My hand wraps around his neck, whimpering as our tongues tangle again.

Even through the blur of passion, a thought pesters me. How can I find solace in the arms of the man who caused me so much pain?

But no matter how twisted our circumstances may be, one thing is crystal clear. I am not the only one in this. This passion, this madness is mutual.

He walks me backward, and my back collides with the chair. He breaks the kiss for a moment, shoving the chair out of the way. The chair scrapes loudly across the floor, tipping over, and the sound startles me. I quickly glance around, exhaling in relief when I realize we’re completely alone in the dining room.

I jump at the loud crash of cutlery and watch with wide eyes as Damian’s hand sweeps out the remaining things on the table before lifting and setting me on it.

I grab his shoulders for balance, my thighs parting on their own for him to step between them. I fist my hands in his shirt, tugging him to me, tilting my head up more fully toward his in an open invitation. He doesn’t hesitate to take what I’m offering on a silver platter. He takes my mouth again.

With a helpless groan, I kiss him back passionately, my arms twines around his neck, clinging to him. When my legs wrap around his waist, pulling him tighter to me, a deep throated sound of triumph breaks from him and unfurls over my lips.

Shame hits me hard, remembering how he humiliated me. Desperate to hurt back, retaliate, I bite his lower lip. Hard. He jerks his head back, wrenching his mouth from mine.

My breath catches at the sight of his bloodied lower lip. He reaches up and wipes the blood from his thumb. He glances at his smeared thumb then slowly looks up.

Instead of anger, his lips curl like he enjoyed what I did to him.

“Damian—” his bloodied lips slam against mine. This time the kiss turns animalistic as if I’ve opened a gate to something darker, something twisted. He makes me drink his blood, the metallic taste exploding in my mouth.

Maybe he thinks forcing his blood on me is a punishment, but it only deepens my craving. I drink from him like I’m starved, desperate for every drop.

I hate myself for needing this, for craving him in ways that only make me weaker.

His free hand strokes down my side until he’s lifting one of my thighs higher and pushes his erection against my center. My eyes roll back in my head as he thrusts again and again. Groaning, I undulate my hips, meeting every thrust, the pressure so right, so delicious that it aches.

Damian’s hot mouth trails down my jaw to suck on my throbbing pulse.

“Oh god,” my head lolls back and he takes full advantage, covering my skin with his demanding mouth. I rub shamelessly against his bulge panting and mumbling his name.

He’s still kissing my neck when his hand slips between us and dives under my skirt. I am too far gone to stop this, stop him. And even he knows it. Right now, not even self-loathing could stop me from taking what Damian can give me. There’s no place for any grievances. Just white-hot passion running through my veins.

Our mouths fuses hungrily again as his fingers slide my panties to the side and find my clit. I jerk violently at the contact, causing the kiss to break. It has been months since we had sex. Months since he touched me so intimately. I would be lying if I said I didn’t miss it. Damian is a fantastic lover. A generous one too who always makes sure I am left satisfied. Not because he cares for me but because he draws pleasure in getting me off. It satisfies him a great deal to see me unravelling in his arms.

I bury my face in the crook of his neck as he begins to rub my clit in tight circles. “Please,” I let out a pained moan.

He kisses the shell of my ear. “Please what?”

I dig my nails in his biceps. “Don’t make me say it, Damian.”

“All right.” His easy compliance makes me lean back and peer at him.

“Don’t look so surprised, angel.” He kisses my tear-stained cheek as his fingers continue to pleasure me, making me tremble. “As promised, I will have you begging me to fuck you.” He increases the pace of his fingers, making me cling to his shoulders. I muffle my wordless gasps against his shirt as the pleasure starts building. He speaks again, “Be it my tongue, fingers or cock, you won’t have any of them inside you until you beg me.”

I come hard, moaning into his shirt, my body jerking with wave after wave of pure ecstasy. He really kept his word. Not once did his fingers enter me the entire time he was touching me. He won’t fuck me until I beg him. And I am not going to do that. And even he knows that. I was vulnerable today and he let me have this brief moment of reprieve. I shouldn’t feel grateful—he owed me this much. He’s the one who upset me to begin with.

When I come down, I try to push his hand away from my sensitive pussy but he doesn’t budge. I know what he’s doing. He wants to make me come again. And I am not ready. Still high from the pulsing aftershocks, I dig my nails in his skin.

“Damian, no,” I gasp when the familiar tension starts brewing again.

I know he won’t listen until I beg, but I refuse to give him that. I won’t beg, and he won’t make me.

Stuck in the loop, we both stubbornly cling to our egos until I’m coming two more times.

I was dimly aware of Damian watching me, his gaze drinking me in as I came again and again, his eyes darkening with every cry of his name. By the time my fifth orgasm hit, I was sprawled across the dining table as I stared at my husband defiantly, still not ready to let him win.

I don’t know what happened after that but my eyes drifted close as blackness took over and the last thing I heard was Damian cursing loudly before calling out my name.

CHAPTER TWELVE

Past

I try to control the involuntary tremors in my legs as I walk inside the quaint little café not far from my campus. My heart flutters inside my chest like a fragile little butterfly trapped in a cage.

The scent of freshly ground coffee beans envelopes me. Warm light from pendant lamps softly illuminates the wooden tables. Intricate artwork and vintage photos line the walls. It’s the perfect spot for my first date.

A few heads turn my way, and my smile wavers for a moment. I glance down at my outfit, nervously smoothing a hand over my pink floral cami dress. The soft fabric ends a few inches above my knees, and though the delicate spaghetti straps sit just fine, I can’t help but adjust them slightly.

Is my makeup the reason they’re staring? I pull my phone and check my reflection in the glossy black screen.

My makeup is light, highlighting my pale green eyes and soft lips. A faint blush colors my pale complexion. My curls are tied in a half ponytail, with loose tendrils framing my face. A dainty gold necklace rests above my neckline, drawing attention to my collarbone, while stud earrings catch the sunlight, adding a subtle sparkle.

I was pretty happy with my look but I’m not so sure now. The glances make my chest tighten, and doubts creep in. What if I’m overdressed? What if they’re judging me? I anxiously fiddle with the strap of my bag as I scan the area. Then hurry over the vacant table at the far corner facing the glass floor length window.

Dumping my bag on the table, I sit down. The time on the phone screen reads 12:50 pm. I’m early, but I keep glancing at the entrance every few seconds.

My fingers trace the edges of the table in jitters. At twenty, I’m about to experience something I’ve only heard about. A first date.

My gaze slides across my table to the vacant chair. In a few minutes, he is going to fill it. A giggle escapes me, drawing curious glances from nearby tables.

I roll my lips between my teeth.

Silly, silly, River. I chide myself.

Relax, River. He’s not even here yet, and you’re already like this. What are you going to do when he actually walks in?

And then it happens, the moment I’ve been waiting for the past three months. The moment I’ve dreamed about. My heart stops for a second then starts beating again. I didn’t even see him but I know he’s here. I can feel it. Feel him. Slowly, I glance at the entrance again. And there he is.

I watch as he enters, his presence commanding attention even without a smile. My heart skips a beat, and for a moment, the world narrows down to just the two of us.

I can’t help but marvel at the way his confident stride carries him forward.

Dressed in a full black suit, his olive skin stands out against the dark fabric, accentuating his sharp features. His thick ink-black hair is slightly tousled as if the breeze dared to flirt with it. He’s as beautiful as ever, tall and broad, a striking figure that draws gazes without him even trying.

As he steps further inside, I notice heads turning, and I can’t blame them. The girls around me can’t help but stare. Whispers and soft giggles ripple through the café. His impassive face says he’s used to the attention, but it still ignites a fierce, possessive burn inside me.

He hasn’t seen me yet, so I stand up instead of calling out his name to get his attention. I don’t want any of these girls knowing his name.

Before I can wave him over, he turns his head, and his eyes lock onto mine. The noise of the café disappears, as if the world has shrunk down to just the two of us, bound by the intensity of our gaze. My knees go weak, and I grip the back of my chair, struggling to steady myself.

His eyes, like pools of ink, hold familiarity and something far more intense.

In those seconds, I feel seen, truly seen, as if he’s studying every emotion etched on my face. I swallow the nervous lump in my throat, a rush of emotions flooding through me.

As he approaches, our gaze doesn’t break. I can feel the heat spreading all over my neck and up my face. I have this sudden urge to run and erase the space between us and throw my arms around his neck. But he beats me to it by wrapping an arm lightly around the middle of my back and pulling me closer to his solid frame in a half hug. “River,” he murmurs in my ear and tingles shoots along my skin.

“Damian,” My breath hitches. You might be wondering how I went from getting his number to landing a date with him. It’s kind of a long story. And… I might’ve exaggerated a little.

He pulls back and my smile freezes when I see he is not alone. A Caucasian man with dark blond hair wearing a dark suit is standing tall behind.

“This is Hal. My personal bodyguard.” Damian introduces the man in question.

Hal nods at me, “Ma’am.”

“River please. Nice to meet you.” I give a small smile.

Okay, maybe calling this casual meeting a “first date” was a bit of a stretch. The fact that Damian brought his bodyguard along says it all—he definitely doesn’t see me romantically. Still, a little dreaming never hurt anyone, right?

After Damian and I started texting during my Paris trip, I found myself wanting to share everything with him. There was this constant urge to show him what I was experiencing, so I started sending him pictures of the places I visited. It started like this:

Me: Hey Damian! I just went to this amazing little café in Montmartre. The pastries are incredible, and the buildings are gorgeous. Wish you were here!

Damian: Sounds nice. Have fun.

His replies were often late and brief, but he never stopped replying so it motivated me to keep going.

Me: Guess what? It started raining out of nowhere, and I got completely soaked. But weirdly, it feels kind of romantic, like something straight out of a movie.

Damian: Make sure you don’t catch a cold.

I did obey him but only after dancing in the rain with a huge smile on my face. That one text had made my entire month. Beneath the terse words, there was an underlying concern that made my heart smile. I loved that he was looking out for me, even if he didn’t express it in the most overt way.

By then I became greedy so I texted him one day with:

Me: Navigating the Metro today. Let’s just say my French isn’t as good as I thought!

It wasn’t exactly true. I can speak French, but I was dying to know what he’ll say. My excitement dwindled when his reply came.

Damian: You’ll survive. Just follow the signs.

He probably knew I’d be with Dad and his army of guard. While it wasn’t what I hoped it would be, it did make me chuckle. Then as a form of punishment, I began spamming him with tons and tons of pictures of art and paintings.

Me: Stumbled upon a local art market today. The paintings are breathtaking. Like you. I wanted to add. They are breathtaking just like you, Damian.

But I didn’t. So far, our exchanges were friendly. And I didn’t want to disrupt it. I didn’t want to ruin our friendship by confessing my feelings. So I continued talking to him casually.

My trip to Paris was unforgettable, but what stayed with me the most wasn’t the sights or the pastries.

It was Damian’s gruff yet caring replies.

They reminded me, in his own understated way, that he was part of my journey, even from miles away. He wasn’t overly expressive, but his words held a quiet reassurance that made me feel seen and cared for.

Then came a point where we slowly eased into calls. I remember being tongue tied the first time I heard his deep “hello?”

I thought texting him was fun but it didn’t compare with the experience of talking over phone calls.

We mostly talked at night because during the day, he was busy with work and I was spending time with dad.

And although our calls consisted of me talking the entire time with his occasional grunts, I was still over the moon. He never once ignored my calls. Ever. It was like we were in a long-distance relationship.

When I returned to L.A. after my summer holidays, I kept waiting for him to make the first move—not romantically, just to hang out. But he didn’t. And that silence had me replaying every interaction we’d ever had.

From the very beginning, I was the one to initiate everything—exchanging numbers, starting the texts, and eventually moving to phone calls. Sure, he went along with it, but it was always me taking the lead.

That realization made me stop and think. After a lot of overanalyzing (because let’s face it, that’s what I do), I convinced myself that Damian hadn’t taken the first step because of our age gap. He was the responsible one—older, and clearly wiser. Pursuing me wouldn’t have felt morally right to him. Not that he ever gave any real sign he was interested in me, but even if he had been, I knew he’d never make the first move.

So I decided to do my homework. If I wanted to take things further with him, I had to know more about him. So while I was in Paris, I utilized my free time into researching everything there is about Damian Montgomery.

And before I knew it, I had plunged headfirst down the rabbit hole, consumed by the need to uncover every hidden relic and decipher everything there is about him.

Damian Montgomery—self-made billionaire, visionary, and a master of multiple domains. The search results painted a picture of a man whose journey began as a tech entrepreneur during his college years. An app he developed had skyrocketed to popularity, becoming the foundation of his fortune. But that was just the beginning. What fascinated me was how he seamlessly transitioned from tech into becoming a real estate mogul. I read about his humble yet risky start when he invested all his money in a single property that eventually snowballed into an impressive portfolio.

He was a finance mogul too. As my cursor clicked through more articles, I learned about his ventures in the finance world, the strategic investments that consistently turned impressive profits.

It wasn’t luck; it was pure talent and sharp intelligence, as if he had an innate understanding of market trends others could only dream of.

He had even ventured into launching his own investment fund, a move that cleverly merged his interests in tech and real estate.

This was a man who not only conquered industries but also forced them to evolve.

I discovered that Damian had faced challenges that would have brought most people to their knees—market crashes, regulatory battles in the real estate sector, and the unpredictable shifts in the tech industry.

Then, as if his journey couldn’t be more intriguing, I stumbled upon the fact that he had been adopted around the age of twelve. There wasn’t much information available on the internet about his life before he was adopted. It was like before becoming a Montgomery, Damian never existed.

I learned about the loss of his adoptive parents during his college years and how he had been left to shoulder the crushing weight of his adoptive father’s debts. Despite having no support to fall back on, he managed to rise above it all and carve out a path to success on his own.

The drive, the determination—it was as if he was determined to prove something, not only to the world but to himself.

By the time I was done with my research, I was more curious about him. He was a man who had turned challenges into stepping stones and had rewritten the rules of success.

As I read about his journey, article after article, I couldn’t help but wonder what drove him—what kind of determination had pushed him to carve out such an extraordinary path against all odds.

All that I’d learned left me feeling deeply impressed and proud. Knowing everything he’d overcome only made my feelings for him grow stronger. So when I realized his office wasn’t far from my campus, I took a leap and asked him to meet me. It wouldn’t be a big hassle for him to stop by, and I had made up my mind: if he made any excuse not to come, I’d let it go. I’d stop bothering him altogether. Forcing my feelings onto him wouldn’t be fair. Not to him and certainly not to me.

So when Damian agreed to come, I was thrilled. Hence, I called it a date in my head.

“I’m really glad you could make it. I thought it would be nice to catch up,” I break the silence because Damian staring at me is making me fidgety.

When he just grunts in response, I clear my throat. “I’m sorry, I’m a bit nervous. I… umm… didn’t expect you to bring company.”

It’s super awkward because while we are sitting, Hal just hovers in the background, standing guard.

He nods at Hal and he immediately leaves to stand where he won’t be seen but can guard Damian. I start to protest—it’s rude to dismiss someone like that but they both ignore me.

“He goes everywhere with me,” Damian says, explaining his presence.

“Right. Well, anyway, how have you been?”

He quirks his dark brow. “We just talked this morning.”

That makes me chuckle. “But a lot can happen in a few hours, you know.”

“You’re not wrong.” His eyes dance with amusement and I find myself smiling at him. Then I’m momentarily stumped when Hal returns to our table.

“Raspberry White Mocha with a dash of almond essence, paired with a Chocolate Chip Muffin for Ms. Gibson.” He sets them in front of me. “Black Americano with an extra shot of espresso for Mr. Montgomery.”

“Thanks, Hal.” Damian nods.

How in the world did he figure out my favorite caffeine fix and that I’ve got a secret weakness for chocolate chip muffins? I’m still gawking at his retreating back when Damian speaks, “Eyes on me, angel.”

My heart skips a beat. A smile automatically spread across my face, and I could feel my cheeks turning warm.

He used that endearment often but hearing it again in person does something to me. It feels like a rush of warmth has flooded my senses. It’s strange how a single word can have that effect on you, especially when it comes from someone you care about deeply.

“Why are you smiling?” He asks and I shrug, feeling shy.

He leans forward. “Tell me.”

“I love it when you call me angel,” I say softly.

His jaw relaxes and it makes me question why he was pissed before. “You mad at me?”

He ignores my question. “Don’t stare at my bodyguard.”

I shake my head vehemently. “I wasn’t. Actually, I was shocked because—” My eyes widen when I realize something. “Are you jealous, Damian?”

And in that instant, it hit me—Damian was into me. Instead of irrupting with joy, I try to test him.

“Sorry I didn’t realize I was staring. I just couldn’t help it.” I stifle my smile.

“You couldn’t help it?” He asks, leaning back in a falsely calm posture.

Fighting butterflies, I nod. “He’s good looking.”

“He is around my age, River,” he drawls in a tone that suggests he is barely holding back his anger.

“I can tell.” I turn my head in his direction for good measure all while my legs are trembling. I haven’t done this before. Never tried to make anyone jealous before. It’s not something I ever thought I would do. Not to mention with the man as intense as Damian Montgomery.

“I’m sure there are plenty of guys your age fawning over you. So stop eyeing men who are much older than you,” he says in a neutral tone. But I know it’s just a front.

I know him now. We’ve spent hours talking, almost every day, for months. I know how he sounds when he is irritated. I know how he talks when he is curious. I can tell how his tone changes when he is excited about his on-going projects. And it’s rare, but I have even heard the disappointment in his voice whenever something went against his plans.

“But boys my age don’t interest me.” I lock my eyes with him then with effort turn them in Hal’s direction.

Out of nowhere, a hand seizes my chin and turns my face, revealing profoundly dark and furious eyes. “Do you want to get him killed?”

I inhale sharply. He did not just say that. Did he really say he…. I shake my head.

His gaze intensifies. “Then why are you playing this dangerous game, hmm?”

He cares about me. He is jealous. He is seriously jealous! There’s no denying it. My heart starts beating fast and hard. I cover his hand with mine. A brave move that makes me shiver. “What game?”

“Don’t act coy.” He bites out, further cementing my suspicion.

I reluctantly push his hand away. “I’m seriously not. I wasn’t lying when I said I don’t want to date boys my age.” When he just stares at me with a frown, I start to turn my eyes in Hal’s direction again, a final nail in the coffin.

“Why are you doing this?” He seethes.

I slide my gaze back at Damian and find him watching me intently.

For long moments. His eyes narrow ever so slightly as if he figured out something. I shoot my shot anyway. “I want you to see me again this weekend.”

“Why?”

“Because I miss you all the time.”

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

Present

Blinking against the soft light, my surroundings slowly come into focus. I find myself cocooned in the familiarity of my bedroom, a hint of confusion clouding my thoughts.

A foreign sensation tugs at my arm, and my gaze settles on the IV drip attached to it.

Question arises through the fog of my grogginess. My movements are slow as I shift on the bed and freeze when I find Damian standing in the corner of the room. Hands shoved in the pockets, his expression tight.

A raspy almost fragile whisper escapes my parched throat as I ask, “What happened?”

I’m not sure he heard me until I see him move. He pulls his hands out and starts uncuffing his sleeves, folding them one by one to his elbows. With the way he is clenching his jaw, it looks like he is distracting himself with the task so he wouldn’t lose his temper. “You don’t remember, angel?”

Bits and pieces of the day’s events begin to emerge from the fog—the skipped breakfast, the reckless decision to argue with Hal to get my phone back. That led Damian to cut his meeting short and then… graphic images of what we did in the formal dining room this afternoon rush into my thoughts, making my cheeks heat.

I swallow in embarrassment and grimace at the dryness. I move to sit up and Damian is there in an instant, his hands steadying me as helps me sit.

Arranging the pillows behind my back, he gently pushes my upper body so I’m leaning against them. As if he knew exactly what I needed, he grabs the glass of water from the nightstand and hands it to me, his jaw still clenched tight.

When I reach for the glass, he pulls his hand back. I sigh, giving in, and let him guide it to my lips. “Thank you,” I mumble.

He says nothing and makes me lie back down. He fusses over the quilt around me.

“I’m okay.”

His fingers still and then his gaze lifts to meet mine, silencing me instantly with nothing but a look.

I avert my gaze. “M-my phone—”

“You need to rest.” His fingers stroke my hair back. His actions confuse me. He never cared about me. Yes, he was always particular about me being physically healthy and fit but this is different. He is acting like my fainting has concerned him. It looks like he’s deep in thoughts so I cover his hand with mine, stopping him.

“You promised you’ll give me my phone back if I joined you for lunch and I did.”

He removes his hand from my clutch and it stings.

“But you didn’t eat.”

I sit up at that. “That’s because you kissed me!”

“I recall you kissing me back.” He leans closer. “Quite passionately, might I add.”

“T-that’s b-beside the point!” I take a deep breath to calm myself, remembering that arguing with him would only complicate things for me. “I won’t skip my meals again.”

“Rest. We’ll talk about your phone situation later.”

“But why?”

“Because you’re weak.”

I frown. “I can surely manage to talk to my friend for a minute or two.”

“No.”

“I’m not a child to be grounded. This is ridiculous. You’re not my dad to deny me access to my phone.”

“I’m your husband.”

“And that gives you the right to control me and my life?”

“You put your health on the line—first by drinking too much with that friend, then by skipping breakfast. You were dehydrated. Seems like you do need me to control you.”

“We both know why I fainted. So why should I bear the consequences of your actions?”

“Nobody faints because of multiple orgasms.” He cuts me off when I try to speak, “I discussed it with the doctor. It can cause dehydration but the main reason behind your syncope was alcohol consumption the night before and empty stomach.”

“Fine. But now I am feeling better. I need to talk to my friend.”

He stands then. But doesn’t leave. “You seem awfully attached with this friend of yours.”

I tense. “What are you getting at?”

“You were out for over an hour. So I used the time to think.”

A sinking feeling settles in my stomach. I don’t like where this is going. “Think about what?”

“I was wondering if she’s worth rebelling for.”

She is. But I don’t say it. “The only reason I’m “rebelling” is you, Damian.”

His eyes narrow. “Because you saw something in my office you weren’t supposed to.”

I stare back at him with a mixture of anger and hurt. “Did you think you could keep this hidden forever?”

“You don’t even know the whole truth,” he says dismissively without an ounce of guilt.

“I know enough.”

“We’ll talk about this later. You should get some sleep.”

“I have been sleeping all this time.” I refer to the entirety of our relationship. How foolish I was. So eager to be his. That’s why this is happening to me. Believing his every word, thinking he could do no wrong. The real blame falls on me. I chose this. I went after him willingly. And now I’m paying the price.

“If you don’t want to sleep, I’ll have Edith bring you something to eat upstairs.”

“Enough is enough!” I cry out. “You’ve evaded this conversation for far too long.”

Annoyance shadows his face. “Don’t act like a spoiled—”

“Don’t!” I shout. “Don’t you dare call me a spoiled princess again. Don’t you dare.” My eyes glisten as I try and fail to gather myself. “I am more than that, so much more. I am a human being with feelings you hurt over and over without an ounce of remorse.” My lower lip quivers. “Tell me, Damian. Remind me one instance where I demanded something from you.”

When I’m met with silence, I give him a sad smile, sniffling. “Can’t remember, can you? It’s because I’ve never demanded anything from you, never asked for more than your love, your time. My heart aches that you see me through such a distorted lens. I’m not a spoiled princess and you know it.”

“Control yourself,” he says with disgust and my face crumples. I draw my knees toward my chest. Burrowing my face on my folded forearms, I cry over my helplessness. I’m a pitiful wreck. A broken woman who couldn’t even carry a conversation without having a meltdown. I hate it. And I hate him.

Warm hands grip my bare upper arms, startling me. I jerk away, shoving him. “No!”

I shake my head. “No. You don’t get to break my heart and then try to fix it afterward.”

“I just wanted you to calm down. You’re already weak,” he sighs.

“And whose fault is this?”

His eyes search mine warily, and I hate it. I hate the way he looks at me like I’m some unstable woman on the verge of losing it.

“I don’t want to wait any longer. I’m ready to talk right now.”

“Very well.” He walks over to the chair opposite the bed. “Let’s start from the beginning. The day you went snooping in my office.”

“On our wedding anniversary, you mean.” I correct him.

“Semantics.”

I take a deep breath. “You need to understand something,” I begin, my voice steady but charged. “I’ve never gone through your things. Not once. That day, I went into your home office for a reason.”

“A reason?” He asks, folding his arms over his chest.

“Yes,” I grit my teeth. “I was there to hide your anniversary gift. I wanted it to be a surprise for you, something special.”

Damian merely narrows his eyes as I continue, “The door was unlocked, and I thought it would be the perfect place.” I pause, my voice tinged with bitterness. “But while I was looking for a spot to hide the gift, I found something I never expected.”

He sits stiffly, his face impassive.

“So you see, the problem here isn’t about me ‘snooping.’ It’s about the fact that I discovered you were hiding something crucial, something that shattered the foundation of our relationship.”

“And what exactly did you find?” he asks, his focus entirely on me. He wants me to say it.

“Your meticulous research—about me, my family history, my dad’s business empire. You even had our schedules, our list of connections.”

“So you’re telling me you left me and ran away all because of a few files you stumbled across?”

“I knew you’d try to manipulate me. But I’m no fool, Damian. Remember when we met at that café after my summer break?” I don’t wait for his reply. “I was stunned when Hal brought me my favorite coffee and muffin—without me ever saying a word. But I was so caught up in you, I couldn’t realize how alarming that was until now. Only two people could know exactly what I order and how I take my coffee—the barista, or someone who’s been watching me.

“It didn’t take long to connect the dots after I saw those files. I didn’t pursue you, did I? You let me believe I did. So tell me, Damian... Am I right? All those ‘chance’ meetings, the moments I thought were fate... they were nothing but your calculated moves, weren’t they?”

Damian lets out a sigh. “What’s the point in answering that? You’ve already made up your mind that I’m at fault.”

I freeze. A delicate seed of hope begins to take root within me.

“Okay, then. Tell me, now. Tell me, please.” I scoot toward the edge of the bed, my arm straining where the drip is connected. “Just once.” I join my hands, intertwining them in a gesture of praying. “Tell me I’m wrong, that my accusations are baseless. I want to believe you. Despite all the evidence pointing to the fact that you married me for an ulterior motive, I still want to believe you’re not capable of this.” A tear slips from my eye. “I want to believe you’re not capable of breaking my heart so ruthlessly.” My heart aches as I replay our memories together. All those moments that felt so real.

“Those rare smiles, the way you looked at me... they can’t all be fabricated, can they? The warmth in your voice, the way you held me when I needed it most... I need those to be real. Please.” My voice cracks.

“Like I said, you’ve already made up your mind. Now you want me to deny it, to tell you your accusations are wrong. You think that’ll clear everything. But it won’t.”

“You don’t even want to try?” I ask softly.

“Try what? Denying it or defending myself? You should’ve asked me before you ran. You made your choice now live with it.”

“That’s not fair.”

“Life’s not fair.”

“At least tell me why you married me. It’s painfully obvious it wasn’t because you wanted to. It can’t be because of my dad’s business—you’re at his level now. So why?”

I touch my rings. “Marriage is a promise, a commitment. It’s a promise to love each other always. And a little more on days you can’t love yourself.” My voice trembles as I continue, “I never thought I could ever have something like that. But then I met you and I started dreaming. I started hoping to have those dreams come true. I’ve never wanted anything as much as I’ve wanted a fairytale ending with you, Damian. I thought I had it when we got married. But now, suddenly, I find evidence that suggests all my dreams, my hopes, even my love—was a lie. Don’t I deserve to at least know why? Or if you did this to me?”

Pushing to his feet, he walks over to the floor to ceiling window. “That’s where you went wrong, angel. Dreaming of a perfect life when that kind of thing doesn’t exist.”

“Why do you say that?”

“Because it’s the truth. We can’t always have what we want. Life has a way of making sure we remember that.” His tone turns bitter.

“I don’t believe that. I think if we want something in life, we can achieve it.”

“Then I must be the exception.”

“Why?”

“I don’t want to talk about it.”

“You have to, damn you!” I cry out. Wrenching the drip from my arm, I get off the bed and go to him. Blood drips down my arm and onto the floor. I stumble a bit, stopping a few feet away. “Tell me why you’re so jaded. Tell me why you said we can’t have everything we want when you have everything the world has to offer—money, power, everything! Tell me what happened that made you so ruthless? Tell me why you are punishing both of us? Tell me!”

“Because your dad ruined my life!” He roars, his words thundering through me, leaving my world forever altered.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

Past

I trail behind purposely, navigating the mall among the sea of unfamiliar faces and voices.

I can’t shake the unsettling feeling of being here, surrounded by people I barely know.

A resigned sigh escapes me. How long will I have to be here until I can make an excuse to leave?

I walk slowly, my eyes fixed on the storefronts. The bright displays and warm interiors make it easier to block out the fact that so many people are here.

A smile curls my lips when I spot a cute little mug in one of the displays. It’s pink and has an adorable animated puppy printed over it. The urge to buy it and add it to my little collection is strong.

A wave of nostalgia hits as I remember making such mugs and vases. It’s been so long since I last worked with clay, since I’ve been in my art studio back home. I used to spend hours there. School has kept me so busy, I’ve hardly had time for anything else.

I’m lost in my thoughts when Skylar snaps her fingers in front of my face, pulling me back to reality.

Her eyes meet mine, blue to my pale greens.

Skylar is dressed in a crop top and a mini skirt. While her friend, Maria, is wearing high-waisted jeans paired with a halter top. The other friend whom I don’t really know is wearing cut off jean shorts and a Gucci tee.

I stand out with my understated outfiy. The A-line midi skirt I’m wearing is in sage green color. Paired it with a white lightweight knit sweater. I opted for ankle boots and have secured my curls in a ponytail.

“River,” Skylar says. “We’re kinda on a roll here. You might wanna speed it up a bit, unless you want us to leave you behind.”

When I blink up in surprise, she laughs. “I’m just kidding. But please hurry up, will you?”

I manage a smile and reply, “Sure, sorry.” I adjust my Chanel crossbody bag and start walking a bit faster, matching their pace.

I don’t blame her for the lack of patience. It’s not like we volunteered for this shopping trip—it’s just one of those things our dads orchestrated. Skylar’s his business partner’s daughter, and he’s always encouraging me to hang out with her and her friends.

Most of the time, I succeed in avoiding such painfully awkward outings. But today, I had to bite the bullet. Because it’s Skylar’s birthday this weekend and it would’ve been very rude of me to not show up even though she was forced by her father, Richard McAllister to invite me.

I’m not exactly social, and Skylar and her friends are the complete opposite of me. But my dad keeps pushing me to make new friends by stepping out of my comfort zone.

Shopping is a supposedly enjoyable pastime for me when it’s done online but it feels like a chore when I’m coerced into going out with others.

Skylar keeps chatting away, her laughter ringing through the air. It’s not that I don’t like her—she’s nice enough—but this whole situation feels so awkward. Sometimes I wish my dad could understand that friendships can’t be forced. But I understand where he is coming from.

I glance at the racks of shoes, picking one to examine, when a voice near my ear startles me so much that I jump. “Check out these heels, they’re amazing!” Maria exclaims, snatching the shoes from my hands.

Skylar and her other friend squeal. “You always find the best shoes, Maria.”

I stand awkwardly as they swoon over the shoes.

I smile as they hurry to the next stop. They quickly lose interest in what they were doing, and in no time, I’m being dragged into another store.

“Hey, which one do you think suits me better?” Skylar asks them, motioning to a rack of dresses.

As the two inspect the dresses, Skylar notices me.

“Come here, River,” she calls, beckoning me over.

With a hesitant smile, I approach.

“We’d love your opinion on these dresses,” Skylar says.

My guard begins to lower. Maybe this won’t be as bad as I thought. As I offer my thoughts on the dresses, I find myself oddly at ease. And before I know it, they are handing me a couple of dresses and are pushing me toward the changing room.

When I come out wearing the sparkly golden dress that’s not really my style, the girls pull their phone and begin snapping my pictures. After that, they take several selfies.

I change back into my clothes and decide to buy the dress only because they insist.

“I’m posting this on Instagram.” Skylar grins, showing me a picture. It’s a group mirror selfie and while I look good, it’s not my thing. My Instagram is private for a reason. I don’t like putting myself or my life out there for the world to see. The paparazzi, though, that’s something I have no control over. As the daughter of a billionaire tycoon, my life is always in the spotlight. But on social media? That’s the one space where I get to decide what stays private.

I shake my head. “No, please. Crop me out before posting.”

“Why?” She whines.

“I just don’t like to post myself on the internet.”

She grumbles but agrees. “At least let me send it to my brother.”

“What?” I stare at her in horror. “Why?”

This time Maria speaks, “Um, hello, don’t you know Edward has a crush on you?” Her tone is begrudging.

My eyes widen in shock. Edward McAllister is three years older than me, and we’ve barely exchanged more than a few words this year. The fact that he has feelings for me is a revelation I never expected.

Skylar smirks. “Do you know how hard it was to stop him from crashing our girl’s time?”

“I don’t know what to say,” I say dumbfoundedly.

Skylar winces. “Shit. He’s going to kill me if he finds out I told you. We freaked you out with that, didn’t we?”

“A bit.” It’s strange and confusing. How can he feel that way about me when he doesn’t even really know me? We barely exchanged two sentences when we last met, months ago.

The trio is quickly distracted when the store manager brings refreshments for them. I take the time to wander further ahead and before I know it, I’m standing in the men’s section.

Rows of neatly organized shirts and blazers line the right side. I’m about to turn back when a mannequin dressed in snug black shirt and black trousers catches my eye.

As I take in the sight, a familiar feeling washes over me. The feeling of butterflies in my stomach whenever I think about him. Damian. It seems to conjure his presence. I can almost see him in the mannequin standing before me, stylish, with his sleeves rolled up that makes him look hot.

Before I know it, I’m walking over to it. My hand reaches out and I run my fingers across the fabric, imagining it’s him I’m touching. With a smile that tugs at my lips, I reach for my phone. It’s crazy how even a mannequin can remind me of him.

My fingers move quickly over the screen as I type out a message to him. But as I keep typing, something urges me to look up, and my heart skips a beat.

Damian.

I give my head a shake and stare.

He’s definitely Damian. And this time I’m not talking about the mannequin.

He is here. He’s really here, just a few feet away, browsing through the shirts with focused expression. Shock courses through me; It’s as if the very image I’d conjured has come to life, standing before me.

It feels like fate, seeing him here. A rush of joy and surprise washes over me. This… him, here, makes our connection feel undeniably real—like something the universe wanted all along.

With a racing heart, I pocket my phone and tiptoe toward him, a smile forming on my lips. I have a chance to surprise him, to catch him off guard and I’m not about to let this opportunity slip away.

Quietly, I step closer to him, my steps light on the polished floor. He’s so engrossed in examining the shirts that he hasn’t noticed my presence yet, his brows furrowed in concentration.

The thought of having his eyes on me sends a delightful flutter to my stomach. I still can’t believe I had demanded him to see me again three days ago. How I had brazenly asked him to make time for me.

My heart pounded in my throat as I waited that day for his answer. He agreed, but only because I was his “only friend.” His words, not mine. I knew what he was doing—he was friend-zoning me. But I wasn’t fooled. I saw it in his eyes when he noticed me looking at Hal.

His words, his expressions, everything screamed he was into me. So I just have to be patient.

I was already counting down days, sulking to see him. But I can’t believe my luck. He is right there. In front of my eyes. It is fate. A thrill courses through me as I prepare to unveil myself.

With a mischievous smile, I stand beside him, my gaze focused on the shirts as well. Then, in a playful tone, I break the silence. “That black shirt has caught your eye, hasn’t it?”

His head snaps in my direction. Surprise flashes across his features. “River?”

I nod enthusiastically. “If I didn’t know better, I’d think you were stalking me.”

His eyes flicker before settling into an unreadable mask. His gaze returns to the shirts. “You wish.”

“I truly do.” I say and chuckle at his drawled expression. “What are you doing here anyway?”

He motions to his black shirt which appears to be a bit damp. “Spilled coffee.”

“Oh.” I nod. “But it doesn’t matter though because of the dark color.”

That earns me a sidelong glance.

I chuckle. “So, where’s Hal?”

“Here, Ma’am,” a voice from behind startles me so much I lose my balance. Before I can hit the ground, I find myself in Damian’s arms.

Still holding me against him, he glares at Hal. “She could’ve gotten hurt.”

Hal stares at me apologetically. “Forgive me, Ms. Gibson.”

“It’s okay,” I squeak. Then I stare up at Damian. His nearness sends a jolt through me. “He’s always with you.”

He nods.

“Lucky him,” I mumble under my breath.

“What was that?”

“Nothing!”

“You okay?” he asks, his voice low.

I nod because words elude me.

Then he asks me if I’m hungry and I nod distractedly again. He speaks to Hal over my head but their voices fade in the background as I focus on the heat of his body still pressed against mine. He hasn’t pulled away yet, still holding me close. That can’t be nothing, right? That’s got to mean something.

Unable to stop myself, I nuzzle into his chest, only to frown when the scent of coffee hits me.

Great. I just rubbed my face against his damp coffee stain. I’m seriously losing it.

“Come.” He takes my hand and starts pulling me along behind him.

“Where are we going?” I ask, breathless.

“To have lunch.”

“What?”

He stops then. “You’re hungry, aren’t you?”

“I guess.”

“Then let’s go.” When he starts walking again, I clutch his bulging bicep to stop him. “But what about your shirt?”

He motions at Hal who’s carrying a shopping bag. “I have an hour for my meeting. I’ll change after lunch.”

“But I’m not alone.”

His grip tightens on me, his eyes darkening. “You’re not alone?”

God, he looks breathtaking when he’s angry. But why is he angry?

“Uh, no,” I say, still clueless about what set him off. “Skylar and her friends wanted to shop, so I just went along with them.”

His expression shifts, the tension in his jaw melting as his grip on me loosens. My heart sinks when he releases my hand.

“Give me five minutes! I’ll just tell them something came up.”

“You don’t have to. We can do this another time.”

“No!” I shout, surprising him including everyone in the store.

“Stay here. I’ll be right back.”

I quickly make my way to find the girls, my heart racing. I need to come up with something convincing to get out of here, to make sure I can spend the rest of the day with him.

This day, which started out so ordinary, has turned into something extraordinary.

I’m about to spend time with the one person I can’t stop thinking about. Oh, and his bodyguard, of course. But the thought of being near him, even with Hal tagging along, is enough to make everything else fade into the background.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

Present

His revelation hangs in the air like dark smoke, blinding me, suffocating me, betraying every belief I had up until now.

Because your dad ruined my life!

My head is pounding, and my heart feels like it’s been torn apart. This can’t be real.

Dad can’t… he is the sweetest man I know. He might’ve cut ties with me, but he could never stoop so low by hurting Damian. He just disapproved of my relationship with Damian because he wanted me to marry his business partner’s son, Edward McAllister.

It had strained my dad’s decades old friendship with Richard McAllister. I had humiliated him publicly. Because I was so much in love with Damian that I blindly went where my heart wanted me to go. And now I’m finding out that my marriage was never about me. It was about him and his agenda that somehow involves my dad.

I take an unsteady step back, swaying. And after a beat, I feel his touch on my upper arms.

Even in the shock, the feeling of his fingers against my skin stands out. I can feel his touch, hear his voice but it feels distant, like I’m floating in a sea of confusion.

I try to free myself but end up pressed against his chest. It feels like a stranger is embracing me. Is this the same man who I was so crazy about?

Now everything is clear. I finally understand why he changed after our marriage. Why he’s been so distant, so cold. Damian’s words echo in my mind again. He said my father ruined his life. But if that’s true, does it mean he married me to destroy mine in return? Was I just another way for him to punish both me and my father?

I don’t even know what to believe anymore. I’m left with so many questions, so much heartache.

I think I’m in shock. It’s the only explanation for the sudden numbness and the heavy silence that wraps around me. I can see Damian’s lips moving, but the words don’t register—everything feels muffled, like I’m underwater. My head spins, and if it weren’t for Damian’s grip on me, I would have crumpled to the floor.

The cool glass presses against my lips and water slides down my throat.

Tears blur my vision as I try to make sense of the chaos inside my mind. My entire world has crumbled, and I’m left with nothing but shards of a broken mirror who all but shows a distorted reflection of my life.

My husband’s voice grows sharper, more agitated. What’s happening?

His words echo in my ears again.

Because your dad ruined my life!

A heavy weight settles upon my chest, and I find myself struggling to draw in a full breath. It feels like the air has turned to lead, and each inhalation is a battle.

The door slams open, and a tall figure storms in—it's Hal, I think.

He is met by Damian’s gruff admonishment.

Why is Hal here? What’s happening? My mind is spinning, trying to process it all, but everything feels distant.

I see Hal’s mouth moving, his eyes wide with concern, but the words don’t reach me. Damian’s jaw tightens, his expression darkening by the second.

Then, suddenly, as if someone hit unmute, Hal’s voice slices through the haze. “Let me get her, sir. She is having a panic attack and she’s bleeding.”

I feel Damian’s arms tightening around me.

“She is my wife. I can take care of her.”

“But she is sweating—”

Why are they arguing? Why won’t they just let me be?

As they continue their tense exchange, my confusion deepens. A sharp throb pulses through my arm where I had torn the drip out earlier.

“Get the doctor.” Damian snaps as he wipes the sweat off my brow.

“Already on it,” Hal mutters, his voice tense. “But what I don’t get is what happened to make her—” He trails off.

Damian must’ve shot him his icy glare. The tension in the room grows palpable and I feel the remaining strength ebbing away. In the blink of an eye, my body slackens, and my eyelids grow heavy as the world fades into darkness.

◆◆◆

My head throbs with a persistent ache as I open my eyes. The sharp pain in my arm draws my attention, and I gingerly lift it to find it wrapped in clean, white bandage.

The memory of a doctor’s presence flickers in my mind, but the details remain elusive.

A sick feeling settles in my stomach as everything that happened earlier comes rushing back. I sit upright and find myself alone. It does nothing to ease my anxiety. Too hurt to even cry, I decide to go in search of Damian.

My body protests with every movement as I try to push myself off the bed. I wince but force myself forward, my hand trembling as it reaches for the doorknob. A breath of relief escapes me when it twists open without resistance. He hadn’t locked me in.

The door creaks as I step into the hallway, my gaze locking with Hal, who’s leaning against the wall, arms crossed.

He straightens upon seeing me. “Mrs. Montgomery, did you need anything?”

“Where’s Damian?”

“Mr. Montgomery is in his home office. I’ll inform him that you’re awake. In the meantime, have something to eat.”

“Is having something to eat a condition for me to see him?” I ask quietly.

He slowly shakes his head, eyeing my bandage and haggard face. “Consider it my plea, ma’am.”

“Growing soft on me, Hal?” I manage a small smile.

“You shouldn’t harm yourself like that.” I feel him eyeing my arm again.

When I remain silent, he speaks. “Mr. Montgomery is upset, seeing you like that was hard for him.”

I find it very hard to believe. Is it possible that Damian is truly affected by my fainting?

No. I don’t think so. It’s hard for me to believe that he cares after what just happened. Shaking my head, I maneuver around him to proceed down the hall when he stops me.

“Don’t go looking for something you might regret finding. Some things are better left uncovered.”

I’ve always known Hal’s loyalty is unwavering, but could it be that his loyalty is blinding him? Is it possible he can’t see that Damian could be wrong, too? From the way he spoke, it seems like there’s more he knows—things that directly involve me. Things that, according to him, could make me regret digging too deep.

“I have nothing left than regrets. It’s only fair to know than to be in the dark.”

With that, I descend to the first floor.

I walk through the long hallway toward his office. As soon as I reach it, my feet halt of their own accord.

The intimidating door stands before me, a formidable barrier made of dark, polished mahogany. I raise my fist to knock but then pause before it could connect the hard surface. I’ve never interrupted him whenever he was in the office and often waited for him to come out. He doesn’t like to be bothered when he’s in his space, working.

But this is a different circumstance and I have the right to demand some time from his tight schedule to have a serious conversation that involves our future.

So I take the bull by the horns and open the door.

The luxurious office that stretches before me exudes power. The walls made entirely of glass offer uninterrupted views of our sprawling estate beyond.

In one corner, the glass walls reveal the motor court, where his sleek, expensive collection of cars stand like works of art. Damian is sitting behind the desk that occupies the center of the room. Its polished surface gleams under the soft, warm glow of LED lighting built within Italian lacquer-finished cabinetry that lines one wall.

The familiar scent of the smoke reaches my nose and I frown. I had no idea he’d started smoking again, or maybe he never really stopped.

He’s studying a file with a deep frown on his face. He still hasn’t noticed me. Watching him smoke stirs a memory within me, making me squirm.

Damian takes a final drag then kills the half-finished cigarette in the ashtray on the desk distractedly. The way he does it, with a certain kind of intensity, is captivating in itself. Then, as if he can’t resist the urge for another drag, he pulls out another cigarette and slides it to the corner of his lips with a smooth, almost seductive motion.

My breathing changes and before I could suppress my reaction, his eyes snap up to me. With the cigarette still hanging from his lips, he finally breaks the silence. “What are you doing here?”

“You have my phone.”

Instead of answering me, he reaches for the lighter on the desk, never breaking eye contact with me. The flame flickers to life, casting a warm glow on his face as he leans in to ignite the fresh cigarette.

He’s doing this on purpose, deliberately making me wait, intentionally dragging out the silence, delaying the conversation just to get under my skin.

After he lights the cigarette, he takes a long, slow drag, allowing the tip to glow a bright orange before he exhales. The smoke billows out from his lips as he leans back in his chair, still watching me.

Despite his relaxed and nonchalant posture, I can’t ignore the cold fury lurking in his eyes.

When I ask about my phone again through gritted teeth, he just watches me. After several beats, he finally lifts his hand, cigarette still between his fingers, and gestures toward the desk.

I quickly notice my phone, its lavender case clearly visible on the desk.

My brow furrows. I pause for a second, unsure of what he’s playing at. After everything that went down earlier, why would he give me my phone back so easily? But I don’t waste time questioning it—I reach for it and grab it.

There are several missed calls and text messages from Summer, all filled with concern about my safety. Without hesitation, I start typing a message to let her know that I’m safe and sound.

“Are you really?” My husband’s voice startles me from behind, and I jump in surprise. I hadn’t even noticed him leave his chair, let alone come over to stand behind me and read what I’d typed.

He snatches my phone from my hand.

I freeze, my heart sinking. “What are you doing?” I demand, panic creeping into my voice as I watch him type on my phone.

He doesn’t answer, his focus entirely on the screen. I try to grab the phone back, but he steps back out of my reach.

“What the hell, Damian? Why are you acting like a child?”

In an instant, he’s right there, he grips the back of my neck, forcing my head to tilt up. “And what the hell were you doing earlier, hmm?” His voice is icy, his expression colder.

He leans in closer, his breath a chilling whisper. “You know what’s really childish, angel? Ripping the drip from your arm and making yourself bleed just because things weren’t going your way. Now, that is childish.”

The area covered in bandage begin to throb at his reminder. “I didn’t mean to,” I murmur, my voice tinged with regret. “I wasn’t in my senses. But you don’t care, so it doesn’t matter anyway.”

In a cutting tone, he says, “Impulsive as always.” He releases me as if touching me contaminated him. “Some things never change, do they? You were never the one to think things through. Like going after me even when I showed no interest.”

I flinch at the reminder of how crazy I was for him. Something inside me aches as he mocks my love.

“Don’t tell her. I don’t want to worry her,” I admit quietly.

“Oh, how noble of you,” he taunts, and I tremble at the open contempt on his face. “Always thinking of others.”

“Please stop.”

Throwing my phone on the desk, he takes hold of my upper arms and yanks me toward him. “Stop what?” His grip tightens painfully, and I flinch as fingers bite into my skin. “Why did you hurt yourself?” he interrogates, his face inches from mine. His eyes blaze with fury, scanning my face.

When I don’t say anything, he shakes me.

I swallow hard, struggling to find the right words. How can I make him understand the pain I’ve been going through? How do I tell him that when it comes to him, I completely lose myself and become this woman who’s forever starved for his adoration? How do I tell him that I love him more than life itself? So much so that my wellbeing doesn’t matter.

When he accused me of jumping to conclusions and running away without talking to him first, a small hope ignited inside me.

I thought maybe my suspicions were baseless. That maybe, just maybe, there was a glimmer of the man I used to love left in him.

But all I see now is the man who despises me.

Tears well up in my eyes as I struggle to explain, “I wasn’t... I thought—”

He cuts me off. “You thought what? That hurting yourself would solve anything?”

He doesn’t get it. He never will. “Why do you even care?” I finally snap, my voice filled with frustration.

“I don’t,” he declares coldly, releasing me. His icy tone sends shivers down my spine.

The man I married is gone, replaced by this heartless stranger. Or maybe he was like this from the beginning but I was blind.

“Then give me a divorce,” I say, weakly. A plea for freedom, for a way out of this suffocating relationship.

A dangerous glint shines in his black eyes. “That’ll never happen in this lifetime.”

My heart sinks. He’s not going to let me go, and the realization is like a lead weight pressing down on me.

“You can’t keep me here against my wishes!”

With a chilling certainty, he says, “I can, and I will.”

I stumble back, the words rattling through me.

“How long do you expect me to continue living like this, trapped in a loveless marriage?” Desolation fills me as I utter those words.

“For as long as I see fit. Try to run or harm yourself again, and your best friend—the one you hold so dear? I’ll make sure she suffers, right in front of you.”

My blood runs cold. “Y-you c-can’t do that.”

“Can’t I?” He tilts his head.

He’s literally threatening me with Summer’s wellbeing. Summer, the one person who’s always been there for me, is now a pawn in his cruel game. I have to protect her, even if it means enduring this torment myself.

For now, I have nothing compared to what he has—the resources, the power at his fingertips. Trying to fight him would only leave me and the people I care about hurt beyond repair.

I can only hope that I can shield the people I care about from his malevolence. And in order to attain that, I’ll have to obey him and wait until I can find a way out of this mess.

“Fine. I will stay.”

“That was never an option for you to agree on,” he grips my chin and lifts it. “I mean it, River. If you ever even think about hurting yourself again, I will make your best friend’s life a living hell and enjoy every second of it.”

I pale. I feel a cold sweat break out along my skin as I swallow hard. Then I think of what he said earlier about Dad. So I gather my courage and ask the questions that’s haunting me, “Damian, would you tell me what my dad did to you?”

The moment I mention Dad he shuts down completely, a wall of ice settling over his features. The room feels colder, more oppressive. It’s obvious he has no intention of discussing this any further; his outburst earlier was as much as he’s willing to reveal. But I can’t back down now. I need answers. I don’t know when I’ll find the courage to bring this up again, so I might as well ask now, even if my heart is pounding in my chest.

“I’ve agreed to your demands,” I tell him. “But don’t you think I should know why I am in this predicament to begin with?”

No answer.

“Did you marry me because of my father?” I ask anyway, my voice trembling slightly.

His silence is the subtle, harsh agreement that hangs in the air like a heavy cloud. My lower lip trembles when I see that his expression is filled with distaste.

“But you want me.” I’m sure of that fact. I’ve always seen naked want in his eyes for me. It can’t be faked.

“I have an insatiable sexual appetite and you were always available.” His words hit me like a slap and my eyes fill with tears. Swallowing thickly, I nod in dismay.

It feels like he’s purposely hurting me just for bringing up my father. It’s awful. Just awful and so painful to hear someone you love say such things to you.

I try hard to keep my emotions in check but a tear slides down my cheek. His eyes follow the tear’s progress and his jaw clenches. I wipe it quickly. But I’m horrified when another tear escapes. So I avert my face.

That’s when my gaze lands on a black invitation card resting on his desk. Just to do something with my trembling hands, I reach for it.

The invitation card is sleek, black with elegant, silver embossing. In the upper corner, there’s an intricately engraved emblem representing the mental health charity hosting the gala. Beneath the emblem, in bold silver letters, is Damian’s name as one of the prominent attendees.

I read the date and realize that it’s four days from now. It sparks an idea. I turn back to him, my voice shaking but determined. “Damian, I have one request.”

He’s silent for a moment, likely trying to make sense of how I can go from crying to asking for something in the span of just a minute.

“What is it?”

“I’d like to go with you.” I hold the invitation up.

The room remains tense as I hold his gaze. He studies me for what feels like an eternity, his expression unreadable. Finally, he breaks the silence, his voice gruff, “Why?”

“I want to go because I’m tired of being isolated,” I say. “I want to be a part of the world again, to breathe and live like a normal person. I don’t want to live like a prisoner anymore.”

It’s not just about freedom. I can’t tell him that I need it to find a way out, to plan my escape. I have to be careful with every word I say because I know he's watching, listening closely.

“Do you really think you’re in any position to make demands?”

I meet his gaze with determination. “If this is how you’re going to treat me, I’ll end up being nothing but a hollow version of who I was—just going through the motions, following orders, without feeling a damn thing. I’m already halfway there. Is that really what you want? Because if you keep this up, that’s all you’ll get.”

He strides over to his chair, his shoulders stiff. My words clearly hit a nerve. Damian may hate me, but he’s not stupid. If he really did marry me for revenge, turning me into a hollow version of myself would defeat the purpose—it would ruin his revenge. He wouldn’t find satisfaction in my suffering if I stopped feeling it altogether. And deep down he knows that.

“You want me in your life for as long as you want? Fine. You want me to stop hurting myself? Done. You want me to never run away? All right. I’ll obey. But you’re going to have to agree to a few of my conditions first.”

Leaning back in his chair, he looks at me with a cold, calculating gaze, his voice cutting through the tension. “So, what are your conditions?”

I take a deep breath, summoning all my courage. “I should be given the freedom to talk to my best friend,” I say. “And I want to go out of the house. This could be the start.” I motion toward the invite in my hand.

His eyes narrow. “So you can just run off again?”

I meet his gaze head-on. “How could I possibly do that when you’ve threatened my best friend’s life? And didn’t I make it clear that I won’t run? I remember you saying you’d punish your guards and their families if I did. I won’t ever put others in harm’s way, you know that.”

He studies me for several beats, then finally concedes. “Very well. But you’ll have a security detail following you at all times.”

I nod begrudgingly, knowing it’s the best compromise I can hope for at this point. Then, “And what about the gala?”

“Why are you so pressed about this particular gala?”

I shrug. “This feels like the perfect chance to start.” Then, “Things will change now,” I murmur to myself.

“Is that right?” He stares at me, almost like he’s challenging me.

I hold his stare, not backing down. “Yes. I am your wife.” He treated me like his dirty little secret. Like a mistress. Eager to bed but never willing to show off. “I think it’s time you start treating me like one.”

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

Past

After our unexpected lunch last week, I couldn’t wait to see him again that weekend. After all, Damian had agreed to it at the café when I told him I wanted to see him.

When he dropped me off at my apartment, I couldn’t resist reminding him about our weekend plans. He shot me a droll look and told me to “be good.”

So I spent the next few days planning our non-date outing.

Over lunch, I seized the opportunity to ask him a few questions, hoping to catch a glimpse of the man behind the mystery that surrounded him.

“So what do you like to do in your free time?” I asked, blushing because he caught me staring at him for the third time.

“I rarely have free time,” he said gruffly. I already knew that, considering how often he worked during our late-night calls. Those calls usually went like this: I’d ramble on about school, my day, what I ate—mundane things like that. His responses were usually just grunts or short phrases like, “Hmm, okay,” or “Is that right?” all while he focused on whatever work he had in the background.

“Still, when you do get some downtime, how do you spend it?”

“With you,” he replied matter-of-factly. My cheeks flushed as my heart skipped a beat, and I struggled good thirty seconds to find words, feeling both shocked and deeply touched by his answer.

“O-okay. What about when you’re not with me?” I asked after a few moments.

“Then we talk on the phone,” He said again. I bit my lower lip to hide my smile. And when his eyes dropped to my mouth, I wanted to duck under the table to hide because I knew my face was bright red.

I cleared my throat and tucked a curl behind my ear. “What do you do when you’re not with me or talking to me on the phone?”

“Hmm.” He leaned back. “When I need a break, I step out onto the balcony, light a cigarette, and just gaze at the night sky.”

“Because it’s peaceful?”

“Because it’s black. Like my soul.”

My lips parted in surprise. “Why do you say that?”

He just shrugged and went back to eating his food.

“Well, the night sky isn’t always black you know.” I said softly. “It has stars that illuminate the sky, dispelling the darkness.”

Damian stilled, the fork hovering mid-air. His gaze locked with mine, and for a brief moment, something flickered in his expression—something I couldn’t quite read—before it vanished as quickly as it had appeared. He lowered the fork slowly, his gaze still on me as he replied, “I suppose you’re right. They aren’t bad to look at either.”

That’s when I made up my mind. I was going to take him stargazing. I wanted to show him that even in the darkness, there’s beauty to be found. That the stars and the night sky create a breathtaking picture, proving they were always meant to be together.

Everything was set. I had gone all out to make this evening unforgettable. A rented telescope, snacks, and a carefully curated playlist of songs were all packed and ready.

I tracked down the best astronomy expert I could find online, met with her, and soaked up everything I could about the cosmos. I learned the stories behind the constellations and committed it all to memory, knowing it would interest him.

This surprise was meant to create a deeper connection between us, a way for him to truly see how much he meant to me. Everything was in place, ready. For his mesmerizing night eyes.

Then, just hours before we were supposed to meet, it all went to waste. He had to cancel because of an unexpected work commitment. I understood, of course. His job was demanding. Still, it was a disappointment.

That was four days ago. He must be swamped with work because I haven’t heard from him in four agonizingly long days.

It’s 11 PM, and I’m sitting in my apartment, unable to sleep. My oversized t-shirt, the one I love to sleep in, hangs loosely on me, and my dark curls are pulled back in a messy ponytail. My feet are warm in fluffy socks, and my face is makeup-free. Sleep has completely eluded me tonight, so instead of tossing and turning, I decided to work on my assignment. At least if I stay busy, I might be able to wear myself out enough to finally drift off.

After an hour of working, I finally lean back in my chair, letting out a weary breath. My arms stretch high above my head, loosening the stiffness in my shoulders, and a long yawn escapes me. It seems sleep has finally decided to catch up with me.

My mouth is parting in yet another yawn when my phone rings. Still yawning, I lean forward to read the caller’s name.

Damian.

My yawn freezes midway, and my heart leaps as I bolt upright, wide awake in an instant.

Should I let it ring for a moment? If I pick up too quickly, he might think I’ve been sitting here, losing sleep over him. Which... okay, I kind of have. But he doesn’t need to know that, does he?

I can’t be too eager. I’ll give it a few seconds. Maybe ten. I nod to myself. Okay, just count to ten, nice and slow.

One…

Two…

Three…

I glance at the screen longingly.

Four… Five… To hell with counting! I lift the phone and that’s when the ringing stops.

“No!”

If I called him now, he’ll think I purposely didn’t answer! On a groan, I push to my feet—my limbs aching from an hour of sitting at the desk—and throw myself on the couch. It makes my body hurt more.

“Serves me right!” I grumble. I’m in the middle of cursing myself when my phone goes off again.

My head snaps up and I lunge for it. “Hello!” I gasp, breathless.

“You’re upset.”

I shiver at his deep voice. Oh, how I missed his voice. Melting back down on the couch, I curl my legs underneath me.

“River?”

“Yes!” My heart begins to beat harder.

“I see,” he murmurs and that’s when I realize what he had said and I just confirmed it.

“No! I mean I’m not upset.” I squeeze the phone with both hands.

“You always answer on the first ring.”

“I do?” I murmur distractedly. I don’t know what happens to me when it comes to him. One minute, I want to talk his ears off, to spill everything I’ve been holding in, and the next, I’m speechless, unable to string two words together. Is this what love does to you? Turns you into someone you barely recognize?

“You mad at me?” he asks quietly in that deep voice that makes my toes curl.

Squeezing the phone tighter, I confess, “I missed you.”

There’s a pause before he speaks, “A major deal went south, and I’ve been busy fixing things for the past four days.” The words has an unexpected edge of guilt, a rare crack in his usual composure. He’s not just explaining himself—he’s offering more than he normally would, like he’s trying to apologize for ghosting me.

“What are you doing right now?” he asks.

“I-I…” My words falter. What was I even doing before I just threw myself on the couch like that? I glance around the living room, hoping it’ll give me some sort of clue.

“Have you eaten?”

“Does granola bar counts?”

He sighs. “I’m coming to get you.”

“What?” I glance down at myself and cringe. I’m definitely not presentable for company—especially his!

“I told you how I feel about you skipping meals.” His voice sends a shiver down my spine. Is this just his way of looking out for a friend? Or is there something more beneath it?

Moments like this make it hard for me to remember that we are just friends. It becomes really difficult to keep my feelings in check.

I clear my throat, trying to hide the excitement in my voice. “Showing up this late at a girl’s place… doesn’t that break your gentlemanly rules?” I tease.

The moment the words slip out, a flicker of doubt hits me. Did I cross a line? Maybe my teasing was too much, too soon. But I can’t help it. I need to know where I stand with him. Testing the waters with a bit of flirting feels like the safest way to catch a glimpse of his real feelings.

It’s been driving me crazy, not knowing how he really feels. Is it possible that he might want more than friendship, too? Or am I reading too much into his actions?

There’s a brief pause on the other end of the line. Then, “I never claimed to be a gentleman.”

His response catches me completely off guard, and warmth floods my face. I bury my head into the couch cushion, trying to muffle the soft giggles bubbling up as my cheeks burn.

“And I never said I’m coming up. I said I’m coming to get you.”

Of course. Says he’s no gentleman but proves that he is by staying in his boundaries. “But I’m not ready to go out. I look hideous!”

“Let me be the judge of that.”

When he says he’s hanging up, I cry out, “Wait!”

“Yes, River?” There’s a hint of amusement in his tone and something tickles in my chest.

“Grab some food, not much as I already have beverages and snacks. And come over.”

“I’m not coming up to your apartment, angel.”

There’s that nickname that takes my breath away. Smiling like a fool, I say, “I know. I have a perfect spot for a little picnic.”

When he doesn’t say anything, I choose another tactic. “Oh, no, don’t even try sulking,” I say. “You stood me up, after all. And it wasn’t exactly the most considerate move, was it?”

He grunts. “You’re not going to let that go, are you?”

“Never.”

He grunts again, muttering something about me blackmailing him before hanging up.

I bolt to my feet and run to my bedroom to get ready. Thank God, I had another shower in the evening, I just have to tame my curls in record speed.

◆◆◆

While searching for the perfect spot for our stargazing outing, I discovered a hidden gem, tucked away amidst rolling hills and towering ancient oak trees.

We just polished off the finger sandwiches Damian brought. It was clear they’d been freshly made by a chef, not picked up from a store. The bread was perfectly soft, and the presentation was immaculate, nothing about it resembled anything you’d buy off the shelf.

He even brought chocolates, my absolute favorite, the kind I could eat until I’m sick. It’s crazy how he always picks out exactly what I want, without me saying a word. There’s no way it’s just a coincidence. It’s fate. Me and him. That’s why he always knows exactly what I love—because we’re meant to be. I just know it.

I unwrap the foil, and the rich scent of cocoa and hazelnut drifts up, inviting me in. I pop it in my mouth, close my eyes, and sigh as the chocolate melts, filling every corner with its flavor.

I open my eyes and find him staring at me. My cheeks redden. “It’s my favorite.” I give him a small smile then lie down on the blanket.

When he keeps sitting, I motion for him to lie with me. When he still doesn’t, I gather my nerve and reach for him. My fingers wrap around his forearm—warm and solid beneath my touch. I’ve wanted to feel it ever since he rolled his sleeves up.

“I don’t bite.” I tease and tug him. He huffs softly, the closest thing to a chuckle I’ve ever heard from him.

He lets me tug him down. And he lies beside me.

We remain quiet, gazing upward at the magnificent night sky. The stars, like radiant jewels, twinkle above us, a breathtaking sight that leaves me in awe.

Then, it hits me—the facts I memorized about the stars and constellations, all for this exact moment. But when I turn to look at Damian, my mind goes completely blank. I open my mouth, but nothing comes out. I’m just staring at him, completely caught up in him.

It suddenly hits me that nothing—not even all the glittering stars—matters more than him. In this moment, under the night sky, I feel something between us. A connection so strong, even if he doesn’t feel it too.

And I realize now, with every beat of my heart, that the love I have for him isn’t something that will ever disappear. It’s not a passing crush. Not the kind of love you can move on from. I know I can never fall out of love with Damian Montgomery. No matter what happens. And I don’t know if it’s a good thing or the beginning of my downfall.

But as I lay here beside him, gazing at him, I wish that I get to see this view every day for the rest of my life.

As if sensing my gaze, Damian slowly turns his head to meet my eyes. This time, I say nothing to ease my awkwardness at being caught staring at him. I don’t smile sheepishly either. I don’t do anything and let my eyes do the talking.

I’m trying hard to breathe normally but how can I when I’m baring my heart, my soul to him? I feel so vulnerable, so scared yet I keep staring at him.

And then something changes in him. It’s small but I’ve watched him enough to note the difference. And that fills me with determination. It gives me courage to brush my fingers against his on the blanket.

I notice his eyes going darker and my heart feels like it’s going to explode. Every single part of me blushes as seconds tick by. My body hums with awareness all because of that small contact.

I can’t help but want for more. More of that touch. But Damian abruptly pulls his hand away and sits up.

He pulls something out from his pocket. A cigarette. Before he can light it, I sit up and snatch it from his lips, my fingers brushing against his mouth.

“Smoking is bad for your health.”

He stares at me for a long time, his face grim. Then he simply retrieves another one.

I snatch that one too.

Damian glares at me. Without thinking, I lean up and press a swift kiss on his jaw, catching both of us off guard.

My heart is beating fast.

“River—”

I kiss his cheek this time. Then once more before looping my arm with his and resting my head on his shoulder.

We sit there in silence for a good five minutes. I can’t quite explain what made me do it. I’m not exactly the impulsive type, but around him, something shifts in me. He brings out a part of me I hardly recognize—a part I didn’t even know was there.

Now, he knows about my feelings. I decided to be brave and made the first move.

“I don’t want to hurt you,” Damian murmurs, breaking the silence.

“Then don’t.” I hug his arm to my chest, enjoying the distant sounds of crickets and the gentle breeze that carries the scent of nearby redwoods.

When he doesn’t pull away from my touch, I realize that this friendly outing just became something more.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

Present

I squeeze my eyes shut when I feel his warm hand run down the side of my body.

It has been three days since I traded my freedom with my best friend, Summer’s safety. Two days since I demanded him to take me to the gala. And since then, I’ve been forced to have proper meals despite my lack of appetite, have to make sure I’m following a healthy diet to improve my health because it’s one of his conditions.

The days are exhausting, with his men constantly around, monitoring my health and keeping an eye on every move I make. But somehow, I manage.

The daylight hours are easier where I can wear a mask to get through. I’ve done this before—followed the same pattern, day after day. Lived a life that was simple, predictable. Boring.

But it’s the nights that break me.

Every night, without fail, he comes to me. He takes me in his arms, and I can feel the weight of his presence, both comforting and suffocating. No matter how much I try to fake sleep, the second he presses me to his chest, my body gives me away. A soft gasp, a shiver, the goosebumps on my skin—he knows. He always knows. And I can’t escape it. Can’t escape him.

But he never calls me out. Never rubs it in. Just holds me until I fall asleep. He doesn’t make love to me either. Tonight is no different.

I bite my lip hard when his hand slips under my silky nightgown, tracing the skin of my quivering stomach before pulling my body to his bare chest.

This time, I am successful in swallowing the gasp. Then he shifts behind me, pulling me flush and when his chest hair grazes against my exposed back, my whole body shivers.

As usual, he knows I’m awake. And as usual, he doesn’t comment on it. Burying his face in my nape, he releases a long breath as if he’s been yearning to do this all day.

As I lie there, I can hear his steady breaths, feel the warmth of his body against mine. His gentleness feels contradictory to his own actions. And I hate myself for wanting these stolen moments of solace in his arms.

There’s a twisted comfort in his touch. It’s the only time I feel truly alive, even if it’s under the most twisted circumstances. I’ve become a prisoner to my own desires, a captive of my conflicting emotions.

The days may be a constant struggle, but at least they allow me to maintain some semblance of control. At night, in his arms, control slips away, and I become a puppet dancing to his tune. It’s a torment I endure, a torment that threatens to consume me entirely.

But I must find a way out. I must gather the strength to break free from this twisted cycle, to reclaim my life, and to face whatever consequences lie ahead. For now, I’ll endure the days and suffer through the nights, but I won’t lose hope.

The charity gala is tomorrow, my first in a long while.

I miss Dad so much. He was my rock. Especially during social affairs like this. It’s been over a year since I last laid eyes on him, heard the comforting timbre of his voice, and felt the reassuring warmth of his presence in my life.

I still remember the heaviness of disappointment in his eyes. He told me he couldn’t condone my choice, that I was throwing my life away for someone who was unworthy. He tried everything to convince me to reconsider, but I couldn’t. I couldn’t imagine a life without the man I love, the man who completes me in every way.

He then asked me the hardest question of my life. Him or Damian. And he was deeply hurt when I chose Damian over him.

There are nights when I lie awake, staring at the ceiling, wondering if he ever thinks of me. Does he regret how we drifted apart as much as I do? Or has he somehow moved on, burying the hurt and disappointment?

I will reach out to him. Once I figure out a way to escape, I will reach out to dad and beg for his forgiveness. Right now, it’s too big a risk to take. Damian is unpredictable. He’s far more dangerous than I thought. When he threatened to hurt Summer, and his own guards. I realized how dangerous he can be.

He may have allowed me to go out and given me permission to talk to my best friend but deep down, I know it’s only temporary.

For their sakes, I have to stay away. The danger lies not in the world around me, but in the very man I’ve chosen to spend my life with. My husband, with his temper and the darkness that lurks beneath his façade, is a threat that I cannot allow to touch those I love.

Summer and dad deserve a life free from the horrors that have become my reality. They deserve peace, happiness, and safety. And I cannot provide that as long as I remain entangled in this toxic web of a marriage.

If I allow them to be close, I’m exposing them to a danger they never signed up for. I will occasionally call Summer so she won’t worry but I won’t attempt to meet her. Not anytime soon.

Dad will have to wait. Damian hates him. And if he found out I contacted Dad, he would never allow me to use my phone again.

I fall into a restless sleep, my thoughts a tumultuous whirlwind. It was the kind where your subconscious mind haunts you with twisted scenarios that makes it hard to fathom whether you’re dreaming or are trapped in a never-ending loop of nightmares.

When I finally stir, my tired eyes open to the morning light. The room is bathed in soft, golden light. It takes a moment for my disoriented mind to register the emptiness beside me.

He’s gone, as usual, off to work with the first light of dawn. He never stayed longer than that except for the time I witnessed his night terror.

And as much as I want to find out about his past, I won’t. It’s for the best this way. Because it saves me the embarrassment of facing him in the mornings after sleeping in his arms every night.

I quickly shower and get changed into a white long-sleeve blouse and a brown faux flared skirt. Next, I slip on brown slingback pumps, put on diamond studs in my ears, and fasten a watch around my wrist.

I dress meticulously, as I always do. I select my attire, ensuring it meets the expected standards. Dressing to perfection has become my routine.

I exit the master bedroom and descend the staircase. The voices coming from the parlor makes me frown.

As I step into the room, I’m taken aback by the sight of hairstylists, makeup artists, and wardrobe experts, all accustomed to working with A-list celebrities, gathered here.

I recognize them because Dad often hired these professionals for me whenever we had important events to attend.

Among them, I spot Hal who is at the far corner, standing guard and keeping an eye on the lot. I approach him without getting noticed and inquire about the commotion. “What’s happening here?”

“They’re here to get you ready for the gala tonight, ma’am.”

“Oh.” I stare at the people and think how it has been so long since I attended a social event, how my life has become a far cry from the glittering gatherings I once had to frequent. The thought of returning to that world, even for a single night, fills me with both excitement and dread.

“River, Darling! How are you?” A familiar voice rings out, and turning to the source, I spot the ever-dapper Maxwell.

Maxwell is a man who exudes charisma. His head is clean-shaven, his look sharp. He’s in a silver silk shirt and black tailored pants. The glossy loafers on his feet gleam with a subtle sparkle as he strides forward.

Hal notices Maxwell approaching. Before he can engage me in a conversation, Hal ushers me toward the formal dining area.

“Come, Edith will serve you breakfast.”

I can’t help but feel guilty as I’m guided away.

As we reach the dining area, I can’t help but mention, “Hal, that was rude.”

Hal’s expression remains neutral, and he responds in his usual reserved manner, “Breakfast first. Boss’s orders.”

His response leaves little room for discussion.

The next few hours pass in a whirlwind of activity. I call Summer under Hal’s watchful eye then I’m taken back to the people to get me ready for tonight.

First, they did my nails. Followed by facial and hair spa that had breathed new life into my long curls, leaving them even more luscious and vibrant.

Now, I’m in the midst of the bustling team of professionals, each expertly performing their tasks. I close my eyes briefly, allowing the gentle touch of the makeup artist’s brushes to work its magic.

Maxwell moves with precision, ensuring every detail of my outfit fits flawlessly. The team works in sync.

As the final touches are applied, I’m led to the full-length mirror.

I’m taken aback by the breathtaking transformation before me. The gown I’m wearing is a work of art—an off-the-shoulder sequin masterpiece in a shade of English violet. The high leg slit gives it a bit of a flirtatious edge, and the fringe on the straps sways with every step I take.

My curly hair, now more glossy than ever complements the gown perfectly.

The team has outdone themselves, leaving me feeling like a vision. When I thank them, they just brush it off, saying my husband paid them well. I can’t help but wonder. Why would he go to such lengths? All I did was ask him to take me with him.

I shake my head internally. How could I forget? To the world, he's the multi-billionaire, and tonight, I am going with him. All eyes are going to be on us. He is just making sure I look the part. His shiny trophy wife.

Maxwell and others are still fawning over my dress when Hal interrupts them. “Ma’am, it’s time to go.”

“Is Damian back from work?”

“Yes, ma’am. He returned not long ago. He’s all set to leave and is waiting for you outside.”

The thought of him seeing me in this dress makes my heart race, no matter how hard I try to ignore it.

As soon as I enter the hallway, my feet halt.

Damian stands in the foyer near the vast swan centerpiece. He must’ve heard us because he turns, and I forget how to breathe.

He looks magnificent in a tux and expensive loafers. He always looked breathtaking but tonight standing under the chandelier, he looks like a Greek god.

No one would ever guess that this man had just worked for twelve hours straight before coming home and still managed to summon the energy to get ready and look this good.

I swallow thickly when our eyes lock. But it’s too much so I focus on the white shirt he is wearing. Damian always prefers black so it’s a change seeing him wearing white underneath the jacket. I focus on it as I draw closer.

I can feel his eyes on me. Like fire, his gaze burns my skin as he keeps watching. My cheeks redden.

With each step, the distance between us narrows, and my heart races in anticipation.

As if he couldn’t wait, Damian covers the distance in four long strides. There’s a look of raw hunger in his eyes as he runs them up and down my body.

Gripping my chin, he tilts my face to meet his dark eyes. “You look stunning.” Then he kisses me, plunging his tongue in my mouth, tasting me and ruining my lipstick. It’s quick but thorough. When he pulls back, his eyes are wild. “I want to take you back to our bedroom and fuck you till we both pass out.”

My breath catches, and I stare at him, wide-eyed, too stunned to even form a response. He’s looking at me as if he is seriously contemplating to follow his urges. I lower my eyes but he doesn’t let me hide and lifts my chin again.

He runs his thumb over my swollen lips. “I ruined your lipstick.”

He did because I can see the proof all over his lips. Magically, Hal provides a box of tissue to Damian to wipe it off his lips. In the next second, the makeup artist is by my side fixing my lipstick.

“Do you need a glass of water? You look like you’re going to pass out.” The lady says as she finishes applying a fresh coat of lipstick to my lips.

Damian snorts and I glare at him. But I’m mortified when Hal offers me a small bottled water. “I’m fine.” I snap and rush out.

I hear Damian releasing a dark laughter behind me and I curse myself for not gauging his eyes off when he kissed me.

◆◆◆

“You can’t do that.” I snap when he climbs inside the limousine.

“Do what?”

“I’m not going to sleep with you, Damian.” I don’t know why but I felt the need to say it again. Even if a small part of me realizes that I would welcome him in my body without an ounce of hesitation, I also know that it would be a bad idea.

His dark gaze lands on me. “But you do. Every night.” I flinch. He continues, “In my arms.”

I close my eyes, embarrassed. Why did I think he would never rub it in? He is Damian Montgomery. Of course, he wouldn’t miss the chance to mock me.

“I’m not a patient man, angel.”

I lift my eyes. “What do you mean by that?”

“I mean that I need you.” he deliberately spreads his long, well-defined legs. Then adjusts his tailored suit pants, emphasizing the breadth of his strong thighs and… Oh my god, he’s hard.

A flush crawls up my neck and spreads over my cheeks as my gaze lingers for a moment longer than intended. I quickly look away, hoping he hasn’t noticed my staring.

I watch the city lights through the window as I try to calm my heartbeats.

A thrill shoots through me when his calloused palm curls around my nape. But I don’t look at him. If I give in, if I submit to him again, it will leave me emptier than I am right now.

His fingers trail down until he is stroking the skin of my throat, leaving my thoughts in a mess.

“Breathe,” he commands. And that’s when it registers that I’ve been holding my breath this whole time.

My body complies, his one command soothing my nerves.

“You need me,” he says matter-of-factly and my pussy clenches and begins throbbing. “Then why are you being so difficult?”

I push his hand away. “Because unlike you, I can’t just let go of the fact that you hate me.”

He takes my hand and guides it to his bulge. “Does this feel like hate to you?”

I pull my hand. “Sex is not the solution to everything.”

“I respectfully disagree.”

“Well then you are free to find someone else to take care of your needs.”

His eyes darken, and in the blink of an eye, I’m in his lap. My upper arm throbs from the force with which he yanked me, and the breath is knocked out of my lungs.

“That’s the first and last time you’ll say that to me.”

My hands push against his chest. “You expect me to believe you never cheated on me while you were away on those business trips?”

He grabs my wrists and twists them behind my back, his eyes flashing with a warning.

My mouth parts in surprise. “Are you serious?” I never fathomed the idea of him betraying our vows, but that was before. The moment I discovered he had a hidden agenda to marry me, I concluded that fidelity also held no significance to him. If our union was merely a façade, there was no reason for him to remain loyal to me.

His jaw clenches. “My being faithful is that shocking to you?”

“But y-you hate me.” And my father.

He jerks me to his chest. “Doesn’t stop me from wanting you.” His voice is full of venom, as if he hates himself for wanting me so much. Is this why he was always so desperate to get inside me the moment he returned home from those trips? If he is telling the truth, then it has been more than three months since he had sex. And that’s why he said he isn’t a patient man.

“Would you rather I go to some random woman and fuck her?”

My heart thuds in my chest. “W-what?”

His eyes flash with fury. I don’t think I’ve ever seen him this angry before.

“Do you really want me to fuck someone who’s not you?”

Tears gather in my eyes as I picture him with someone else. His naked body over a beautiful woman who wouldn’t hesitate asking for what she wants from him. Bile rises to my throat. I shake my head vehemently.

“Tell me.” He shakes me roughly. “Go ahead, angel. Tell me again to fuck another woman, and I’ll do it right in front of you.”

I tremble in his lap uncontrollably. “S-stop!”

“I should be the one saying that.” He glares at me. “Stop this nonsense and let me have you.”

“I hate you,” I whimper.

“You can hate me while I fuck you all night long.”

I screw my eyes shut so I can block the raw hunger etched over his face. But there’s no way to stop his words.

“I want to climb between your legs and stay there for the entire week until you remember who you belong to. I want to devour every inch of you until you lose your voice from screaming and your body is decorated from the marks given by my mouth and fingers.”

“You can always force yourself on me,” I shoot back, my voice laced with defiance. He’s already made it clear he’s not a patient man, and I know exactly what that implies—that he’d have me with or without my consent.

“I’m your fucking husband.” He releases me with a shove and I fall on my seat. “I own your pussy. I own you. I don’t need to force you into doing anything.” His eyes turn mocking. “Because we both know you’ll happily spread your legs for me whenever I want.”

I glare at him. “I don’t see myself spreading my legs right now.”

He arches an eyebrow. “Is that a challenge?”

That makes me shut up. Turning away, I wait for the car ride to be over so I can get away from his suffocating presence.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

The sleek black limousine glides to a graceful stop at the entrance of the venue. Our chauffeur, dressed in a crisp black suit, steps out first and extends his hand to assist me. But Hal pats him on the shoulder and shakes his head slightly.

Damian exits and offers his hand. I feel the gaze of the gathered crowd and cameras turning toward us. I don’t want to take it but I can’t humiliate him in public. He would never let it slide. So I let him help me and emerge from the limousine.

Taking his arm, we step onto the red carpet. Flashbulbs burst like miniature fireworks, capturing the lie we feed them. A façade of being a happy couple.

Damian tugs me closer as we continue to pose. The blinding flash and shouts of the photographers evokes a memory from the past that makes my shoulders stiff with tension.

He leans down and brushes his lips against my ear. “Don’t.”

My body grows stiffer when I realize he knows exactly what I was thinking about. I try to relax.

His eyes survey the cameras and onlookers with a sense of detachment as the reporters call out his name. He’s the picture of control, effortlessly holding it all together, while I—on the other hand—feel myself unraveling. Especially when they start calling out mine.

Damian senses my uneasiness and ushers me forward. As we finally make our way past the flashing lights and the buzzing excitement.

Hal, who had been patiently waiting to the side, joins us. A second later a small group of people is suddenly by our side and is guiding us inside.

The grand doors open to reveal a magnificent ballroom adorned with crystal chandeliers and opulent floral arrangements.

I do my best to maintain composure, but my heart races, and I feel a tightness in my chest. The memories of countless social events, where I smiled and played the role of the perfect hostess, flood back. The pressure to be flawless, to say the right things, and to always be in control had taken a toll on me in the past.

And here I am, right back where I started. Only this time, I asked for it. Because being surrounded by strangers in this crowded room somehow feels safer than being with Damian, who, despite how well I know him, still feels like a complete stranger in every sense.

I clutch the edge of my purse a little tighter, my knuckles turning white. My breaths come in quick, shallow gasps, and I subtly press my free hand to my chest, feeling the rapid thumping of my heart.

This can’t be happening right now. The anxiety that’s become my constant companion threatens to consume me again. My shoulders start to tremble, and I can feel a fine sheen of perspiration forming on my forehead.

I suddenly feel a firm hand gently squeezing my waist. The contact distracts me and I find myself glancing up. Damian pulls me closer to his chest.

His dark night eyes bore into mine. Cold and distant as ever. Yet, in that moment, as our bodies press together, the distance between us seems to narrow, and a strange sense of calm begins to wash over me.

Damian doesn’t provide me warmth. His presence is far from warm but despite that, it acts as a shield against the overwhelming world around us.

His hand slides up my back, underneath my curls. His fingers find the nape of my neck, and he starts to massage it with a touch that’s both expert and intimate. While his other hand cradles my hip.

It’s ironic, really. I feel safe in his embrace. His gaze, empty of any warmth or empathy, should make me feel uneasy. But strangely, it doesn’t. Because the carnal possession in the depths of them tells me that he would keep me safe from everything. Everything but him.

My anchor and my storm.

It’s as if he knows my body better than I do, and his skilled hands send a wave of relief through me.

The tension in my neck gradually eases, and my racing heart begins to slow.

The kind of power Damian has over me is scary. I didn’t realize that I was tying the knot with the devil who would capture my soul. He may not have forced me to be his wife but he has me trapped with no way out. He is the main cause of my anxiety.

I attempt to pull away but he tightens his fingers.

“This is too much for you.”

“I’m fine.”

“You hate social gatherings.” His fingers stroke my nape, sending shivers down my spine.

“It’s better than being caged in your mansion.”

He fists my curls. “Our home.”

I press my lips in a line, stopping myself from arguing.

“Damian Montgomery.” A male voice interrupts our silent war.

A man who seems to be in his early forties with tanned skin and a well-maintained beard, grins at Damian. “Long time no see.”

He pauses at the sight of me and runs his gaze over me curiously. “And who is this beautiful lady?”

Damian stares at him as if he wants to poke his eyes out. His hand finds my hip and he glues me to his side.

“Carlos.”

I try not to gape at him when he doesn’t provide any introduction for me. Carlos doesn’t appear to notice his rudeness and asks for my name.

“River—”

“My wife,” I hear him say at the same time I offer my name. I peek at him. The asshole thinks “my wife” is equivalent to my name, my identity.

“River. What a lovely name for a lovely lady. It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance at last.” He takes my hand and brushes his lips over my knuckles.

Damian stands rigid and unmoving, his gaze like ice as he observes the interaction.

“And you are?” I ask to be polite.

“Carlos Rodriguez at your service.” He grins, seemingly oblivious to the tension. “I’ve had the pleasure of working with your husband on a numerous projects.”

I stare up at Damian again. He never told me about Carlos. But then he never did share anything. Not since we married.

The last time he ever shared anything about his work was before our marriage. I miss those days when we used to talk so much. It’s like the person I fell in love with and the person I married are two different people. Sometimes, I miss that man, long for that friend, who used to talk to me for hours. After the wedding, it seemed like a switch had gone off. He changed. Completely.

Three well-dressed men join us, greeting Damian with familiarity.

Is he the same way to the outside world like he is with me? Cold and distant and intense.

I stand stiffly as they talk. But even in my numb state, I’m aware of his fingers in the curve of my ribcage just below my breast, stroking distractedly.

Carlos, with a charming smile says, “Damian, I have to admit, I’m quite impressed. How did you manage to win the heart of such a young beautiful woman?”

Damian flashes him an impatient look. Despite the tender smile I manage to conjure, my voice carries a hint of melancholy as I respond, “Well, actually, it was me who pursued him.”

A thick silence settles around us after my confession. Damian’s jaw clenches noticeably.

His grin widens. “No offense, man, but I’ve seen most men cower in front of you. And then there’s your wife, this fragile little thing. It’s pretty hard to picture her pursuing you.” He chuckles softly before turning his attention back to me. “So, River, tell me, what made you fall for him?”

“My private life is none of your business,” Damian says brusquely.

“Stop being nosy, Carlos,” The other man says, picking up on the tense atmosphere as he glances at Damian.

“Sorry, not sorry,” he grins, shrugging with a mischievous glint in his eye. “This guy’s a damn enigma. He barely says a word, and when he does, it’s all business. Never shows up to any of our parties. I won’t let this opportunity pass me by. So, River. What was it about him that made you fall for him?”

“I just couldn’t help it.” A soft smile graces my lips as I recount the memory of my eighteenth birthday. “It was my birthday. I couldn’t even remember anything else from that night because everything faded the second I laid eyes on him.” I stare into the distance, reminiscing. “I was drawn to him, like a moth to a flame. I don’t even know how—I just felt this... hollowness in him that resonated with the emptiness I carried within me.” And now I’m not even sure what I felt was ever real. My lower lip trembles.

The memory shouldn’t cut as deep as it does. But looking back on that day, all I feel is foolish. Naïve. I see it now that every touch, every kiss and every word he gave me in the past meant nothing.

If I hadn’t read those files that day, I still would’ve stupidly thought his kiss from earlier meant something more. But now I see for what is really is—lust.

That is the worst form of rejection. I know that now. Because I’m just a means to an end for the love of my life. I am just a body for him because I could never be something more. And that is the most heartbreaking thing for a woman who did nothing but worship her man. I blink back my tears.

Just then, Damian reaches out. Capturing my face with a hand, he bends his head and kisses me passionately.

Right there, in front of his business associates and a ballroom full of socialites, he kisses me possessively.

I hear someone clearing their throat, Carlos commenting how we are still in the honeymoon phase among few female gasps.

When he releases me, I stare at him in a daze. He tucks my curl before pressing his lips against mine once more, this time softly. “I ruined your lipstick again,” he says, breathing hard without an ounce of guilt.

I duck my face, flushing.

“Hal.” Damian speaks and immediately, Hal is by my side and is whisking me away from the group.

◆◆◆

After using the ladies’ room, I decided to leave the gentlemen to their conversation and wandered alone. Well, with Hal shadowing. Because Damian ordered him to.

My heart flutters with a mixture of emotions, and my cheeks tingle from the memory of his lips pressed against mine. I can’t believe he did that, right in front of everyone.

The music playing softly seems to fade away as I replay the kiss in my mind. His touch was firm yet tender. Was it an act to shield my vulnerable side? Or was it a move to stop me from humiliating myself by speaking about our past?

I touch my lips which are still tingling from his kiss.

I take a deep breath, trying to regain my composure. This is not the time for overthinking.

The walls are adorned with vibrant artwork, each piece reflecting the healing power of mental health support. I focus on studying them as if they hold the answers to the questions swirling in my mind.

My attention remains fixated on the artwork, contemplating its intricate details, when a new, deep captivating voice fills the room.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” the voice begins, laced with a hint of smile, “I must say, this gala is straight out of the sets of a movie, but it seems my eyes have been blessed with something equally exquisite.”

I glance around the room, and I can see heads turning toward the podium where the speaker stands, a figure shrouded in the dim light.

It’s a voice I don’t recognize, yet its rich timbre pulls my attention. A ripple of laughter spreads through the audience as he skillfully combines charm and wit.

I find myself curious enough to crane my neck to get a better view. The dim light of the ballroom had obscured his figure, but now he strides confidently into the spotlight. He is tall, with a commanding presence and with dark hair, piercing blue eyes, and rugged good looks. He looks close to Damian’s age. Early thirties.

“As I stand here,” he continues, his gaze sweeping the room, “I can’t help but admire the beauty that surrounds us, both in the art on these walls and in the faces gathered here tonight.” His gaze meets mine then and he holds the contact for a second too long.

I avert my eyes quickly, feeling a bit out of sort.

“But,” he adds with a subtle shift in tone, “as we come together for this noble cause, we must also recognize that beauty often conceals hidden depths, just as the grandest of galas can hide the struggles of those who attend.” The room grows still as his voice deepens, carrying a weight of sincerity that contrasts with his initial charm.

“You see,” he continues, “I, too, have experienced the shadows that can cloud the mind and heart. Mental health challenges do not discriminate. They touch the lives of many, even those who may seem to have it all.”

As he reveals his own vulnerability, the audience falls under a spell as he continues to talk. His words are a powerful reminder that no one is immune to the challenges of mental health, and that seeking help and support is a sign of strength, not weakness.

The handsome stranger keeps catching my eye. Each time our gazes inadvertently meet, it makes me feel out of depth.

When the uniformed server moves gracefully through the crowd, balancing a tray laden with glistening champagne flutes toward me, I grab one. The cool glass against my palm offers a welcome distraction.

Maybe I am reading too much into something that isn’t there. It can be a co-incidence. Maybe he didn’t mean to look at my way every so often. It might be one of those awkward situations where you lock eyes with a complete stranger over and over again without wanting to because they are merely in your line of sight.

Only one way to find out. I begin walking and don’t stop until I’m far out of his vision. If he is purposefully staring, he’ll have to turn his head to do so.

Taking a deep breath, I lift my head again to test him and find him staring straight at me. But this time, his lips are curved up in an amused smile.

I frown, my fingers tightening around the flute. It makes me so confused that I don’t notice the subtle shift in the air until a sudden, unexpected touch startles me. I gasp in surprise as a possessive and muscled arm snakes around my waist.

Startled, I turn to see Damian. His eyes hold a dark and unnerving intensity, a sense of danger that makes my heart race. His grip around my waist is unyielding, sending an unsettling chill down my spine.

Did he witness the stranger staring at me? My heart stops in my chest. If he sees something he doesn’t like, he could strip away the little bit of freedom I’ve managed to get from him. And I can’t afford that.

“You all right?” He asks and my brows crease with confusion. Then I remember that he is referring to our very public kiss from earlier. He knows I was flustered and was avoiding the group.

“Oh. Yes. Yes, I’m fine.”

“Sir,” Hal interjects. “I believe it’s time to take your seats at the table.”

Damian, though still studying me, seems to relent slightly. Without a word, he releases his hold on my waist, but his dark gaze remains fixed on me.

As Hal guides us toward our table, I can’t help but feel relieved. Damian and Hal are sharp. Nothing escapes them. They must’ve completely missed that guy’s blatant staring; otherwise, there’s no way they’d stay this calm after seeing it.

The night continues to unfold, the speeches progressing with heartfelt sincerity, each one highlighting the importance of mental health awareness and the value of volunteer work. While Damian chats with other couples who join our table, I find my attention wandering, drawn to a speaker who shares her experiences as a volunteer for the mental health charity.

An idea strikes me. I can do volunteer work. Her words resonate deeply with me, and I can’t help but admire her dedication. And this could also serve as a purpose for me to venture out of the house.

I needed a reason to go out of the house. He’d agreed to let me leave the house, but he’d never let me work. The thought of me being gone for hours would never sit right with him. Asking for that would be pointless. But this... this could be my chance.

Volunteering would help me. Damian had given my phone back, but I’m sure he’s tracking it alongside having all the activity monitored. So I can’t seek help through the phone but going out and volunteering would give me the opportunity to meet new people.

The thought of working and helping others fills me with spirit, I can only hope it would help me get out of my husband’s steel-like hold.

I glance at him and find him still engrossed in a conversation about his ongoing project.

This isn’t the time or place to tell him about my interest in volunteer work. He wouldn’t understand. He’s very intuitive and sharp. He knows how much I want to leave. I’ll have to carefully plan what I have to say before discussing it with him. Because one small mistake, and I can kiss my freedom goodbye.

And I need this. I need something to break the endless cycle of loneliness and misery. I won’t be seeing Summer anytime soon. In a way, this could be my own therapy—something to help me manage the stress, the anxiety. It’s the only way I’ll feel like I’m doing something with my life again.

After the speeches, dinner is served, and the atmosphere takes on a more relaxed tone. I excuse myself to use the restroom.

After washing my hands, I stand before the bathroom mirror and gaze at my reflection, taking in the elegant attire and the mask of composure I’ve worn throughout the evening.

It’s been a long night, a rollercoaster of emotions but being here, witnessing people share their journeys was worth it.

Tucking my hair, I give my reflection a once over before venturing out of the restroom.

The room seems more packed than before. It takes a moment to spot Damian across the sea of people. I find him standing at the farthest corner of the room. But he’s not alone.

A beautiful woman with fair skin and golden hair cascading down her shoulder, dressed in a shimmering crimson red is with him.

Something about her tall frame seems familiar. Heaviness grows and tightens my chest. He isn’t looking at the woman but there’s a slight tilt of his head that shows he’s listening to whatever she’s saying.

The lady in front of me who was obscuring my view walks away and that’s when I get to see her face entirely.

Gianna.

The sight shakes me and every bit of composure I had managed to maintain throughout the night. It slices open the old wound that took forever to heal.

In a blink of an eye, I transform into a vulnerable twenty-year-old girl who had her very first heartbreak. The grand ballroom fades into obscurity, and I find myself transported to a different place, a different era.

The woman beside Damian becomes a haunting reminder of a time I felt so lonely, humiliated and broken.

I feel my composure slipping away, my façade of strength crumbling. The present loses its grip, and I am left exposed and stripped bare.

“Ma’am?” It is Hal’s voice that pulls me out of my shock. He must have noticed something in my expression that makes him alert. “What’s wrong?” he asks sharply.

“I-I... It’s...”

“Ma’am?” Hal persists, his concern palpable as I stammer and falter in my attempt to explain. “I’ll get Mr. Montgomery.”

“No!” I choke, trembling as I hug my middle. My eyes involuntarily drift back to Damian and jerk when our gazes collide.

Swallowing thickly, I add frantically, “He’s busy. Can you please take me home?”

When my eyes dart toward Damian again, I find him striding purposefully in my direction.

Without thinking, I turn and flee, my steps carrying me away from the room full of people.

I hear Damian’s voice calling my name, mingling with Hal’s urgent shouts. But I don’t stop.

I run faster, leaving behind the man who not only torments me in my present but also haunts my past.

CHAPTER NINETEEN

Past

What is love?

I never knew it. Just read about it, heard about it and watched it unfold on the silver screen. They depict love as this all-consuming force, something that can turn your world upside down and make your heart race at the mere thought of someone.

I’ve often wondered if love is just a chemical reaction in the brain, a concoction of hormones and neurotransmitters that make us feel giddy and euphoric.

I still don’t know what love is exactly. All I know is that my heart skips a beat whenever Damian’s name pops up on my phone. My stomach flutters when his hand grazes mine unintentionally. And how my mind races whenever we are apart, longing for his presence.

It’s in the way my heart plummets when I see the crease of worry on his forehead. His emotions are tied to mine. When he’s upset, I feel it too, like his pain seeps into my soul. The worry on his face feels like a weight on my heart, and his stress steals my peace. I can’t help but ache with him, even when I know I can’t take his burden away.

And when he gives me his rare small smiles? It warms my soul. I feel like I conquered the whole world. Instances like when our fingers brush against each other as we reach for the same cup of coffee, or just simply talking while sharing meals are the moments I treasure.

It’s in the smallest moments, the brief touches, the lingering glances, and even the sound of his frustrated sighs that I find the purest happiness.

If this is love, then yes, I am profoundly, intensely, and irrevocably in love with Damian Montgomery.

If hanging on to his every word while he talks is love, then yes, I am in love with him.

If learning to cook his favorite food is love, then yes, I am in love with him.

If surfing the internet for hours to collect bad jokes just to make him smile is love, then yes, I am in love with him.

If this constant ache in my chest, this bittersweet longing is love, then yes, I am hopelessly, unconditionally, and undeniably in love with him.

Every fiber of my being is consumed by an overwhelming, all-encompassing, and passionate affection that defies rational explanation.

And he knows it. He has to after the night of stargazing when I kissed his cheek two weeks ago. He has to know, right?

We met for three more times over the last fifteen days and talked almost every day on the phone.

He didn’t ask why I came on to him. He didn’t rub it in or reprimand me. He simply acted as if it never happened or maybe it just didn’t matter that much to him.

Either way, I didn’t ask. I didn’t bring that night up during our phone calls or during our meetings. Maybe that makes me a coward but I don’t want to lose him.

If he had a problem with that night, he would’ve disappeared without a word. But he didn’t. Maybe that means something after all.

The confusion gnawed at me though, eating away at my insides. Every time we met after that night, it was like a double-edged sword, cutting through my heart with a mix of joy and pain.

For how long would I be able to survive like this? Sometimes I feel that rejection is a better outcome than being in the unknown.

“What are you thinking?”

Skylar watches me with narrowed eyes as she reclines on the plush, heated lounger beside me in the exclusive spa suite.

“N-nothing.” I breathe in the scent of lavender and eucalyptus mingling the air.

“We’re literally planning your twenty-first birthday, and you’re not even paying attention!”

Right. She is planning my birthday party which is still three months away.

This isn’t the first time I’ve been coerced into hanging out with them, but unlike previous occasions, something is different this time. This time I am comfortable. I know these girls now. They are talkative—beyond talkative, really—but strangely, I don’t mind.

Damian wasn’t available to meet this weekend so when Skylar invited me for a girls’ night, I didn’t say no. Because the thought of spending time with Skylar and her friends no longer felt as daunting as it once did.

Perhaps it’s the need for companionship that has softened my reluctance, or maybe, just maybe, Skylar and her friends aren’t as bad as I initially perceived.

“It’s going to be epic!” Skylar says, beaming. “I mean, how could it not be with me in charge? I’ll make sure it’s unforgettable.”

“I-I’m not really into parties, Skylar.”

Her two friends, who had been enjoying their own conversation, now turn their attention to the discussion.

She rolls her eyes. “River, don’t be a total snooze-fest!”

“But—”

“No excuses, girl,” she says dismissively.

My protests are momentarily silenced as Maria grabs her by the arm and excitedly says, “Skylar, come on! Let’s snap and insta this moment!” They start clicking pictures, flaunting their plush robes in pastel colors.

They spend good thirty minutes doing that while I lay back and close my eyes. It’s a mistake because Damian’s face flashes in my mind.

The whole day went by and I didn’t hear from him. I sent him a text in the noon, reminding him to not skip lunch but it went unanswered.

Usually, I get a one word reply if he is busy but today, I got nothing.

Is he okay? I have Hal’s phone number as well. Damian had given it to me in case he was out of reach and there’s an emergency.

This is also an emergency, right? There’s no harm in a simple text inquiring about Damiam. I reach for my phone with every intention of texting Hal when Skylar shouts on top of her lungs, making me jump.

“What the fuck!”

I glance over to find a very pissed and very red Skylar shaking with fury as she stares down her phone screen. The other two girls stand on either side of her, their faces grim.

Without saying a word, one of the girls gently ushers Skylar to sit down on the nearby lounger. The other quickly grabs a drink and hands it to her, their concern evident.

Skylar snatches the drink from her hand, barely looking up. She takes a sip, her eyes still fixed on the phone screen.

I wonder what could have upset her so much. I watch, concerned as they try to console her. But Skylar exclaims again, “How on earth did she snag it, Maria?”

“I have no freaking clue, but we totally underestimated her.”

I watch, stupefied as Skylar’s eyes fill with unshed tears. Unable to contain myself any longer I ask, “What happened, Maria? Why is she so upset?”

Maria sighs, “There’s this model. She and Skylar participated in a beauty pageant this year and she ended up winning.”

Skylar interrupts, still sniffling, “She wasn’t even supposed to be in it! She’s, like, three years older than us! Seriously, it’s like they just bent the rules for her.”

The other girl rubs her back. “Yeah, I feel you, girl.” Then she looks at me. “It’s totally unfair. She just came out of nowhere and boom! She swoops in, stealing the crown.”

This is news to me. I had no idea Skylar participated in beauty pageants.

Maria pushes to her feet and starts pacing. “And, like, let’s be real here, she’s got all these connections and a gazillion Instagram followers. She had an unfair advantage from the get-go.”

“Just like Skylar… right?” I ask in confusion, earning glares from everyone around me. From the little I’ve overheard, it sounds like she’s just as big on social media, with all the right connections to go with it.

“I don’t misuse my power and connections, River!” Skylar all but screams and I wince.

Maria explains, “She pulled off this absolutely insane stunt last year that went viral, like, worldwide viral. It was for charity, and it exploded all over social media.”

Skylar chimes in, still seething. “She gained more followers than me in a single day!”

The other girl isn’t stopping either. “She got famous. Everybody loved her. She began working with major brands, her name popping up everywhere.” Then she mentions how much she makes from just one paid partnership post on her social media account, a sum that completely astounds me.

They rant some more about how her career took off and she hit it big in such short time.

“But that’s in the past, right? Why is she so upset now?”

“Because this is where it gets crazier. There’s this limited-edition dress—only three of ‘em in the entire world. Skylar’s been obsessing over it for months, posting about it non-stop. She asked her dad to pull some strings and get it for her. But today? This bitch shows up at some high-profile gala in New York, wearing the exact dress.”

“She is a fucking stalker who stole my dress!” Skylar throws herself in her friend’s arms.

I watch helplessly as she cries. I’m not sure what to say, but I know I can’t just stand there. So, I move closer, crouching in front of her, gently taking her hands in mine. She looks up at me, eyes red, and I start speaking softly. “Skylar... I get it. That dress was everything to you, and it really sucks that it didn’t work out. But hey, one dress isn’t going to change anything, right?”

She stays quiet, so I press on. “I know you wanted that dress, and I’m sorry that it slipped through your fingers. But there’s always going to be something else, something new, something better. Life’s too short to let one thing knock you down. So take a second to be upset, sure. But then get over it. You don’t need a dress to show everyone how amazing you are.”

“You’re right.” She sniffles.

“You are beautiful, Skylar. And unique in your own way. Don’t let anyone affect you this much.”

She gives me a small smile.

I smile back and stand but she pulls me to sit beside her. Grabbing her phone, she thrusts it in my hand. “Look at her pictures and tell me.”

My brow furrows. “Tell you what?”

“Does she look better than me?”

I shake my head. “Skylar, you shouldn’t compare—”

“For my peace of mind! Please!”

I sigh and glance down at the screen, my eyes widening. The model stands tall, her long blonde hair flowing, exuding beauty and confidence. In the middle of the red carpet, she commands the cameras’ attention effortlessly.

But it’s the dress that steals the show. The limited-edition gown clings to her like a second skin, draping in rich, midnight blue silk. The color is so deep and beautiful, it’s no wonder Skylar was so upset over it.

When I don’t say anything, Skylar swipes at the screen to show me another picture. The closeup shot highlights her dress. Against her pale complexion, the dress appears even more striking.

“River?” Skylar hisses near my ear.

“She is very beautiful.”

“What?”

I grimace when she shouts. Then, “Pay attention. Here.” She begins swiping on the screen frustratingly.

I’m about to tell her to stop when one particular picture makes my heart sink. I find myself snatching the phone from her.

In this picture, the model isn’t alone. Her smile here is brighter than any of her solo pictures as she stands pressing against a man wearing a tux that accentuates his tall, muscular body.

The longer I stare, the more the pain twists inside me. With every passing second, the ache becomes unbearable like a gaping hole has opened up in my chest and every breath I take only makes it worse.

Because the man she’s pressed against is the love of my life.

Damian.

With trembling finger, I swipe and find another picture that shatters me. They look like a hot couple on a magazine as he peers down at her with a soft smile tilting his lips.

Something breaks inside me.

He gave her his rare, precious smile. A smile that he doesn’t give me easily. A smile that I find myself always yearning for. A smile that I lay awake at night thinking about, replaying it over and over in my mind, hoping to see it more often. A smile that was supposed to be mine and mine alone.

“River?” Skylar’s touch on my shoulder startles me.

“Y-yeah?”

Skylar’s puzzled expression deepens as she brushes away a tear from my cheek. “Why are you crying?”

I touch my wet cheek numbly and realize tears have been streaming down my face without my awareness.

“Do you know her?”

When I stare dumbfoundedly, she elaborates. “Gianna. That’s her.” She spits out her name. “Did she cross you too?”

I’m too heartbroken to reply. Too sick to address what’s in front of me. My eyes zero in on Gianna’s palm on Damian’s chest as she holds his gaze. I cover my face with my hands.

“What’s wrong, River?” Skylar asks, her voice laced with genuine concern.

I try to control my tears, willing them to stay hidden. Rubbing my eyes, I muster a shaky smile and respond, “Oh, it’s n-nothing.”

The girls exchange worried glances. It’s clear they can sense something isn’t right.

Skylar isn’t easily fooled by my attempt to brush it off. She presses further, “Are you sure, River? You don’t look okay.”

I bite my lip, struggling to keep my composure. “Yeah, really, Skylar, I’m fine. Just feeling a little tired, that’s all.”

“But you started crying the moment you saw Gianna—” Her eyes widen. “Wait. Is this about the man she is with?”

I shake my head vehemently as panic sets in. Skylar watches me closely, concern deepening in her eyes. “River, you have to talk to me. Is it... about him? Is that what’s been bothering you?”

“No!” I choke. I shake my head again. “It’s just that… The d-dress… It-It reminded me of the gown I had which was ruined because of… um something.”

She gasps. “OMG! Seriously?”

I swallow thickly and nod. Desperate to escape, I babble out an excuse, “Skylar, I just remembered I left something important at home. I need to go get it. I’ll catch up with you guys later, okay?”

Skylar watches me for a moment longer but she eventually says, “All right, River, but call me if you need anything.”

I nod. With that, I change into my clothes and make a hasty exit, my heart heavy.

Twenty minutes later, with swollen eyes and a broken heart, I let myself into my apartment. I spend an hour in the shower just to wash off the bad feeling spreading inside of me then get into bed, feeling my soul utterly shattered. Sleep doesn’t come.

So I send him a string of messages. Then call him several times. Then wait. Every few minutes, like a hopeless fool, I reach for my phone, heart pounding with hope. Thinking, maybe, just maybe, there’s a reply from him, a missed call that slipped past my notice. I clutch the phone in trembling hands, silently begging, praying to whatever might be listening for some sign—anything—from him.

Nothing.

What is love? I wonder again. Love has a way of pushing us to do things we never imagined ourselves doing. It can make you reckless. Can destroy your ability to think and force you to do something that you would never ever do. Like climbing mountains, and braving storms just to be near the object of your affection.

The little voice of reason in my head keeps warning me that I’m making a mistake, but the shattered pieces of my heart push me forward. They urge me to take that step, to do it. And so, I do. I do something so far out of my comfort zone, it terrifies me to my core.

The next morning, I book the earliest flight to New York. I don’t know why I’m going, or what I even expect to find when I get there. All I know is that I can’t stay here anymore, not with this ache in my chest.

I’m helpless, completely at the mercy of my love, of the man who’s torn me apart without even knowing it.

The burn in my chest has only grown worse since I boarded the plane. Every time my phone buzzes, I avoid it—Dad’s calls, Skylar’s messages—all of it. What could I even say to them? That I’m drowning in a love so consuming, so painful, that I couldn’t bear the thought of him with another woman? That I couldn’t sit still, not even for a second longer, since I saw the man who owns my heart standing next to someone else, touching her the way he’s never touched me?

Throughout the flight, I felt strangely detached, like I wasn’t fully present. My body was on autopilot. I felt like a ghost haunting my own existence.

I couldn’t help but wonder: does love really have the power to inflict this much pain? Is it supposed to make you feel as if your heart is being mercilessly torn apart, and your very soul is being crushed beneath its weight? The ache was so profound, it was as if every fiber of my being was on fire, searing with grief.

Until today, I’d only known the bittersweet ache of love—the kind that hurts so good, you smile through the pain because it reminds you that you’re still alive. But I never expected it could hurt like this.

Now I understand why Dad’s always been so empty, so alone. The way he’s never really moved on since Mom passed. I get it now. This is what it feels like to lose someone you love. If Damian and Gianna are together, then I must let him go.

The thought of never having him in my life, of not being able to see him or talk to him, feels like my heart is being ripped out. Every time I think about it, tears flood my eyes. It’s like I’m losing a piece of myself, just like Dad. And I’m scared it’s happening to me now.

I tracked down the address of the place where the gala was held last night through the internet.

I pay the taxi driver after he drops me off at The Ritz-Carlton. Overwhelmed, my heart is thumping in my chest as I enter the grand lobby.

As I walk further into the lobby, I can’t ignore the subtle, curious glances from other patrons, their eyes momentarily fixed on me before returning to their conversations.

I feel small in my plain jeans and top, utterly out of place among the well-dressed guests and the lavish elegance of the hotel. I hadn’t thought about how I looked when I left my apartment; my mind was too overwhelmed to care. My face is bare, no makeup to hide the redness of my swollen eyes. And my curls are tied in a messy ponytail.

The stares heighten my self-awareness and I grip the sling of my purse over my shoulder with both clammy hands.

I force myself to walk toward the reception desk, my heart hammering with each step. My chest feels tight, and I try desperately to mask the growing anxiety that’s threatening to take over.

My voice quivers as I inquire, “E-excuse me, I’m looking for someone. I heard he might be staying here. His name is Damian Montgomery.”

The receptionist, impeccably dressed, takes a long look at my face before sighing. She turns to her computer screen, types something then confirms, “Yes, Mr. Montgomery is staying with us.”

My heart quickens at the confirmation. When I ask for his room number, she purses her lips. “I apologize, ma’am, but I’m unable to share any information regarding our guests’ accommodations.”

I bite my lower lip, wrestling with disappointment. My voice quivers as I muster the courage to ask, “Okay, can you tell me whether he is staying alone?”

My mind fills with the image of Damian and Gianna together. In the same bed. The idea of him spending the night with her is torture.

“I’m sorry, but I can’t provide that information,” she says with a tight smile.

My heart sinks deeper as she neither confirms nor denies it. In a last-ditch effort, I gather my resolve and admit, “I know him. I’m his…” What am I? A fool, trying to claim something that was never mine. I’m the one who thinks I have any right to question him about Gianna. I’m the one who’s here to beg him for a chance to be with him. I am a… “Friend,” I finally whisper. “I’m his friend.”

Her expression remains impassive. “I understand, but I still can’t disclose any details.”

I lean forward gripping the desk with desperation. “Can you at least inform him that I-I am here. My name is River Gibson.”

“Mr. Montgomery is not available at the moment, but I will be sure to inform him of your presence as soon as he returns.”

I thank her then walk over and sink into a quiet corner of the lobby, my eyes locked on the entrance.

The longer I wait, the worse my anxiety gets, making it hard to breathe. What am I going to say to him? I didn’t think this through. I came here on a whim. A stupid, impulsive decision.

I’m just a friend. He doesn’t owe me anything. I don’t even know how to explain why I’m here without sounding like a crazy person.

He’s going to look at me like I’m out of my mind. And then he’ll push me away. I’ll lose him. But he’s not mine to lose.

I imagine him walking through the door and try to think of what to say. But nothing that comes to mind sounds rational. Every sentence I try to form only makes it worse.

My hands shake as I try to calm myself, but the panic won’t stop.

When three hours pass, I can’t help but reach for my phone. My trembling fingers dial his number, and my heart races in hope, but it dwindles when he doesn’t answer.

I call him again and again, but he doesn’t respond. And the silence on his end suffocates my already dying spirit.

Hours melt away like the tears that stream down my cheeks. Morning turns to noon, and noon turns to evening, and still, I sit in the lobby. My body weakens and my eyes dry up but my will remains unbroken.

I don’t remember the last time I ate anything but the emptiness in my stomach is overshadowed by the pain in my heart.

And then, someone places a small bottle of water and a pack of biscuits near me. I glance up, my eyes connecting with the receptionist from earlier. She offers a small smile.

I manage a shaky smile in her direction, offering a silent thank you. I reach for the bottle with shaky hands, the cap slipping slightly as I try to open it. I take a sip, the cool liquid easing the dryness in my throat. I glance at the biscuits, but my stomach churns at the thought of eating.

She leaves as quickly as she came and I continue to wait.

An hour later, two men in security uniforms walk up to me.

“Excuse me, miss,” one of them says. “We noticed you’ve been here for a while. Is everything okay?”

My voice trembles as I reply, “I’m just waiting for someone. I’ll be leaving soon, I promise.”

“I understand, ma’am. But it might be more comfortable for you to wait in the restaurant or return at a later time.”

“No, I-I can’t leave,” I stammer, as I clutch the seat. “I need to wait here. I’m— I’m fine, really. I’ll be okay.”

The man’s expression softens, but there’s no mistaking the firmness in his voice when he speaks. “I’m sorry, ma’am, but you can’t stay here any longer. We’ll have to ask you to leave.”

“Please, just a little longer,” I plead.

But the security guard doesn’t relent. “I’m afraid that’s not possible, ma’am.”

I hug the purse to my chest and push to my feet, my unsteady legs protesting after hours of sitting. As I rise, a sudden wave of dizziness engulfs me, and my vision blurs. I grip the edge of the chair to steady myself.

I take a deep breath, waiting for the dizziness to pass. Slowly, the spinning fades, and my vision clears, though my body still feels heavy with exhaustion. I gather what little strength I have left and push myself to walk toward the exit.

Swaying a bit, I spot a restaurant around the corner. But before heading there, I lean against the wall of a building. My head lolls back as I close my aching eyes, taking in deep, labored breaths in an attempt to regain my strength. I wrap my bare arms around my middle, shivering.

I tilt my head to glance at the restaurant. My stomach churns with hunger, and I can’t ignore the hollow pain gnawing at my insides. I feel so weak and tired, if I don’t go in there, I’m afraid I’ll collapse right here.

Inhaling deeply, I straighten again, wincing when my feet protests.

I somehow trudge my way to the restaurant and push open the door.

I’m met with the posh interior with soft lighting and sophisticated atmosphere. I pause for a brief moment, the tantalizing aroma of food enveloping me. The scent alone is enough to send my stomach into painful contractions.

Before I can take another step, a hostess approaches. “Welcome. Do you have a reservation?” she inquires, her tone laced with a hint of skepticism as she stares at my disheveled appearance.

My head swims, and I can hardly find the strength to speak. I shake my head weakly, my vision blurring, on the verge of fainting.

“Ma’am?” she prompts and I glance at her.

“I’m afraid we can’t squeeze you in. We’re packed as you can see.” She motions toward the tables.

I lick my dry lips as I gaze around. I spot an empty table and open my mouth to tell her when I see him.

Damian.

I must’ve swayed because an alarmed “Ma’am?” pierces the air, drawing eyes over to us. Among them a pair of eyes belongs to the love of my life who is currently occupying a center table with the beautiful Gianna as his date.

CHAPTER TWENTY

Our gazes collide. If he is surprised by my presence, he doesn’t show it. Damian’s eyes are trained on me as his lips move. Hal who was standing in the background, immediately bends to listen to his boss then begins striding in my direction.

Following Damian’s line of sight, Gianna looks in my direction. I can’t help but notice her beautiful dress and his powerful suit. They are dressed up, which further shows this is anything but a casual dinner.

“Sorry but you’ll have to leave.” The hostess informs. “As I said we are busy and you don’t have a reservation—”

Hal stops beside me in that instant, his hard gaze firmly fixed on the hostess. “Leave,” he says in a curt voice and her cheeks flush. She mumbles an apology and hastily departs.

My knees tremble and I stagger. Hal’s arms come around me. My fingers bunch in the sleeves of his black suit jacket as I hold on for dear life.

“You shouldn’t be here, ma’am.” His strong hand finds my trembling shoulders, but I can’t bring myself to move.

“Damian,” I whisper, the name escaping my lips almost involuntarily.

Hal’s eyes soften. “You look deathly pale. I’ll take you to the hotel where the boss is staying.”

Without waiting for my response, Hal starts hauling me along with him toward the doors. As we start to move away from Damian, my tired mind races. I steal a glance back at him. He’s still in his chair, his attention fully devoted to the model beside him. He hasn’t moved an inch to check on me.

The pain pierces my heart. Damian, whom I loved with all my lonely heart, seems untroubled by my presence here. The ache in my chest deepens, the betrayal almost too much to bear.

I feel sick. And so stupid. I just made a fool out of myself for the man who doesn’t even care about me. And I’m just letting his bodyguard lead me back to his hotel as if I belong to him.

A fierce determination wells up within me. If this love is killing me, I’ll end it in the most brutal way possible. I have to confront him, lay it all bare, and see for myself what I truly mean to him. Which is nothing, evidently. This is my punishment. I deserve to be punished after all the foolish things I’ve done. I know that now. But he can’t have both ways. He can’t continue to be my friend, talk to me daily, and then treat me like a stranger in front of his conquest.

Damian is like a slow poison that I can’t stop devouring even when I know it can end me.

It’s all my fault. Every bit of it. I was that awkward, motherless child who always felt like she didn’t belong, always invisible to everyone. I lived in the shadows, with a voice that often went unheard. All I ever wanted was someone to see me, to care even a little. So, when the first man looked my way, when he gave me that small, fragile bit of attention, my heart—starved for love—clung to him. I fell, completely and utterly, for the man I thought understood the ache of loneliness as deeply as I did.

But I was wrong. He doesn’t love me. Not even as a friend. His cold behavior tonight made it clear. A lone, heart-wrenching sob escapes me.

“Ma’am,” Hal tries to console me awkwardly.

With a trembling voice, I tell Hal, “I’m okay.” My words are a lie, but I can’t let this moment of weakness consume me.

I turn toward the table where Damian sits. Hal’s hand closes around my elbow as I take a step forward.

“It’s not what it looks like.” When I just stare at him, he sighs. “Come with me, boss will explain everything later.”

“He can do it now.”

Hal doesn’t stop me when I pull my arm away. Surprisingly, he doesn’t stop me as I start toward their table. When I reach the destination, Gianna is the first one to look up at me.

“Damian…” I croak, hating the pain in my voice.

He finally tilts his head to stare at me. The night eyes which used to be warm and intense are now studying me as if I’m a stranger. The chill in his gaze pierces my heart.

“Do you know her?” Gianna asks Damian.

I swallow thickly and wait for his answer. He doesn’t address Gianna’s curiosity and asks sharply, “What are you doing here?”

I flinch, swallowing hard. A tear slips down my cheek as I stare at the man who made me lose all the self-respect I once had. “I-I came for you.”

I force a smile when I notice people staring at us. Damian’s face remains expressionless but his jaw is rigid.

“Does your father know you’re here?”

By noon when Dad’s calls became frequent and his messages urgent, I told him I was going out with my new friends from school. While he knows I’m okay, he doesn’t know I’m in New York. I shake my head.

“Hal,” he snaps abruptly and Hal immediately appears by my side.

“Who is she?” I finally blurt.

“Excuse me?” Gianna raises her eyebrows.

“Are you seeing her?” I ask again.

“It’s none of your business.” Damian’s cold words wrench every bit of hope I had and crush it mercilessly.

Gianna looks between the two of us. “Damian, do you know this girl?”

“No,” he says, stabbing my weak heart with his denial. Then he glares at Hal.

At Hal’s touch on my elbow, I cry out, “No!”

My blurry gaze shifts from Hal to Gianna and then back to Damian’s cold, harsh eyes. “As I’m unwanted here, I can see myself out.” My chin trembles as I take a step back, then spin on my heel and run.

This is what I wanted, wasn’t it? I needed to see it for myself, to have the proof that would crush my love. And now I have it.

But did I succeed? In dismay, my heart whimpers, no. Damian still owns my heart. The love I’ve held for him, fierce and unwavering, has been reduced to a cruel joke. Still, this stupid, shattered heart is beating for him. He will never be mine, and the realization is a searing ache that gnaws at the very core of my being.

The whole day I thought I was hurting but this pain… this pain is insurmountable, and I wonder how I’ll ever heal from this wound.

My face twists in a sob. I clench my jaw, trying to stifle the sound, but it escapes in a quiet, choked gasp. Rubbing the back of my hand over my wet, swollen eyes, I wipe the tears and push the door open before stumbling outside.

The sounds of the city engulf me once more—honking horns and bustling crowd.

Blindly, I choose a random direction and start running. I don’t know how I get the energy but I don’t stop. My breaths come out in ragged sobs, and tears stream down my cheeks.

I’m running and turning down the unfamiliar streets, each corner leading me further into the labyrinth of this bustling metropolis.

The onslaught of tears makes it hard to see where I’m headed, but I keep going, fighting the urge to faint, driven by the pain in my heart, determined to increase the distance between me and the place where all of my hopes shattered.

My lungs burn, protesting against my speed and I welcome the sting. Anything, anything at all is welcome if it can pull me from this torment.

I can’t believe how utterly foolish I’ve been, how incredibly naive to let myself fall in love with him. I allowed my heart to be entangled in a web of emotions, and I ended up making a complete fool out of myself.

I flew thousands of miles to see him, to confess my feelings, to lay my heart bare, thinking he felt the same way. How could I have been so blind? So foolish to let myself be consumed by someone who didn’t care, someone who never intended to reciprocate my feelings.

He didn’t even care about me as a friend. He could’ve let me down gently. He could’ve respected our bond and handled that gracefully. Instead, he ripped my heart apart and trampled on it by refusing to even know me.

At that thought, I fall apart. My shoulders shake with each heart-wrenching sob, and the anguish within me spills over, unrestrained and uncontrollable. My pace slows, and I come to a stop, unable to continue. My chest heaves with sobs.

The thought of Damian with her, staring at her, smiling at her, kissing her heightens my helplessness. I cry openly as I stare up at the sky. “I-I… d-don’t even have the right to be j-jealous.” I sob the last word.

I cover my face with both hands, my stomach twisting in tight knots. I was an idiot. I worked up the courage to tell him I love him and ended up being rejected in the coldest way possible.

A deep, low voice calls out my name.

I startle, glancing behind me to find Damian, his strides long and confident as he comes toward me.

No!

I can’t handle any more pain. And that’s what I’ll get if I spend even a fraction of a second with him. So I break into a run again.

I become acutely aware of the heavy sound of his footsteps against the asphalt.

Sniffling, I use all my strength to lose him and turn the corner but the rhythm of his approaching footsteps is like a relentless drumbeat.

He calls out my name again, and agony spreads through me. Why can’t he leave me alone? Isn’t what happened enough? I got my punishment. I paid the price for loving him. I paid it dearly and now I am empty. I have nothing left in me. Absolutely nothing.

The footfalls draw nearer, and I can almost feel the tension resonating through him, sending shivers up my spine.

“Leave me alone,” I whimper, knowing he can’t hear me as I turn another block.

Suddenly, a hand grasps my upper arm. In a single, fluid motion, I’m yanked around, colliding with his strong chest. Immediately, I pull away, my attempt weak and trembling. But he wraps his arm around my waist, halting my movements.

Crying softly, I try again, this time with a little more strength. But still, he doesn’t loosen his grip, and the desperation in my chest tightens.

The ache in my heart turns to rage, and I try once more—this time with a force I didn’t know I had left. My hands push against his chest, weakly at first, and then with more force, pounding my fists against him, as if I could somehow beat the pain out of me. I start sobbing.

He simply stands there. His grip remains firm, and he doesn’t attempt to restrain me. Instead, he allows me to release my frustration and pain.

With each blow I deliver, my sobs grow louder and more desperate. The tears blur my vision, but I can still see the determination in his eyes, a silent promise that he won’t let go, that he’s here.

He keeps holding me until I am spent. My bowed head touches his chest as I take shuddering breaths.

“I told you I didn’t want to hurt you.” He speaks finally.

But you did.

Shaking my head in misery, I say, “L-let me go.”

“You should’ve stayed away,” he continues, cutting me with his words.

“I know,” I admit hoarsely.

I can feel his eyes roving intensely over my face. “But you didn’t.”

“I didn’t.” I agree, still not looking at him. “You should go back to your date.” I choke out.

Damian’s free hand slides up and into my ponytail. Grabbing it, he tugs, bringing my eyes back to him. “Why did you come to New York, River?”

He asked the same question earlier but this time my answer is different. “Because I love you.”

The moment the words leave my lips, his gaze blazes to life, glinting with dark possession. And in an instant, his mouth claims mine.

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

Present

I have to get out of here.

Gianna is here.

A burning kind of pain spreads through me. The sting of betrayal is so startling, that it almost makes me stop. But I have to get out of here.

One look at Gianna's stunning face was all it took to drag me back to that awful moment two years ago when I stumbled upon them sharing an intimate dinner.

I had made a complete fool out of myself for Damian two years ago.

I used to wonder if it was all worth it in the end. After the pain and suffering of that day in New York, I got what I wanted. Damian.

A rush of images floods my mind. Damian chasing me, me unleashing all the anger and hurt I’d been holding inside on him then him kissing me… All hot and fierce and so intense as he kissed, no… as he devoured me ruthlessly as if he couldn’t get enough.

I was so blind that I believed every word that came out of his mouth. I trusted him so fully when he explained about Gianna. And I was so happy, so in love, so desperate to have him, so, so, pathetically love-starved that I didn’t question him.

He never gave me a single chance to ever doubt him from that day on and I was sated with that. I was all he saw. Or at least that’s what he made me believe.

But today, the last bit of my trust in him shattered when I saw them together.

The scars I thought had faded suddenly pulsed with life, the stitches on the old wound coming undone.

I am utterly shaken up inside, struggling to maintain control as I run. So desperate to escape it all that I barely draw in a few shallow breaths.

As I turn a corner, a sliver of dim light beckons from an ajar door. Without hesitation, I slip into the room and turn to push the door close, eager to be alone. But just as the door starts closing, it meets a forceful hand blocking its path.

My head flies up and I freeze. Night eyes lock onto mine, intense and dangerous. Damian. The shock of his presence reverberates through me, and I gasp, caught off guard.

He did it again. Just like two years ago, he left her to chase after me. But this time, it doesn’t give me any satisfaction. Because the hurt I felt out there, the disappointment in realizing that I come second to his dear Gianna has hardened my heart. I know now that my feelings don’t matter to him at all or he wouldn’t have allowed her to be close to him. He humiliated me again.

“Let go.” I jerk the door, trying to close it but his steel-like grip doesn’t give. Instead, his fingers take hold of my wrist that was still latched on the door. “If you think you can drag me out there—” Easily he twists my fingers off the door and pushes me back into the small room and steps inside, kicking the door shut behind us.

It takes a second to register that we are in a coat closet and another to find that Damian has backed me against the wall.

My heart takes a quivering dive into my stomach as I stare at the cold sting of his eyes. “What are you doing here?” I lash out.

He grabs my chin and lifts it. “You’re upset,” he says grimly.

I jerk my face away from his touch. “Does it matter?”

It doesn’t. His silence is answer enough. As if he read my thought, his jaw tenses.

“You wanted to come here, angel.” He reminds me.

“Yes, but I didn’t, not once ask for you to bring your little side piece here and parade her around!”

He frowns. “Who are you talking about?”

The audacity of this man. I can’t believe him. “Cut the performance, okay? You are well aware of why I am so upset! You saw me watching you with your whore!”

In a blink, he is jerking me to his chest, his grip around my nape strong. “Gianna? She is not my anything and you know it.”

“Do I?” I smile at him coldly. Breaking free from his clutches, I say, “Get out of my way. I’ve had enough of your bullshit and I am tired.”  I sidestep him to go to the door but he seizes my elbow and spins me around to face him again.

Narrowing his eyes, he studies me. “You never used to be so rude before, angel.”

“Learned from the best, darling.” I mock him, giving myself a small pat on the shoulder for shocking him. It’s clear he is stunned, judging by the raised brows.

See? This is what happens when you play with others’ feelings. They retaliate. How does it feel, husband? Watching your docile wife be defiant? I taunt him through my eyes.

Then he shocks me when his mouth curves into a smile. And there it is. That flutter in my chest followed by a bittersweet ache whenever I see him smiling. Even after what he’s done to me, his smile still has the power to take my breath away. I shake myself out of the thoughts.

“What?” I snap.

He shrugs a shoulder, the movement so casual it almost makes him seem human. But I know better. He’s not human. He’s the devil incarnate.

“I’m enjoying this new side of yours. It’s… cute.”

A hot flush stains my cheeks. “It’s not cute! And this isn’t new. I was always like this.”

“I beg to differ.” He reaches out to touch my heated cheek with his cool fingertips.

“You don’t know me, Damian,” Or you wouldn’t have hurt me tonight like you did. “And I certainly don’t know you or anything about you. We were strangers before and we are strangers now.”

“Not in our bed,” he says smoothly.

“But that ship has sailed too!”

“Is that a challenge, angel?” He takes a step forward.

“I’m not your angel!”

“Come here, and I’ll show you.” Though the words were a command, he didn’t wait for me to obey. His strong hands found my waist, pulling me firmly against him. He then buries his face in the sensitive nook of my neck, “that you are my sweet,” he kisses my neck, “innocent but eager,” another kiss, “angel.”

I grow still when I feel his hardness against my lower belly. I push at his chest. “I refuse to be your plaything!” I keep pushing until he releases me. “If you are so desperate to get laid, you might want to go back to Gianna because this innocent but eager angel has had enough—” His mouth claims mine with the kind of kiss that can only be defined as punishment. And all hell breaks loose inside me. Only Damian can do this to me. Punishing me and yet managing to ignite a fire in me.

In the chaos of my emotions, my senses go crazy. The surprise, the intense fury, this deep-seated disgust, and my lust for this man all crashing into each other. I bring my hands up to push him away but he covers and flattens them against his hard chest while his tongue sensually slides against mine, making me quiver.

His heart is slamming hard against my palm. It means I’m not the only one affected here…

This is wrong! Don’t let him do this to you!

Common sense kicks in, and I squirm and wriggle against him to break free. I fight him, my fingernails digging in his chest. He groans deep in his throat and I find myself fighting harder while kissing him back now.

With a growl, I bite his lower lip hard. Arousal dampens my panties when he lets out a masculine growl and deepens the kiss some more. I don’t know who’s winning and who’s losing. My bites weren’t supposed to turn him on more!

Damian and I never fought in bed. Sex was always about him dominating me and me submitting to him because I loved it just like that. But now… this sparring has ignited something new. Something that is untamable.

My head tilts backward as he leaves my hands to draw me tightly against him. The action arches my back and I shiver when my pebbled nipples crush into the solid wall of his chest.

A sudden knock shatters the moment. We break apart abruptly and I fall heavily against the wall behind me. I stare dizzily up at Damian, breasts heaving, body shaking, and lips most probably swollen.

“Don’t… do that again!” I manage to spit out between breaths.

His nostrils flair and the predatory look in his black eyes sharpens as he drags me back against him to do just that when there’s another knock. This time followed by Hal’s voice.

“Leave.” He snaps, silencing him. Then glares down at me before lowering his head. I cover his lips with my palm.

“Don’t manipulate me into forgetting what happened by kissing me!”

He removes my hand from his mouth with a frown. “Gianna is not and has never been my lover. When are you going to believe it, woman?”

“Then what was she doing out there with you? Clinging to you like a snake to a tree!”

He dares to laugh. Damian. Laughed. Before I can get over that, he breaks the moment by speaking. “We didn’t cross paths in years. She came over to say hello. That’s all.”

I scoff and he grips my upper arms. “I’m your husband, River. Yours. It’s your finger I put a ring on. You share my bed and yet you are obsessed with her because I had dinner with her years ago.”

Yes, I am obsessed. Because I saw you smiling at her your precious smile. It still hurts to think that you could easily give it to her when it was me who craved it. Who deserved it. Who lived and dreamed for it.

I lower my eyes. But he is having none of it. With fingers under my chin, he lifts my gaze back to him. “You need to get over it, angel. This is not healthy.”

I stiffen. “You are blind if you can’t see the naked desire in her eyes for you!”

“And what do you see in my eyes, angel?” Never missing a beat, he continues, “Can you see the same in my eyes for her?”

No, I admit to myself with a little shudder. Because that would’ve simply killed me.

“Well, that’s a relief,” He drawls reading my expression. “You still have little faith in me.”

“The jury is still out on that.”

He sighs. “What do you want me to do, River? Be rude to her?”

“No. But you know how I feel about her, the least you can do is maintain distance to respect your wife.” Then I smile ruefully. “But then, you never truly saw me as your wife.”

He doesn’t answer immediately and it hurts. When my eyes start burning, I move toward the door again. This time I’m successful in opening it. But only for a muscular arm to reach over my head to slam it shut.

I stand there, cheeks hot, body trembling from head to toe—in anger or anxiousness I don’t know. His domineering closeness as he stands behind me isn’t helping either.

“You think I want to ruin your father.” He speaks blankly. I stiffen. “You think I had ulterior motives to marry you.” With a hand beneath my breasts, he pulls me back to his chest. “And you’re not wrong.” I jerk but he tightens his grip. My head gets tilted when he buries his face in my hair. “But it doesn’t change the fact that you are my wife. And I intend to keep it that way.”

“For how long?” I grit my teeth.

“For however long I wish.”

“Why?” I whisper in dismay.

“Because I want you. Only you. And I know you want me just as much.”

“That doesn’t mean I will jump into bed with you, Damian.”

“You are not leaving anytime soon. Your friend’s well-being is in your hands. So while you’re with me, why don’t you allow yourself to have me?”

I shiver. Damian lets out a satisfied grunt and lowers his head to the side of my neck. Another shiver courses through me as his lips brush against the sensitive skin, and goosebumps erupt all over.

“You’re trembling.”

“Because I hate you.”

A gasp escapes my lips when his teeth graze my skin. I dig my nails in his steel arm that’s still snugly placed under my breasts with every intention to push him away but I end up holding on for dear life.

This is not right! “Get away from me!” I try to wrench his arm off me but I’m no match to Damian’s strength. He dares to laugh then bites the shell of my ear. I screw my eyes shut because that little action evokes intense throbbing between my legs.

With his free hand, he clasps my fingers that were clawing at his skin and lifts it to his mouth. I bite my lower lip when he brushes soft kisses over my fingers. I must’ve whimpered because he turns me swiftly to face him.

His eyes burn with naked lust and triumph. “Remember the day you begged to come to this gala? You said, ‘Treat me like your wife.’” Then he stuns me by lowering his head and placing a soft kiss against my cheek.

“This is me treating you like a wife.” He begins to lean down to kiss me on the mouth but I tilt my head back. “If we’re revisiting that day, let’s not sidestep the part where you said, ‘I have an insatiable sexual appetite, and you were always available.’ Or did that slip your mind?”

“I remember my words. I don’t need a reminder.”

“So you meant them?” My voice is so low I’m not sure he heard it. But then his expression changes.

“Things haven’t changed,” he says, abruptly stepping back. “What I said was true. I’m a busy man and you were always available. I come to you when I need you.”

“Then what was all that talk about wanting only me?”

He sighs. “I wasn’t lying. Why do you think I fly back and forth so frequently?” Because he wants me. Just me. But only for sex.

Damian knows that he is my weakness and he doesn’t hesitate in the least to exploit it.

I have to learn to make my weakness my strength. Like him, I have to learn to seduce and manipulate to get my way. I can’t resist him. But he can’t resist me either. And we both know that.

“You’re mine, always will be. Get used to it.”

I won’t. And I’ll do just about anything. Anything to get away from his clutches. That includes sleeping with him if need be.

“All right.”

He was checking his watch, but my words made him immediately look up at me. “All right?”

“You’re right. We want each other. There’s no point in delaying the inevitable.”

He narrows his eyes. “Why the change of heart?”

“Perhaps it was your impressive kissing skills that did the trick,” I taunt.

He arches his eyebrows, not believing me in the slightest but indulges me. “All right, angel.” He covers the distance between us and curls his arm around my waist, pulling me to his chest. “Let’s go home so I can make you my wife again.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

Past

The soft knock on my apartment door startles me awake from an afternoon nap. As I shuffle toward the door, rubbing the sleep from my eyes, I notice the city outside bathes in golden sunlight, and realize I’ve been out cold.

I open the door, surprised and a bit disoriented to find Dad standing there, a warm smile on his face. Before any words are exchanged, he opens his arms for a hug. I step in eagerly, feeling the strength and comfort of his hug enveloping me.

“Dad,” I manage to say, my voice catching in my throat. “I didn’t realize how much I needed this,” I admit, my voice muffled by his shoulder.

In response, he tightens his grip. “I know, sweetheart. I’ve missed you too.”

His cologne, a mix of cedar and musk, surrounds me. I press into the hug, relishing the beat of his heart against my ear.

After a moment, he releases me, a soft smile still lingering on his face. “Mind if I come in, sweet pea?”

“Of course, Dad,” I reply, stepping aside to let him enter. Derek, who was standing behind him nods at me before pulling the door shut.

“Is everything okay, River?” Dad turns to me then, standing in the center of the living room, looking ten years older than his actual age.

I slowly walk to him and fold my arms around him again. “Yes.”

He pauses for a beat then sighs and hugs me back. “You had me so worried yesterday.” The concern in his voice is palpable, and the sincerity of his worry tugs at my heart.

“I know,” I reply. “I didn’t mean to, really. Things just got a bit… overwhelming.”

He holds me at arm’s length as he studies my face. “You can always talk to me, sweetheart. Whatever it is, we can figure it out together.”

The meaning behind his words is loud and clear. He knows I lied about being with friends yesterday. He knows I am hiding something and instead of calling me out on that, he is letting me decide whether I want to share it with him or not.

A small smile plays on my lips, appreciating the warmth of his support. “I know, Dad. And I will. Promise.” When the time is right. As if he heard the silent words, he settles on the couch. I busy myself by going to the kitchen. I put the kettle on and retrieve the chamomile tea box, aware of his worried glance following me.

Everything is okay, Dad, I want to say. Everything is more than okay. I finally got the man of my dreams. The thought itself makes me weak in the knees.

After kissing me passionately amidst the busy street, Damian took me back to his hotel. Actually, he carried me there because my legs decided to give up on me after that soul stirring kiss.

Throughout the way, I felt people’s gaze on me but I was so exhausted and weak that I simply ignored them all by burying my face in his throat. Nothing made sense between us at that moment but in his arms, things felt right.

I kept my eyes shut and only opened them when I heard the door clicking softly shut behind us. The subdued lighting cast a warm ambiance across the grand foyer of the presidential suite. But I couldn’t appreciate the view because Damian kept walking through the large sitting area that had a grand piano until he reached the bedroom.

I remember how he gently lowered me onto the plush bed. Then he disappeared briefly and came back sans the tie and coat jacket, carrying a carafe of water, glass and a plate of fruits.

He then poured water into the glass. But instead of giving it to me, he sat beside me and held it to my lips. I reached for it and only then saw how my fingers trembling badly. His jaw had tightened when he saw that too. And on some level, it felt good that I had managed to rock the steel like control of Damian Montgomery.

After helping me drink, he produced a cloth napkin and dabbed my mouth, catching any stray droplets. He left briefly, coming back with a soft blanket in his hands. He laid it over me, carefully tucking it around my body. I was shocked as he dropped to his knees and started taking off my shoes.

The room’s stillness amplified the sound of each buckle being undone and I couldn’t look away. Couldn’t look away from the man who was known for his ruthlessness kneeling at my feet.

As he finished, he looked up, his eyes locking with mine. My heart began to stutter. The air was charged with unspoken emotions. Without breaking eye contact, he slowly brought my foot to his lap, his strong hands beginning a gentle massage.

My heart hitched. His touch was both firm and tender, expertly kneading away the pain that had built up. Each stroke of his fingers seemed to erase every hour I waited for him, leaving only the connection between us. I closed my eyes, surrendering to the sensation.

When the massage was over, I opened my eyes to find him still gazing at me.

“I’m sorry,” he said.

“You hurt me.” I whispered.

“Yes,” he sighed, not denying it. “Gianna’s agency and my company are working on a collaboration. And it was a business dinner.”

“Collaboration?”

He nodded. “The appearance for the charity gala was a strategic move for a project that could benefit both our interests.”

“You never told me about this collaboration.” He usually shares his ongoing projects with me. Even when half the stuff is complicated to understand.

“I didn’t because it’s still in its initial stage.”

“But why the cozy dinner? Couldn’t you discuss it somewhere else?”

“It was better than having a meeting in the suite.” There’s that ruthless side. Unapologetic and straightforward.

“Then why did you refuse to acknowledge me when she asked who I was?”

“You are a billionaire heiress, angel. Revealing your identity in front of Gianna would’ve been a bad move. She is a social media influencer and would’ve posted about you. So I did what I could to protect you from unnecessary exposure.”

“Why are you explaining all of this to me now?” When he frowned, I said, “You told me it was none of my business.”

“I lied.” He said, tucking my curl behind my ear.

“You did?”

He nodded. “I’ll make it up to you.”

“How?” I couldn’t keep the smile from blooming over my face.

“I’ll figure it out.”

I was smiling hard but then paused. “I don’t like her.” With you. You smiled at her. I can’t see her with you.

“All right.” He said simply.

“All right?”

“Yes, I’ll talk to my team to replace her.”

I stared at him with a gaping mouth. Is he manipulating me? What if there was no deal to begin with? What if he really was on a date with her? What if—

He narrowed his eyes. “You don’t believe me.” Then he reached for the landline at the nightstand and dials someone. I was stunned the entire time he talked over the phone. After ending it, he said, “My team is staying at this hotel. I ringed them to come over so I can discuss Gianna’s replacement in front of you.”

I was left dumbfounded, eyes wide open. “Why did you do that?”

“Because you said you don’t like her.” He stated as if it was obvious.

“But she is very popular.” I mean, that’s why his team chose her in the first place, right? Because she was good at what she does. And had a huge following.

“You don’t like her.” He repeated. Did he just sabotage his own business collaboration because I said I didn’t like her? The notorious and uncompromising mogul, renowned for his relentless pursuit of perfection and insatiable appetite for victory in the competitive business realm, has recalibrated his entire strategic collaboration for me.

I couldn’t resist the overwhelming urge to express what words couldn’t capture. Without thinking, I lunged forward, wrapping my arms around him in a tight embrace.

Caught off guard, he stumbled backward on a grunt, and we both tumbled to the carpeted floor. “You don’t have to do that. Don’t replace her. It doesn’t matter anymore. I trust you.”

He was choosing me over her. A pang of jealousy still lingered, the hurt not entirely forgotten, but beneath those emotions, a warmth started to bloom. He was willing to jeopardize his business, his connections, all for the sake of us. A small smile graced my lips as it hit me, He was doing this for me. He was choosing me.

I didn’t need him to replace her; I just needed him to choose me, and he did. He was sacrificing something for us, and I didn’t want him to regret it. Our love should be a source of strength, not a burden. The satisfaction of knowing he was willing to take such a risk for our relationship was enough for me.

Lifting myself up a little, a shy smile played on my lips as I leaned up to look at him. “So, um, are we still just friends?” I asked tentatively, my heart pounding in my chest. The question hung in the air, and I searched his eyes for any sign of what he might be thinking.

He met my gaze intensely, his fingers gently tracing a strand of my hair. “No, angel. I’m done playing the good guy.” When I stared at him in puzzlement, he said, “You are mine now.” His tone was possessive, a hint of determination in his eyes as he captured my lips.

“Careful!” Dad’s sharp exclamation slices through the air, yanking me out of my thoughts. The serene atmosphere shatters as the kettle's high-pitched whistle fills the air.

In the next instant, the lid gives way with a jolt. Hot water sprays everywhere before I can even reach the stove. Panic surges as scalding droplets land on my hands. I yelp in pain.

Dad is instantly by my side. “Are you okay? Let me see.” He gently takes my hands into his. “We need to cool these burns down. Sit here, I’ll grab the first aid kit.”

Dad’s fingers move with practiced care, dabbing at the burns on my hands as concern etches lines on his forehead.

“What had you so distracted, sweetheart?” His voice is gentle, yet there’s an unmistakable curiosity in it.

I pause, searching for an excuse, settling on a feeble one. “Oh, just daydreaming about a cute mug I saw online.”

He stops, his eyes drilling into mine. “Daydreaming about a cute mug? Come on, what’s really going on?”

I squirm under his scrutiny.

I attempt to deflect with a nonchalant tone. “It’s just school stuff, you know. Nothing important.”

Dad narrows his eyes, clearly unconvinced. As he continues to tend to my burns, he shakes his head. “Accidents happen, especially when you’re distracted. But you’ve got to be cautious, sweet pea. It’s when you lose focus that things can take a turn for the worse.”

There’s an unspoken depth to his words, a subtle warning. Our eyes lock, and I understand there’s more to his concern than just the burns on my hands.

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

Present

Damian drags me behind him as he navigates through the long hallway.

“Damian, wait!” I gasp, trying to keep up with his long strides. “At least let me fix my lipstick before we go out there!”

“That won’t be necessary. We’re going home.”

Of course, we are. He doesn’t want to give me a chance to change my mind. After all, I more or less agreed to give him what he wants. And Damian is not going to waste a second to claim what he wants. Selfish jerk!

Hal is trailing beside us, his eyes trained ahead. I feel my face warming.

With a determined yank, I halt his brisk pace. “Either you find another exit or let me use the bathroom. Because there’s no way I’m letting those people see me like—”

“Like you’ve just been thoroughly ravished by your husband?”

Despite blushing furiously, my chin shoots up, my pale green eyes challenging him. “What’s it going to be?”

A glint in his dark gaze hints at an appreciation for my defiance, yet his poker face reveals nothing more. Whatever it is, it gets on my nerves. “Will you—” He bends swiftly and smothers my words with his mouth. The kiss is short but hard, muffling my protests.

By the time he wrenches his mouth away, I’m breathless.

Damian straightens, glances at Hal, who immediately jumps into action and starts ushering me away, probably toward the restroom. I comply but not before glaring at him and uttering “Jerk,” making sure I’m audible.

Once inside, I move to the sink but halt mid-step when my gaze clashes with my reflection in the mirror. My fingers tighten into fists, nails digging into my palms as I assess my state.

Damian was going to make me walk through the sea of socialites and celebrities looking like that? The woman with glazed light green eyes staring back at me hardly looks like me.

My curls are a mess, strands of them clinging to my flushed cheeks. I study my mouth which was now wiped clear of lipstick, but still so red and soft and swollen from his kisses.

I trace my fingers over a mark on the porcelain skin of my neck. I close my eyes as memory of his teeth grazing there washes over me. Shivers wrack my body.

I open my eyes and stare at the woman in the mirror again, her pale greens now wantonly darkened, her flushed body begging for her husband.

Jesus. Was I always that transparent? No wonder Damian looked so smug when I kept on denying I want him.

Of course, I want him. After all, he turned me into a woman. The girl I used to be no longer exists. I willingly let her go by submitting to him and in return spent endless nights being worshipped like a goddess.

The pull I feel toward him is magnetic, a force I can’t escape. And neither can he. Now, all I have to do now is turn that against him.

Still, I remind myself: sex and emotions are separate. I shouldn’t mix them.

From the start, Damian was able to sleep with me without ever letting his emotions get involved. Maybe it’s time I do the same. I don’t know how long I’ll be trapped in this, but instead of wallowing in self-loathing and despair, I can start playing the game his way. Maybe, just maybe, I’ll learn to manipulate him like he manipulates me, using sex as my weapon.

Fixing my appearance the best I could, I exit the bathroom and find Hal and Damian conversing. Upon seeing me, they stop. I turn beet red under their scrutiny but then frown internally.

I have nothing to be ashamed of. I am not going to berate myself for wanting him anymore. Things were never normal between Damian and me and if he can be nonchalant about it, so can I. “Take me home.”

Damian’s eyes darken as he extends his hand and I take it without hesitation. He pulls me to his side and we go to say our goodbyes.

Each farewell to his business associates seems to morph into a new discussion, making him tenser by the minute. Damian is an oversexed man and months of abstinence is equivalent to a lifetime. No wonder he’s so stiff. His impatience is obvious, and I can feel the tension radiating off him. It’s clear—he wants me home, and he wants it fast.

I am still shocked that he’s been celibate all this time, never once straying. The thought alone fills me with a fierce, possessive satisfaction, knowing I’ve had his loyalty all along.

I perk up as the gala hostess, standing among the group surrounding us, begins discussing her volunteer work.

“I’d like to volunteer,” I say and feel Damian’s eyes drilling into me.

“Wonderful! We’ll get in touch with you,” Catherine with her silver hair and impeccable grace, says enthusiastically.

“That sounds perfect,” I say with a smile. “My husband’s always saying I don’t socialize enough. This would be good for me, wouldn’t it, darling?” I tilt my neck to smile at my husband whose face is conveniently blank but his bruising grip at my hip is betraying him.

“I hate to share you with others.”

“You’ll survive.” I kiss his jaw and take immense pleasure when the muscle jumps under my lips.

After that, Damian briskly cuts the conversation short and starts hauling me toward the exit.

“You’re going to pay for that.”

“Give me what I want and I’ll give you what you want. That’s our deal.” I tell him while my heart is beating out of my chest.

“And what is it you want?” he asks without stopping.

“Freedom.” That brings him to a halt. “Not from you. Because that’s impossible as you explained. I meant freedom from my cage. I want to start living again.”

He stares down at me like he is deciphering the unspoken words I didn’t voice. I’m done living like his prisoner. And he will have to yield because he knows I’m fragile after his revelation about our marriage and my dad.

He looms over me. “You want something, you come to me.” He grinds out. “Twist my arm in public again, and you’ll regret it.” The void in his dark gaze amplifies the menace in his words, turning his every utterance into a potent threat.

“Fine.” I stare back even when my legs shake. “Now take me home. I’m tired.”

Clutching my hand, he resumes walking.

We are near the exit when suddenly the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end. The feeling compels me to turn my head and I find myself staring at the man with blue eyes. The same man who’d spent the entirety of his speech staring at me earlier.

He is surrounded by three beautiful women, all showering him with admiring glances but his attention firmly remains on me. His eyes never stop tracking me until I’m out of view.

That was… odd, I think to myself as Damian helps me in the limo before climbing in himself.

◆◆◆

I run inside the mansion as soon as the limo comes to a stop. Damian doesn’t stop me. Doesn’t call out my name as I hear him climbing out of the car, my heart thudding when the car door is shut.

It’s hard not to notice that there’s no one in the mansion. I can’t help but wonder if this is Damian’s doing, clearing the mansion of all prying eyes and ears for us. My face heats up when I remember he used to do just that after returning from his work trips.

During those times, Damian didn’t want anyone around because he loved engaging in the bedroom activity with me in every corner of the mansion.

I start in the direction of the kitchen. My pulse quickens, echoing the erratic beat of my heart.

I’m going to sleep with my husband. The knowledge sends shivers down my spine.

I swing open the refrigerator door. My eyes scan the shelves until they land on a bottle of water. Grasping it, I twist the cap open, the sound breaking the silence of the kitchen.

The first sip is like a lifeline, the cool water soothing my parched throat. I relish the sensation, closing my eyes briefly.

As I lower the bottle and close the fridge door, I sense his presence.

Refusing to show him my nervousness, I turn defiantly, ready to show him a fake confident smile. But the smile dies instantly. Gone by the sight of his tall frame shadowing the kitchen doorway.

“Thirsty?” his silky-smooth voice mocks.

My breathing stutters in my lungs. I close my eyes, feeling the heat spread through me, then open them again, trying to calm my heart. But it’s useless—just the sight of him has me aching, my body already ready for what’s coming.

Damian stands there, leaning against the frame of the kitchen. One side of his jacket is pushed aside, his hand thrusted in his pocket, as he watches me lose control of my body with grim satisfaction.

I grip the counter as he pushes off the frame and strides purposefully toward me. The dark desire in his eyes sends my insides into a tight spiral spin.

God! Please help me. I want him to devour me but at the same time I want to run away.

The silence eats at me. So does the heightened tension when he stops in front of me. Why does he have to be so intimidatingly tall? And big? I chew on my lower lip as I stare at the hard angles of his face.

“Are you going to fuck me here?” I murmur, sucking in a breath.

“Do you want me to?”

I can’t help but remember the times when he did fuck me in here. My legs tremble as I stare at my gloriously magnificent but ruthless husband. He is playing with me. Purposefully teasing my senses before he can do anything to me. I lick my suddenly dry lips. “Don’t torture me.”

“But you deserve it, angel.” He pulls me into his arms. I gasp. He dips his head and catches my parted mouth with his. My eyes widen then slides shut, giving in. I sway closer to his heat, my hands clutching the lapels of his jacket.

He deepens the kiss and I let him. Because I am done fighting. I take what he gives me. Because I want it. I want it so much it aches. My entire body trembles with a mere kiss from him.

My arms snake up and locks around his neck as his tongue slides along mine with shameless passion. He kisses me until we are both breathing heavily. Then he groans before breaking the kiss. “Now you taste like mine.”

Yeah. Because I gave in. “Well, sex was always spectacular between us.” I remind him and myself that this is nothing but sex. We will have sex. We won’t be making love like I used to think in the past. Because I know I’m married to a man who can never love me.

He bends and scoops me up into his arms. I cry out, clutching at his neck.

He carries me to our bedroom.

Gently laying me down in the center of our bed, he stands towering over me. “You are mine.”

I say nothing.

“Every fiber of your being will scream ‘I’m yours’ by the time I’m through with you, angel.”

“You sure about that?” I ask but cry out in surprise when he grips my legs and yanks me forward until I’m flat on my back. And before I know it, my wrists are held above my head in a steel like hold as he looms over me.

The look in his eyes makes me wetter than I was. And I have been wet since he chased me at the gala and kissed me stupid.

“I’m not scared of you, Damian,” I breathe. Stop torturing me and kiss me already! I tell him with my eyes.

As if he can read my thought, he arches his brows. Is he going to make me confess it out loud? My heart begins thumping. Well, he and his hot body can get lost. I want him. Too much. Probably more than air. But I am not going to let him walk all over me again.

“Let me g—” He sweeps down and cut the words off with another one of his demanding kisses. I moan in relief against his lips, my body spreading, melting under him.

Still pinning me to the mattress with one hand securing my wrists, he uses the other to lift my gown.

I wiggle my hands until he loosens his grip. I use that opportunity to tug them completely free and shove them under his jacket and push it off his broad shoulders. I throw the expensive jacket carelessly away without breaking the kiss.

Then I tear at his bow tie, halting briefly when he yanks me up in a sitting position. The sharp sound of the zipper pierces the air a second before his calloused hand touches my naked back. I shiver and gasp, breaking the kiss. He nips at my jaw then moves toward my neck.

My eyes roll back in my head as his rough kisses travel around my throat and collarbone. Throwing the bow tie, I tilt my head back, giving him access. Moaning and whimpering, I let him devour my neck. Then become hungry for my own share so I lean back to kiss his jaw. Once, then twice. Before I can kiss him for the third time, I find myself on my back on the mattress and being kissed within an inch of my life. He pushes my legs apart, bunching the gown to my waist as he moves between them.

He grinds his hardness against me and we both groan. “It’s been too fucking long,” he tips his head up as he grinds against my soaked panties again.

I reach up and touch his face. My heart beats harder when he turns his face and kisses my palm. I stare at him, my breathing shallow. He looks down, his eyes appear more darker as his gaze moves over me like a hot caress. “You’re fucking beautiful.”

Something moves in my chest. I grab his hair and pull his face down. I kiss him earnestly. With an enthusiasm of a starving woman. Framing his face with my small hands, I feel so feminine, so tiny beneath this powerful man.

I’ve just locked my legs around his hips when suddenly there’s a knock at our bedroom door.

“Sir?” The muffled voice is of Hal.

Damian lifts his head and we both stare at each other. “Guess Hal is never off duty,” I mumble, unable to hide my disappointment.

“He won’t disturb unless it’s absolutely necessary.” He kisses my forehead before pushing himself off me but then stops.

When he keeps staring down at me, I frown. “What?”

He doesn’t say anything, simply runs his fingers over my naked thighs and down my legs that are still wrapped around him. “Oh.” I quickly release him and right my gown. I move to sit when he shoves me back. “Stay there. I’ll be back in a minute.”

Then he’s gone. Before he can shut the door behind him, I hear his hard voice snapping, “This better be fucking important.”

I lie there like an obedient little wife for a good ten seconds before jerking up in a sitting position. Hugging the dress to my chest, I frown. He can’t order me around.

I get up on wobbly legs and head to the bathroom. The days of me waiting for him are long gone. Now, we are going to switch roles. Now, he’ll wait for me if he wants me.

◆◆◆

I don’t remember falling asleep but Damian wasn’t in bed when I woke up the next morning. Which wasn’t uncommon.

But when I pressed my palm against his side of the bed, the cool and unwrinkled sheets told me he never came back to bed last night.

The anger rose at the thought of him working all night in his home office. I was frustrated. Damian had me all hot and bothered and just left. For a second, I contemplated touching myself to relieve some tension but quickly changed my mind.

If he can survive without having me then so can I.

After a quick shower, I got dressed in a cozy gray cashmere turtleneck sweater, paired with dark tailored trousers and went looking for him.

The moment I got out of the bedroom, I unexpectedly found a tall, formidable woman standing there dressed in a tailored black suit. A commanding figure, towering at an impressive 5’10”. Her hazel eyes met mine, sharp and observant. Her short, jet-black hair framed a face marked with a few subtle scars and her sun-kissed complexion only added to the raw beauty of her features.

“Mrs. Montgomery, I’m Vicky Paulsen, your new personal bodyguard,” she introduced herself, her voice calm and collected.

“Oh, okay. Well, Damian didn’t tell me about this.”

“Mr. Montgomery is currently on a business trip, and I’m here to provide dedicated security in his absence. If there’s anything specific you’d like to know or discuss, feel free to ask. Your safety is my top priority.”

All I managed to grasp from her words was that Damian was gone. “I’m sorry, business trip?”

She nodded. “He had to go away for an urgent business trip last night. He didn’t want to wake you up, that’s why he went unannounced,” she stated matter-of-factly. “Chief accompanied him.”

“Chief?”

“Hal,” she explained. “He is the chief of security.”

My brows raised, I never heard anyone addressing him as chief before.

“Where?”

“Dubai, I believe,” She informed. I processed the information.

“A business trip to Dubai? I wasn’t aware,” I admitted. I was never his first priority, My mind echoed with the bitter recognition that, once again, I found myself taking second place to his work.

It wasn’t the first time, but his sudden departure to Dubai, unannounced, struck a chord of resentment within me. It just proved that my place in his life was often an afterthought, something that held no importance, something he could manage according to his busy schedule.

I didn’t let the gloomy thought distract me. This was good. His absence gave me opportunities to plan my escape. “Will you be leaving once Damian returns?” I asked casually.

“No, Mrs. Montgomery. I’ll be here for as long as needed. Mr. Montgomery regards your safety with the utmost priority. Even when he returns, I’ll continue to ensure your security. If there are any adjustments or specific preferences you have regarding my presence, please let me know. Your comfort and safety are of the highest importance.”

“Okay. Thank you and please call me River.”

“I can’t,” She gave me a small smile to soften the blow then followed me down and kept guard while I had my breakfast.

I figured I might as well make good use of my time without Damian, so I got in touch with Catherine, the hostess from last night’s fundraiser, and a couple of her friends to invite them for lunch. This was the perfect opportunity to discuss volunteer work.

It was also the very first time I invited someone over. This was uncommon as my marriage was pretty much a prison sentence with no contact with the outside world. And to think, Damian did it in a way, distanced me from everyone so subtly that I didn’t even blame him for my anti-social life. And while I always preferred solitude all my life, I couldn’t help but crave human connection.

I was pleasantly surprised when they expressed the desire to meet today and subtly hinted at exploring the highly guarded lair of Damian Montgomery—an exceedingly private and immensely successful multi-billionaire, whose elusive nature has added to the mystique surrounding him. Their words.

I understood their fascination with Damian and his secretive life. After all, we hadn’t opted for the traditional route when it came to tying the knot. Instead of a grand ceremony, we got married in a registrar’s office.

I wasn’t in the state of celebrating because of what happened with dad. And given Damian’s busy schedule, we never found the time for a lavish celebration.

Hence, nobody really got to meet his new bride. It was for the best. The secrecy was needed to shield our private lives from all the unwanted attention. But it all imploded when the paparazzi caught the wind of it.

Nothing stopped the tabloids from seizing the opportunity to speculate and create narratives. They used the fact that I had married at the age of twenty-one, with Damian being ten years my senior, as fodder for sensational stories. The headlines about our relationship were downright filthy, demeaning it as some kind of scandalous affair.

For months, the Gibson vs. Montgomery saga dominated news channels, transforming our private decisions into a public spectacle.

It was a nightmare. The media circus not only scrutinized my choices but also pitied my dad and didn’t hesitate to question my upbringing. It was so horrible. I was so ashamed. I had ruined the reputation he had built over the decades in just a matter of seconds.

So… these ladies weren’t jumping at the opportunity to meet me and discuss volunteering like they were last night. They just wanted a closeup view at my scandalous life. But so what? I was going to benefit from them as well. They can have their tour of my gilded cage and I can have what I want.

I changed into an ivory long sleeve tweed mini dress paired with sleek designer heels. A delicate gold chain adorned my neck, with a small pendant. On my wrist, a slender bracelet and a classic watch added a subtle glimmer. And the pair of diamond stud earrings completed my look.

Throughout the time I was getting ready, Vicky stayed with me. I told her about my guests coming over for lunch and she simply nodded. I wonder if she reported it to Damian. Even if she did, I am not scared of him anymore.

“They are here, ma’am.” One of the guards inform us. Taking a deep breath, I give myself one last look in the mirror before venturing out of the bedroom with Vicky following right behind. Time to shelve my introverted nature and embrace the role of the perfect hostess.

As I step into the sitting area, a smile graces my lips, concealing the nervousness within. “Thank you all for coming.”

Time flies as we begin with the extensive tour of the property. They soak it all up, asking questions about the paintings and antiques they come across. Vicky keeps a safe distance while following me around.

When it’s time for lunch, I ask Vicky to join us but she politely declines. After the satisfying lunch, we adjourn to a more intimate and secluded part of the mansion to delve into the discussion about charity work.

“River, darling, we were truly impressed by your husband’s generosity at the fundraiser. But then it’s not the first time Damian has made such substantial donations. I’m genuinely curious to know what inspired your shift toward philanthropy.”

They’re insinuating that I’m just jumping on the bandwagon. I wish they knew how much I’ve yearned to make a difference, to have a say. It’s not that I didn’t care; I just didn’t have the means.

They have no idea how powerless I’ve felt throughout my marriage. It’s not like I had control over our financial decisions. Damian held all the cards.

I meet their gazes with a small smile. “I want to make a meaningful impact, without my resources. As you mentioned, Damian already has that area covered. I want to volunteer. I’ve been considering various causes, but I value your insights.”

Donna with dark hair, suggests, “How about supporting local animal shelters or wildlife conservation efforts? It’s a cause close to my heart, and there’s always a need for volunteers.”

A genuine smile lifts the corner of my lips. It reminds me of the day when Summer found Goldie abandoned near her apartment building. She had considered dropping him off at the local shelter but ended up adopting him.

I feel twinge in my heart when I think of them. I miss them so much. I don’t know when I’ll get to see them again.

Sharon, the middle-aged businesswoman and one of Catherine’s best friends, proposes, “Environmental conservation is a pressing issue. I am a partner with organizations dedicated to sustainability and eco-friendly initiatives. I can talk to them for you.”

Then Andrea interrupts by debating about education sector. I ponder their suggestions. “I love all these ideas. Perhaps I can focus on a rotating schedule, supporting different causes throughout the year.”

The ladies continue their lively discussion, now weaving mental health into it. I sit straighter. “What about programs that support mental health? It’s an area often overlooked, and I believe it’s crucial.”

Catherine nods. “There are many campaigns promoting mental health awareness.”

Andrea pulls out her phone. “Even online. I’ll show you.”

After a few minutes of her showing us the pages on social medias, I say, “Yeah, but I want to get out of the house. I want to actively contribute to the cause.”

Donna adds, “Perhaps we can organize workshops or events that focus on stress management and mental wellness and therapy. We can invest the funds and you can help planning it maybe.”

Before I could answer to her superb idea, Catherine interrupts, “Speaking of therapy. There’s a community center that offers art therapy sessions for mental health. You could lend your support and help it grow.”

I’m intrigued. “Art therapy? That sounds wonderful. How can I get involved?”

“The organizer visited me yesterday. She’s been struggling to secure funding for additional art supplies and professional therapists. I agreed to help her, of course. But she needs more volunteers.”

“River, my dear, why don’t you visit the community center first and assess the situation? As this is fairly new and operates on a small scale it wouldn’t be that intimidating. They can handle the initial logistics, and once you’re more familiar with the project, they can coordinate your efforts more efficiently.”

I nod in agreement and feeling excited about this new chapter of my life. “That sounds like a good plan. I’ll visit the center and see how I can best support them.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

Past

Grooving to the beats of the song blaring in my ears through the AirPods, I type away on my laptop. I need to turn in my assignment by the end of the day.

After dad’s visit yesterday I couldn’t concentrate on anything. The guilt is eating at me but I can’t just tell him about Damian. Not because it is fairly new. It’s because he wouldn’t approve of me dating a guy ten years older than me.

I duck my head, biting my lip to hide the stupid grin as I think about last night. Damian was livid when I told him about the tea incident. He hung up right away—but only to FaceTime me. Not because he missed me. Oh no, not that. He just wanted to see for himself what damage the boiling water had done.

Fortunately, the burns weren’t too serious, but Damian didn’t share my perspective. Instead, he took the opportunity to deliver a stern lecture on safety precautions. In an unexpected twist, he even offered to lend his personal chef to ensure I wouldn’t face any mishaps in the kitchen.

Naturally, I declined his offer, valuing my independence. However, convincing him of my self-reliance turned into a heated, hour-long argument. To put an end to the discussion, I playfully teased him by suggesting I might flirt with his chef. That certainly hit a nerve, and Damian’s possessive side emerged.

Damn was he pissed. Who would have thought I could see the day when Damian gets all territorial over me?

I couldn’t contain my delight. This was the same man I secretly loved since I was eighteen. And hearing him so bothered about me was a dream come true.

Still giggling like a lunatic with my head bowed, I suddenly notice my fingers haven’t stopped typing. When I finally glance at the screen, I gasp.

Damian Damian Damian Damian Damian Damian Damian Damian

I’ve unconsciously typed his name over and over. Another giggle escapes me. Shaking my head in disbelief, I hide my face in my hands, smiling.

Peeking through my fingers, I catch sight of the screen. Just seeing his name makes my heart stutter. I let out a breathless laugh at the absurdity of my own actions.

One thing is clear—I’m utterly hopeless when it comes to him.

I startle when my phone rings. My hand shoots out instinctively, fumbling to grab it which is buried under the books and scattered papers.

When Damian’s name flashes on the screen, my eyes widen, and before I can stop myself, I exclaim, “No way!” The words come out louder than I intended, drawing a few curious stares from the other patrons.

I smile apologetically as I fumble to answer the call. “Hey!”

“Angel.” His deep voice greets and I just melt. Right there.

Breathing dreamily, I speak, “Yes.”

“Missed me?”

I stare at his name on my laptop screen. “Always,” I admit, my cheeks tingling with heat.

“Where are you?”

“Where am I?” I echo, a silly smile playing on my lips. Then sit straighter when his question registers. Glancing around, I say, “Oh, just at the campus café, you know, the spot where we usually meet.”

“How are the burns?”

I stare at the small spots over my forearm. “Much better. I applied the ointment Hal delivered.”

“Good.”

“You told me Hal is your chief of security, right?”

“Yes, he is.”

“But he acts as your chauffer, personal secretary, waiter, delivery man. Is there anything he can’t do? He is so versatile.”

There is a long pause before he responds, “Hal is my most trusted employee and I would hate to lose him.”

“Why would you lose him?”

“Because I won’t tolerate you admiring him.”

“I… I didn’t mean to—”

“No one else should have your attention. You’re mine, and I won’t share what’s mine. Not even your thoughts, because those are mine too.” His voice is stone cold yet I can’t help the warmth that envelops my heart.

He said I’m his. I’m his. I close my eyes, savoring his words. Flying high.

“Have you eaten yet?” he asks, snapping me back to reality.

“I had a cup of coffee.”

He’s silent again for a beat. Then, “Stay there. I’m coming to get you.”

“What?”

“You need to eat. And I need to see you.”

I let out a soft breath. “You do?”

“Yes.”

This can’t be real. Can someone be this happy like I am right now? I glance around to check if someone is watching me right now. No one is. If they were, I bet they would’ve seen me glowing.

It’s more than happiness; it’s a profound sense of being truly valued.

It feels like all the years I went without love is worth it because this feeling? This tingle in my chest that Damian had awaken is worth everything.

The loneliness I used to carry feels a little less heavy, replaced by the comforting presence of his affection.

“River?”

“Hmm?”

“Are you busy? Can you make time for lunch?”

I stare at the papers scattered all over the table and my laptop. “No. I’m not busy.” Never for him anyway. “I’m actually starving.” Starving to see you. To spend time with you. To talk to you and feast on your rare smiles.

“All right. I’ll see you in twenty.”

“Can’t wait.” I let out another dreamy sigh, and in response, I hear him huff—a sound that carries a hint of laughter before the line goes dead.

I quickly clear the table and wait for him like a lovesick girl with a smile so big people give me side eyes. Because I am alone and smiling. So yeah, I admit that’s kinda creepy. But can you blame me? I get to see my busy boyfriend for an impromptu lunch!

My boyfriend.

My first ever boyfriend.

It really hits me then that I have a boyfriend now. But calling Damian Montgomery a “boyfriend” feels ridiculous. That word doesn’t come close to capturing who he is. Damian is the kind of man who turns heads without trying, whose presence alone makes people straighten their backs. “Boyfriend” is far too small, too casual for someone like him.

But still, no matter how juvenile that word is, I get to call him my boyfriend.

Mine.

The thought makes me so happy, so giddy to the point that I feel like I’m going to explode. I really wish I wasn’t hiding my relationship from Dad. But I am finding this secrecy thrilling.

I’m not yet ready to tell anyone. Not that I have close friends to do that. This is like having a whole new world made just for me. Where Damian is all mine and I don’t have to share him with anyone.

I smoothen my hand over my navy blue pleated plaid mini skirt and the soft fabric of my pale-yellow top, trying to ease the butterflies in my stomach.

For good measure, I check my reflection in the small mirror from my black Louis Vuitton leather backpack, noting how my green eyes reflect a mix of excitement and nervousness. My glossy curls tied in a ponytail are still behaving. Good.

I’m just putting the mirror back when I feel a shift in the air. I don’t need to look up; I just know it’s him. Damian. And when he steps through that door, the entire vibe in the room changes.

He’s dressed to the nines in that black sleek suit of his as always, effortlessly commanding attention. The redhead barista steals a quick glance, the couple by the window pause mid-sentence, and even the background hum of the coffee grinder seems to lower its volume in reverence.

But he has eyes only for me. I rise to my trembling feet when he reaches me. He doesn’t stop until he is in my personal space. He pulls me against his hard body with an arm around my waist. “You look beautiful,” Damian says and leans down as if to kiss me but at the last second tilts his head to press his lips on my cheek before pulling away.

“Ready?” He asks and I nod then reach for my backpack. But Damian beats me to it and carries it for me. Then with a hand on my lower back, he ushers me out.

We are both silent until we are seated in the close confines of the back seat of his car. He’s so close to me, his spicy cologne is making me all hot and bothered. Is that even possible? To be so aroused by just getting a whiff of your man? I don’t know where we are headed. So I turn to ask him but he presses his lips to mine.

My eyes widen for a second before falling shut. The kiss isn’t rough but it feels urgent. Like this is how he wanted to greet me in the café but couldn’t. Bringing my trembling hand up, I cup his stubbled jaw as his tongue slips between my lips while he pulls me closer.

I take the opportunity to explore his wide shoulders beneath the jacket and feel the tension in his body.  He wants me. He wants this. Just as much as I do. The knowledge excites me so much, I find myself shuddering against him, reveling at the way our lips fit together.

But just as quickly, the kiss ends. “Wow,” I manage to say, still dazed.

He gazes down at me for a moment, and then a subtle smile, small yet noticeable, tugs at the corners of his lips. With a sudden, yet gentle, movement, he pulls me flush to his side, wrapping an arm around my shoulders.

“So you missed me too.” I say in a playful tone, with my head against his chest.

I look up and snicker at the droll look he sends me. “Admit it, you missed me so much you couldn’t wait until the end of the day. When, you know, we both usually meet.”

“River,” he says, his voice carrying a subtle warning, yet his eyes held a glint of amusement.

I frown. “What? It’s completely normal for a boyfriend to miss his beautiful and young girlfriend.”

He tightens his arm around me. “Are you calling me old, angel?”

I suppress my grin and try to appear serious. “Of course not. I wouldn’t dare. I just meant you’re not… you know, exactly young so…”

He fists my ponytail and tugs my head back. “Too bad.” He presses a soft kiss on my parted mouth. “You’re stuck with me.”

“Promise?” I breathe, suddenly not joking at all.

His eyes darken. He seals the deal with another searing kiss. I’m glad the partition was up because I wouldn’t be able to meet Hal’s eyes. I expect Damian to let me go now but he doesn’t. He keeps me pressed against his side and I’m not complaining.

Keeping my head against his chest, I run my fingers over his shirt. This close, I can smell him. And he smells so good, it makes my eyes roll back with pleasure.

Throughout the ride he remains silent and makes some phone calls. But I don’t mind because through it all he has his arm around me.

He is my boyfriend.

My man.

Mine.

The thought makes me shy and I end up burying my head in his chest.

I smile against his shirt when he tightens his hold. I look up at him and just admire the view of his strong jawline.

Feeling eyes on him, he glances down. Earlier it used to embarrass me whenever he used to catch me staring. Not anymore. Because I have the right to stare at his beautiful face. I give him a shy smile.

He doesn’t smile back but lowers his head and plants a soft kiss on my forehead. That makes me beam at him.

When the car comes to a stop, Damian straightens and I have to begrudgingly leave his arms. It’s like losing my warm, cozy sweater in the harsh unforgiving winter.

Damian gets out and holds out his hand. I eagerly scoot toward it, place my much smaller hand in his large one and climb out of the car.

It’s challenging but I tear my eyes away from him to look around. Then blink in surprise at the massive sleek black gates.

“Where are we?” I ask him and Damian merely takes my hand again and begins pulling me behind him as we enter what looks like the longest driveway I’ve ever seen.

Tall, manicured hedges flank the sides of the path, and a few elegant palm trees dot the landscape, gradually ascending to the top of the hill.

Reaching the crest, my eyes widen at the sight before me—a marble walkway leading to the sprawling mansion twice the size of my own.

As Damian leads me inside, I hesitate, looking around at the opulent foyer with its polished marble floors and glittering chandeliers. “This is impressive, Damian, but I thought we were just going out for lunch.”

“I’ve arranged a special meal for us right here.” He hauls me further inside. “Would you like to explore the place before we eat?”

I sometimes forget Damian’s role as a real estate mogul. He deals with properties of this caliber. “Sure.”

“This mansion has twenty-one bedrooms. But I’ll take you straight to the highlights to save time.”

I try not to gawk as he leads me into the art gallery. This place has its own dedicated art gallery? Well, consider me truly impressed.

Next through the sliding glass doors, we step into the backyard. I’m met with a sprawling oasis of greenery.

“Now look at this.” Clutching my shoulders, Damian turns me. I gasp at the view of downtown Los Angeles. Our family estate has a beautiful garden, but this... it’s like stepping into a secret paradise. The sheer size and perfection of it all are breathtaking.

I’m still basking in the beauty of the nature when Damian is whisking me away from it and into the entertainment zone. My jaw drops when I take in the four-lane bowling alley. And not far from it is the fully equipped movie theater twice the size of my own.

After touring the personal nightclub, I’m genuinely awestruck. Then he takes me to the expansive rooftop deck but excuses himself to attend an important phone call.

I don’t mind much because the view before me is simply breathtaking.

Numerous sitting areas, elegantly arranged with plush cushions and stylish furniture, invite relaxation under the blue sky. The gazebos, adorned with flowing curtains, sway gently in the midday breeze.

I picture myself spending lazy afternoons in this secluded haven. The idea of sinking into one of those chairs, a book in hand and the golden warmth of the sun on my skin, feels irresistibly inviting.

Damian and I can have endless stargazing nights here. The vision of us doing that makes me smile foolishly.

This place is grand just like him. Every corner of this place screams luxury and untouchable power. Just like him

I can’t help but think it’s a perfect fit for Damian. The sleek design, luxurious details—it all resonates with his style. Though it’s not his place, it feels like it was made for someone like him.

My stupid, stupid heart starts imagining a life with Damian in this stunning mansion. It begins fantasizing about a future with lazy mornings and passionate nights. It pictures a time when I don’t have to long for his time because he would be right by my side all the time.

When I feel a prickling sensation on the back of my neck, I turn. Damian stands a few feet away with his hands in his pockets.

My face heats up, hoping like hell he can’t read what I’ve been thinking.

“Hey.” I smile.

He comes to me and doesn’t stop until he is circling his arm around my waist. “Sorry, I had to take that. I didn’t mean to leave you so long.”

I glance at my dainty watch and realize it had been over fifteen minutes. “It’s all right. I’ve been enjoying the view.”

“Lunch is served. Come.” He guides me to the formal dining area. I frown when I see my plate had been set at the other end of the table. I want to object but don’t wish to come across as clingy so I let it go.

The first course consisted of the Avocado and Heirloom Tomato Salad. We are eating the main course, a Pan-Seared Black Cod with Saffron Risotto when Damian suddenly asks, “So what do you think?”

“About what?”

“About the mansion.”

“Oh,” I dab at the corner of my mouth with a napkin, then smile as I look around. “It’s absolutely stunning,” I say, my voice filled with admiration. “The attention to detail, the architecture, the vibe—it’s all exceptional.”

“Good.” He seems pleased with my answer and resumes eating in silence.

“Whose place is this anyway?”

“It’s one of my recent acquisitions.”

My eyes widen in surprise. “This mansion? You bought it?”

He nods. He is a real estate mogul. He might have some plans for it in the future—perhaps an investment or a resale opportunity. We dine in comfortable silence but my mind races the entire time.

The property is so beautiful. I want to know what are his plans for it. I want to tell him to keep it. The thought of anyone else living here except him doesn’t sit right with me. These walls have his aura stamped all over them.

When we move to dessert, we are treated to a Dark Chocolate Truffle Torte, adorned with edible gold leaf and accompanied by fresh berries and a dollop of vanilla-infused whipped cream. It was a decadent masterpiece, concluding our extravagant luncheon on a sweet note. And although, I’m in a sugar coma, I can’t keep quiet anymore. “Are you going to flip it?”

He studies me as I wait for his reply. “You said you liked the mansion.”

“I did.” I reply, puzzled.

“So why would I flip it?”

“Because that’s what you do?”

“Angel, why do you think I brought you here?”

To feed me? I wanted to say but settled with a shrug.

“I bought the property for you.”

My eyes bulge. He did what?

“I thought it might be a nice place for us to meet. Given our lack of privacy because of the paparazzi, it’s not always easy to find a quiet spot in public. This way, we can have our own private place whenever we want to see each other.”

I’m floored, trying to process the fact that he purchased this extravagant mansion just for our private rendezvous.

All the fantasies my heart had conjured up earlier turned to reality. I pinch myself and wince. It’s definitely not a dream. “I… I don’t know what to say.”

He leans back in his chair, pulls something out from his pocket. “You don’t have to say anything. Just take this and give me a kiss.”

As my eyes land on the keys he’s holding, I break into a full-blown smile. I get up and practically run toward him. He pushes back his chair, making room for me as I lower myself on his lap.

Instead of taking the keys, I take his face in my hands and lean down to kiss his lips softly.

“Tell me.” He runs his hand up and down my back.

Somehow, I understand what he’s asking for, and without hesitation, I give it to him. “I love you.”

His eyes darken before he kisses the breath right out of me.

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

Present

I did something unusual today. For my first day at the community center, I decided to ditch the billionaire’s wife look. And chose to dig out my old clothes to dress for the occasion.

A different kind of feeling envelops me as I slowly face the floor length mirror.

I swallow thickly as I take in my reflection in the mirror. In that reflection, I see the girl I used to be. Clad in sky-blue cami crop top and high-waisted jeans, it feels like a step back in time, a return to a version of myself that was more genuine and less burdened.

As I shrug into the white tie-front shirt, a strange sense of nostalgia washes over me, like I’m stepping back into the life of the twenty-year-old I once was. I knot the ends of the shirt at the front, then gather my long curls, pulling them into a high ponytail.

I resemble the girl from the past. I stare at the face that looks familiar, yet a world apart. I may look like her but I’m not the same anymore. I’m much stronger and wiser.

I climbed a mountain I thought I never could. I stood against Damian and demanded freedom. Though I might not be completely free, but I would. Today is a first step toward it.

Glancing at my reflection one last time, I make a vow of setting her free one day.

Vicky came with me to the community center, as I expected since she’s basically my personal bodyguard. The center is a simple building with a warm, inviting look, tucked away in a quiet spot. Large windows let in plenty of natural light, giving it a cozy feel.

Standing at the entrance, I feel a flutter of nerves and my palms grow clammy. Through the glass, I catch glimpses of people inside, immersed in conversation and activity. It only heightens my anxiety.

“Ma’am, are you okay?” Vicky asks. She is wearing one of her dark suits. Her short hair slicked back and a Bluetooth headset in her ear. Her hazel eyes appear alert as she scans my face.

“Yes. Just nervous.” I force a smile.

She visibly relaxes. “We can wait here for a few minutes. You don’t have to go in right away.”

I smile. “Thanks.” Then try to take a few long breaths. Vicky stares the entire time. Curious, I ask, “Would you report Damian about this?”

“Absolutely, ma’am.”

“But I am fine.”

“Nevertheless, Mr. Montgomery prefers to stay informed about every aspect.”

I raise an eyebrow. “Oh, really? Are you supposed to report every time I use the bathroom too?”

Her expression remains serious as she responds, “If it’s necessary for your safety, ma’am, I won’t hesitate to report it.”

Well, this conversation has officially killed my nerves. Now, I’m just plain pissed. Not at Vicky. She is just doing her job. I’m angry with my dear husband. He didn’t bother to call me last night and expects every minute updates about me.

Anyway, I’m not going to overthink about him. “I’m feeling better now. Let’s go.”

I hesitate for a moment before pushing the glass door open. The faint smell of fresh paint hits me first, followed by the quiet buzz of voices inside. The studio feels alive yet serene, with easels scattered in one corner, their canvases streaked with bold, colorful strokes.

Soft instrumental music plays in the background.

A petite middle-aged woman with a warm smile approaches us. She extends a hand. “Welcome! You must be River. I’m Laura, the organizer of our art therapy initiative.”

I take her offered hand, finding an instant comfort in Laura’s genuine demeanor. “Nice to meet you. This is Vicky, my bodyguard. Thank you for having us. This place is incredible.”

Laura’s eyes light up. “Thank you! We believe in the healing power of art. It’s a safe space for individuals to express themselves, confront their emotions, and find solace. We’re thrilled to have your support.”

As we walk through the studio, Laura shares the stories behind the artwork hanging on the walls.

The pieces, created by the individuals who frequent this space, are a profound reflection of their emotions and experiences. The walls display a diverse range of art, each telling a unique tale.

Some paintings are filled with raw emotions—deep reds and blacks slashed across the canvas like a cry for help. The chaotic lines scream anger and frustration, but there’s something freeing about them too, like the artist was letting it all out.

Then there are the softer pieces. Gentle pastels and smooth strokes feel calm, almost like a breath of fresh air. They tell a different story—one of healing, of finding peace through art, and slowly putting the pieces back together.

I can’t help but be moved by the depth of emotion captured in all of the works.

We reach a cozy corner where a group of people, from different age groups, are focused on their art. Laura gestures toward them. “This is where the magic happens. Today’s session is an open studio day. Participants work on their individual projects.”

As I confess my lack of experience in volunteering, I sense anxiety taking over once again. Laura looks at me kindly and it gives me courage to admit that despite numerous online courses, I’ve never worked a day in my life. My face warms as I await her judgment, but instead, she offers a reassuring smile, “You have nothing to worry about, River,” Laura says. “Here, you don’t need any specific skill to volunteer. What matters most is your intention to help. You can circulate, offer support, or simply engage in conversation. Everyone’s contribution is valued, and your presence alone can make a difference.”

I offer Laura a grateful smile before letting my gaze wander around the room. My smile fades a little. I want to help, but the idea of jumping into conversations with strangers feels overwhelming. Maybe easing into it would make things better.

“Um, Laura,” I begin, hesitating, “I don’t want to sound like a snob, but... would it be possible for me to take on a task that doesn’t require too much interaction today? I haven't been very social lately, and honestly, I'm a little nervous about diving into conversations right away.”

“Of course! We want you to feel comfortable and find your pace here. How about we start with something more behind-the-scenes, like organizing art supplies or setting up the space? You can take your time to get familiar with everything, and when you’re ready, we can explore more interactive roles.”

A wave of relief washes over me and my tense shoulders visibly ease as I offer Laura a sincere smile. “Thank you so much, Laura. That sounds perfect. I appreciate your understanding.”

“Oh, hush now,” Laura replies, waving away my thanks with a soft chuckle. “Head to the second floor. We’re organizing a special event this week, and there are a few new volunteers who joined to help. They are currently busy coordinating the details and setting up. Matt is leading the efforts, overseeing the preparations. It’s a fantastic opportunity for you to jump right in.”

“All right,” I smile and start toward the stairs. When Vicky falls into step beside me, I give her a sidelong glance. “You’re coming with me?”

“Of course, Mrs. Montgomery.”

I grimace. “Can you please not… call me that. Not here at least.”

“May I ask why?”

“Because I don’t want them to treat me differently. That name carries a certain weight, and I’d rather people know me for who I am, not because of my husband. I’m sure many are already aware of who I am, but addressing me as Mrs. Montgomery tends to put up walls. I’m not here as Damian’s wife; I’m here as River. So, if you could, let’s stick with that.”

She hesitates before saying, “All right. Your wish is my command. Your comfort and security are my top priorities, Mrs—”

I raise my eyebrows.

“River.” She completes and I give her my brightest smile. She attempts a smile in return, a bit awkward, but it’s enough.

Together, we ascend the staircase. Upon reaching the second floor, I spot the group of people seated on the other side of the room.

Swiftly, I find a seat toward the back, hoping to blend into the background. I shoot a subtle glance at Vicky, silently willing her to sit next to me when she remains standing by my side, attracting unwanted attention.

When she doesn’t budge, I scowl then tug her down beside me. As she begins to argue, I raise a finger to my lips, demanding her to stay mute. Just then a deep male voice resonates through the room, “Congrats, you’ve got yourself an event organizer who somehow managed to lose his phone while it was literally in his hands.”

A ripple of laughter follows, and I turn to see the man whose voice seems a bit familiar. My eyes widen. He is the same man from the charity gala. The one I caught staring at me.

He walks onto the raised podium, smiling at his audience. In a perfect blend of casual and polished style, he effortlessly dons a well-fitted light gray sweater paired with dark jeans. His dark hair is slightly tousled. The shadow of stubble on his jawline only sharpens his already striking features.

He frowns, then pats his jeans pocket before retrieving something out. “Oh, I should add magician to my resume now.” He holds up the phone, making everyone laugh again.

A girl who looks about my age lets out a dreamy sigh beside me, clearly charmed as he keeps cracking jokes. I turn to Vicky and am stunned when I find her smiling, her cheeks pink. When she catches my stare, she clears her throat.

A chuckle escapes me, and I shake my head in mild amusement. There’s no denying his impact on the opposite gender. Even my no-nonsense bodyguard is smitten.

Finding him here of all places is a bit odd, I won’t lie. But the plus point is, he didn’t notice me. Even if he did, he can barely recognize me in this casual outfit. In the gala, I looked older in that expensive evening gown and a face full of makeup. Now, I look like an ordinary twenty-two-year-old girl.

Working alongside Matt would be just fine. So I relax back in my seat and listen to him joke about Laura practically blackmailing him into organizing the event. “So,” he begins, a mischievous smile lighting up his face, “how many of you got pulled in by Laura’s sweet-talking?”

The group breaks into laughter. Matt shakes his head, grinning. “I swear, all I said was that I had some free time. Next thing I know, she’s got me running the whole ‘Art and Wellness Festival.’ Classic Laura, right?”

More laughter ensues and I find myself smiling along. “Well, jokes aside. I’m honored to be chosen for this,” he says soberly and when people laugh, he narrows his eyes, smiling. “You don’t believe me?” he says, letting his eyes roam across the room. Then, his gaze settles on me. I was smiling, but it falters under the weight of his attention. His smile widens, and my face heats up instantly.

Few heads turn my way, probably wanting to see who caught his attention. The scrutiny makes me sink deeper into the seat.

I breathe a sigh of relief when he finally takes his blue eyes off me. “We’ve got an incredible day planned, and I’m counting on each one of you to make it happen.” Everyone remains silent as he explains the event. “First up, Iris and Ben, our art therapists, will turn this place into an art gallery. We’re talking about showcasing the beautiful creations from our therapy sessions.”

“Now, here’s the main part,” he declares, his tone capturing everyone’s attention. “The heart of our event is the mural project in the afternoon,” Matt announces. “Laura came up with this brilliant idea. Each of you will have the chance to contribute.”

Several questions are thrown his way and he tackles them all with ease.  “As for how it’ll happen,” he continues, addressing the logistics, “we’ll have different stations set up, each representing a theme we cherish in our community. Whether it’s family, friendship, or personal growth—everyone will find a station that resonates with them.”

His gaze sweeps across the room, ensuring that everyone is on board. “Iris and Ben will be at the heart of it, guiding us through the process. But remember, this is a collaborative effort. Don’t worry if you’re not a seasoned artist like me.” Everyone laughs again. “Just kidding. This mural is about the essence of our community, and each contribution, no matter how small, is invaluable.”

Laura decides to join us then. She goes to the podium and hugs Matt before facing us. “Hey, guys. First of all, I’d like to thank Matt for doing this for us.”

“They know you blackmailed me, Laura.” He interjects making her laugh.

“Apart from being one of the benefactors, Matt is the founder of a global nonprofit organization. Despite overseeing large-scale projects worldwide, he still finds time to help whenever I ask. And never once complains about it.”

Matt mouths to us, I do.

We chuckle but focus when Laura begins talking about the project. “As we wrap up the festival, we’ll have a celebratory unveiling of our completed mural. And here’s the beauty of it—this mural isn’t just for the event. It’ll find its permanent home on the lobby wall of our new branch.”

The room buzzes with excitement. Everyone jumps up, inquiring about the role they would play in the initiative.

I stand as well but stay behind with Vicky. I watch her watch Matt as he talks to the women surrounding him.

“You wanna join them?” I tease and she jerks her head to the side.

“No, ma’am.”

When I scowl at her, she corrects herself, “River.”

I observe her hazel eyes widening, and as I turn to follow her gaze, I spot Matt approaching us with ease, casually engaging in conversation with others on his way to where we’re standing.

“You,” he remarks with a knowing smile. Then, extending his smile to Vicky as he acknowledges her presence.

Laura walks over. “Matt, have you met River?” she asks, gesturing toward me.

“A name as captivating as the person it belongs to. Pleasure to officially meet you, River.” He extends his hand.

Laura raises an eyebrow, puzzled by his comment. Desperate to get the introductions over with, I take his hand, “Nice to meet you too…?”

“Matthew Lane, but just call me Matt.”

“Got it.” I give Vicky’s arm a gentle tug, guiding her forward. “This is Vicky,” I say, introducing her—not only because it’s the right thing to do, but because I need to take the spotlight off myself.

She clears her throat. “It’s Victoria, actually.” My head snaps her way. “River’s personal bodyguard.”

Matt grins, his eyes twinkling with intrigue. “Well, River, looks like you've got yourself a stunning bodyguard.” He nods at Vicky with a smile, clearly impressed.

She flushes and tucks her hair.

I bite my lower lip to suppress a smile. She is so into him. It’s actually entertaining to watch them interact.

I’m still staring at her pink face when a gentle nudge on my arm draws my attention. Glancing upward, I find Matt extending his phone toward me. “Type in your number,” he instructs.

“Uh…”

“Since you’re going to work on this project with us, we’ll need to stay in touch. You are, right?”

“I… uh, yes. Yes, I am.”

He motions at the phone once more.

“Right.” My fingers shake as I put in my phone number. It’s all right. It’s just for volunteering—nothing more, nothing less. Yet, it makes me feel guilty.

I don’t just type my name. I add, Mrs. River Montgomery. He might’ve seen me with Damian at the gala, but he could’ve easily mistaken me for his date, not his wife. I’m taken, and it’s only right I make that known.

I hand the phone back. He finishes his conversation with Laura, then glances down at the screen. His eyes linger for a moment as he reads the name I saved, and I catch the flicker of realization crossing his face. His gaze lifts to meet mine, a thoughtful look on his face.

“Mrs. River Montgomery?” he says, his tone carrying a hint of understanding—and something else. Maybe disappointment? I can’t quite put my finger on it, but the shift in his expression is clear.

I offer him a smile. “Yes.”

Matt nods, a mix of respect and acceptance in his gaze. “Got it, Mrs. Montgomery.”

“You can still call me River, you know.”

There’s a moment of pause, and his eyes soften with a small, appreciative smile. “River it is, then.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

Past

It has been two weeks since Damian surprised me by buying a freaking mansion for us.

In those two weeks, the mansion has become my personal space because I’ve spent almost every single day in it. Except the nights.

Even when he isn’t around half the time, it still feels like he’s with me. This place has Damian’s essence. That’s why I like to spend time here than the campus café or my apartment.

Damian’s got his private chef here, and my taste buds have never been happier. From fancy breakfasts to late-night munchies, every meal feels like a Michelin-star experience. It’s almost eerie how each dish aligns perfectly with my tastes, especially since I’ve never mentioned my favorite foods.

He has gone so far as to arrange for a dedicated driver to take me to and from the mansion. Has made sure the place is filled with all the things I need. Including stationaries for school work.

Take yesterday for example. We were lounging on the plush couch after devouring another delicious meal for lunch. My head was resting on his muscled thigh while he was on a phone call, his fingers playing with my curls.

Those lazy moments are my favorite. Anyway, I was browsing Pinterest as usual for cute mugs and all of a sudden something dropped on my lap. It was a beautifully wrapped gift box. I looked up and saw Damian was now leaning back against the couch, his piercing dark gaze was shut, his thick long lashes resting over his cheeks.

The whole gift box thing temporarily slipped my mind, and I found myself frozen, unable to utter a word or move an inch. He looked so serious even when his body was relaxed. So dauntingly sophisticated in his black shirt and trousers.

And there it was again, the intense attraction that tugged my insides as I admired his beautifully symmetrical features. He was just... so damn hot. My eyes drifted downward, until they landed on his mouth.

“Take a peek inside that gift box; might be more interesting than my face.”

Hot flush covered my face and I felt my ears heating. I jerked up in a sitting position.

I wasn’t staring. Okay, I was staring so what? He is so fine I can’t help it. I could spend an entire day just staring at him and not get bored. He doesn’t have to be so smug about it!

I don’t get enough time with him as is, and here he was, gloating!

He slowly peeled his eyes open, then hauled my stiff body on his lap. The moment his scent hits me, anger leaves my body.

“Open it.”

I complied, unwrapping the gift box then gasp out loud.

“Damian!” I threw my arms around his neck, tearing up. Nestled within the folds of tissue paper, was a limited-edition candy pink mug with my initials. The exact same one from my saved pins on Pinterest.

Even dad didn’t spoil me this much.

That afternoon, I kept saying I love you over and over while I smothered him with kisses. And at that moment I didn’t care why he never told me he loved me. Because his actions told me enough. The satisfaction in his eyes whenever I gave him those three words were enough.

In my heart, I know he loves me. He’s not the kind of man to say it outright, but his actions speak louder than any words ever could. A man like him wouldn’t put in so much effort, wouldn’t go to such lengths, unless what we had was real.

He might look all tough on the outside, but deep down, he’s a softie. Of course, I’d never tell him that—he’d just give me that scowl.

He thinks he can scare me with his scowls but truth be told, he looks so sexy when he does that. His frowns… I’ve come to crave it just as much as his smiles.

The way his dark brows furrow makes me want to do something reckless. Like pull him in and kiss the hell out of him. And not stop there. But then, I remind myself—Damian isn’t the kind of man who gets controlled. He’s the one in charge. Always.

And the thought of him in control only fills my mind with crazy scenarios. Very crazy, very hot scenarios. That includes me and him with no clothes. I feel hot rush of butterflies in my stomach just thinking about the things I want Damian to do to me.

I’m more than ready to take things further but he seems content with kisses. Though the intensity of his kisses tells me otherwise.

His taste, his scent makes me crazy. The look in his eyes whenever he breaks the kiss coupled with the rise and fall of his broad shoulders does something to me.

I can’t wait to kiss him again tonight. We’re set to have dinner on the rooftop deck, followed by a movie marathon. It’s Friday, so there’s no need to worry about early morning classes tomorrow, and I’m really excited.

For now, I’m running late for my morning class but I’m heading to the mansion instead because, of course, I managed to forget my books there.

Using my key, I let myself in and go straight to the master bedroom.

I remember I dropped them somewhere in the master because I was tired and wanted to take a nap.

I’m out of breath by the time I reach the door. Damn, I’m never going to be careless again. I hate running around first thing in the morning. Especially without coffee.

I enter and hurry to the nightstand. “There you are.” I smile as I pick them up before putting them into my satchel.

I’m about to turn back to the door when unexpectedly, the bathroom door swings open, and Damian appears, making me jump.

The white towel around his waist sits dangerously low, barely doing its job. He was in the middle of drying his hair with the other towel but freezes when he sees me.

For the next few tantalizingly slow seconds, neither one of us is able to move.

A shiver races down my spine. Time momentarily stands still, and an electric charge fills the air.

I try to stop my gaze from drifting over him. I really do but it’s useless. I watch, dry-mouthed as droplets of water drip from his hair onto his well-defined shoulders and run over his pecs, down his chiseled abs.

He shaved his stubble off. And although I love the feel of his stubble against my palm, I ache to stroke his clean-shaven jaw.

My eyes slide down for the second time, tracing his glistening abs again before taking in that delicious V-line that’s half hidden by the towel.

Suddenly there’s a throbbing between my legs. Then I feel myself getting wet. So wet. It surprises me, making me flush hot.

God, I ache for him to touch me. So much that I feel dizzy from the desire washing over me. Devouring him with my eyes has left me panting.

Swallowing thickly, I finally look up only to freeze when I meet his gaze. Oh, no! I just got caught red handed, shamelessly checking him out.

Fuck! I don’t usually swear. Not even in my mind but this situation calls for it because I swear all of my dirty thoughts about him must be written all over my face.

The muscles in his jaw are clenching. Hard. And the way his chest rises and falls tells me he is angry. I made him angry because he knows now. He knows how much of a bad girl I am because I want him to do bad, bad things to me. He is mad at me. Or maybe he isn’t? maybe he is angry because he’s trying and failing to control himself because he wants me so much. The thought makes me giddy.

I clear my throat. “I didn’t know you spent the night here.” I grimace at my stupidity. What am I saying? I should tell him why I’m here instead of asking him—

“I stayed over for an early meeting in the area.” He stops drying his hair and throws the small towel on the bed then stalks over to me. My heart is racing as arousal courses through me. I’m trembling with need by the time he reaches me.

I can feel my nipples straining against my bra and I try to subtly look down. But before I can check, he speaks, “Why aren’t you in class?”

“I forgot my boobs.” Then add, “books!” squeakily.

Oh no, no, no! Why did I say that? I’m such a mess. I forgot my… boobs? Seriously? I want to disappear. Why does my brain do this to me? Okay, breathe. Just breathe. Maybe if I hide my face, he won’t notice. Ugh, why am I like this? This is the most embarrassing thing ever. I want to crawl into a hole right now. I want to—

“Did you eat?” he asks, stopping my train of thought.

“Huh?”

“Did you?” he lowers his head, staring into my eyes. And I’m lost. In his dark, dark eyes.

He shakes me, and it takes a beat too long for my senses to catch up. It hits me then. Damian is touching me. His large, warm hands are on my shoulders. I’m wearing a sleeveless dress that means he is touching my skin. His touch is so electrifying, it sends a shiver down my spine. My senses come alive, every nerve in my body aware of his closeness.

“Angel?”

“Yes?”

“You need to eat.” He leaves me then disappears into the walk-in closet.

He returns just as quickly as he left, dressed in a black shirt and black pants.

“Come.” He offers me his hand. I take it. As he starts toward the door, I dig my heels in to halt his progress. “Actually, I am running late.”

“At least have a smoothie before you go.”

I begin shaking my head but pause when he frowns. “You can take it with you.”

He tugs me along, and I’m surprised when he heads toward the kitchen. My eyebrows knit together in confusion, and I follow him silently. Upon entering, I don’t find the chef there so I get more confused.

“Sit,” he orders, pointing to one of the stools by the counter. I obey, my gaze following his every move.

I watch in amazement as he begins folding back the cuffs of his crisp, expensive shirt. I shouldn’t find it hot but I do. Squirming, I watch the whole scene by sinking my teeth in my lower lip.

I catch a flicker of uncertainty in his eyes as he glances at the unfamiliar appliance. What is he doing? He seems oddly out of place in the kitchen.

He rummages through the fridge, pulls out a bunch of fruits.

“Damian?”

“Hmm?”

He doesn’t look at me as he goes looking for something in the cabinets.

“What are you doing?”

“What does it look like I’m doing?” he says without glancing my way. He is making me a smoothie. I thought he would ask someone else to do it or send Hal to buy one but he’s doing it himself. I’m so stunned that I don’t make a single comment when he begins throwing in leafy vegetables in the blender too.

I’m still mute while he pours the smoothie into the stainless-steel tumbler.

“Here,” he says, finally looking up. I can’t stop myself from climbing off the stool and rounding the counter. The second I’m close, I clasp the sides of his face and kiss him with all the love I possess in my heart.

Damian doesn’t mind in the least because he wraps me in his arms and holds me tight against him.

Reluctantly, I break the kiss. “I have to go,” I whisper against his lips. I melt when he tightens his arms around me. Stroking his smooth skin, I gaze up at him lovingly. Then give in to the temptation and kiss his lips softly again. Then kiss his nose. Then his long lashes. Then his forehead before pressing one last kiss on his chin.

“I love you.” I smile sappily as I tell him.

He looks at me with burning possession in his eyes. Then crowds me against the counter, pressing his hard body to my soft one. “Again.”

Still smiling, I comply, “I love you—” he catches the word in his mouth and makes me repeat it again before handing me the cup.

“Taste it,” he urges me when I am about to turn.

Smiling, I do and immediately my eyes water. It starts sweet, but then there’s this tangy kick that hits me, followed by a weird bitter aftertaste. Smothering the urge to cringe, I force a smile. “Mmm.”

“Okay?” he asks and I nod frantically.

“Yes, I love it.” I take another sip.

He narrows his eyes. “Let me have a taste.”

I step back. “Nuh uh. Not happening, sir.” I shake my head. “My boyfriend made this for me. I’m not going to share.” Walking back, I grab my satchel then start running toward the door. “I’ll see you in the evening!”

When I’m inside the car, I stare at the tumbler. Then smile before bringing it to my lips.

◆◆◆

After finishing the marketing class, I gather my belongings and slide my laptop into my satchel. Though tired, I am excited as I navigate the bustling hallways. As I step out of the building, the sunlight baths me with its warmth.

Just few more hours and I’ll be with Damian again. I smile up at the sky. Damian’s smoothie was bitter but healthy and it gave me enough energy to survive the classes. But now I’m hungry. Should I grab a quick bite or head straight to the library?

I’m contemplating my choices when suddenly, a familiar voice calls out my name. “River!”

Turning around, I see dad standing there in a perfectly tailored grey suit. His eyes are covered in sunglasses. His presence exudes confidence and charm, causing a few heads to turn as he walks over to me. I greet him with a mix of surprise and delight.

“Hey, Dad!” I say as he envelops me in a warm hug.

“How’s my favorite person in the world doing?”

“Surviving,” I chuckle, adjusting my satchel.

“How about we grab a coffee at that café over there?” Dad suggests, gesturing toward the café I frequent.

“Sure.” We settle into a corner of the café. I get my usual order while he orders espresso.

I take a sip before saying, “So this was a surprise.”

He carefully sets his cup down, a warm smile on his face. “Aren’t you happy to see me?” There’s a hint of hurt beneath his smile.

“What?” I lean forward, placing my hand over his. “Dad, don’t get me wrong, I’m thrilled you’re here. It’s just that I know how busy you are and yet you’re here.”

“Well, work can wait. Spending time with you is always a priority.”

I nod, appreciating his words. “I love having you around, Dad. It means the world to me, but I also worry that you might be putting too much on hold.”

He sighs, the smile fading momentarily. “I just want to be there for you, you know? You are growing up so fast. It feels like we are… drifting apart.”

A pang of guilt hits me. Ever since I started dating Damian, my focus has shifted, and I’ve unintentionally distanced myself from Dad. Maybe I unconsciously did that because I know I might slip up and tell him about Damian. He won’t view it as a normal relationship because of our ten-year age gap. He is too protective to approve of it.

“That’s not true,” I lower my eyes. “It’s just that life has been a bit hectic lately, and I might not have been as present as I should but dad…” I look up at him. “We are not drifting apart. That’s just not possible.”

In my mind, I vow to myself to make more effort, to find a balance between both my personal life and my relationship with Dad. He’s been a constant support, and I would hate myself for being the cause of his pain. I love both men in my life and I won’t hurt one for the other.

He gives me a soft smile, a sense of relief evident in his eyes. Then, “By the way, sweet pea, I’m throwing a little party next week. I’d really love it if you could make some time to attend.”

I raise an eyebrow, intrigued. “A party? What’s the occasion?”

He leans in, a hint of pride in his eyes. “It’s a celebration of a big merger.”

“A merger? That sounds significant. Tell me more about it.”

He takes a moment to reflect, his gaze distant as he stares out the glass wall. “There was this new competitor who was threatening to take my place,” dad then looks at me, “and this merger was the key to show them their place.” After making that frighteningly serious statement, he smiles. “It was a strategic move that secured our place at the top.”

Dad is a passionate businessman. But I detect a complex mix of emotions in his expression which is beyond mere triumph. As I stare back at him in confusion, His demeanor shifts quickly, and he says, “It’s a moment to celebrate! A big win for the company calls for a grand celebration.”

I can’t shake off the feeling that there’s more to the story, but I decide not to press further. “Congratulations, Dad. It sounds like a huge success.”

“Thank you, sweetheart. There’s one more thing. I’d like you to attend the party with Edward.”

I choke on my drink. “Edward McAllister?”

Dad frowns, leans forward and hands me a tissue. “Yes. Are you all right?”

No! Because it’s Edward! Skylar’s brother. The one who Skylar said has a crush on me! I immediately start to shake my head, “Dad, no offense, but I’d rather not—”

He cuts me off gently, “I knew you’d say that, but hear me out.”

I shake my head again. “No, please. I mean, why would you even suggest that? I don’t really know him that well.”

“Because you didn’t give him the chance, River.”

“But—”

“I understand my suggestion might seem a bit unusual, but it’s crucial for our business relationships. Edward’s father and I have been partners for years, and having you two together would strengthen our ties. It’s not just about the event; it’s about presenting a united front and fostering trust.”

I hesitate, my mind racing. Attending the event with Edward is the last thing I want, especially when I have a boyfriend, a fact my dad is completely unaware of.

“I... I don’t know, Dad,” I stammer, attempting to find the right words. Or more like a convincing lie. “It just feels a bit... awkward. And I have other plans that night.”

His expression turns questioning. “Other plans? Sweetheart, this is important for the business, and it would mean a lot to me.”

Internally, I’m torn. I want to be honest with my dad, but revealing my secret relationship is not an option. I have to choose between family obligation and my personal life. I really don’t have any excuse to say no. And besides, I don’t want to hurt him.

“I understand, Dad,” I finally concede, trying to sound convincing. “It’s just... Forget it, I’ll just cancel my plans.”

His face lights up with gratitude, unaware of my internal struggle. “Thank you, sweet pea. It means a great deal to me. You and Edward will make a great impression.”

◆◆◆

After the last class of the day, I swiftly make my way back to my apartment. After a refreshing shower, I opt for a white sleeveless cami crop top paired with high-rise dark flared pants with matching suspenders. Completing the look with few accessories, I select a dainty gold chain, studs, and a watch. I decide to let my curls fall freely. Then, I reach for the perfume and spray it over my wrists and clothes that makes me smell heavenly before leaving.

“Ma’am,” Hal greets me as soon as I enter the mansion.

“Hi,” I smile as I walk with him inside. “I already told you, you can just call me River.”

“I can’t.”

“Why not?”

“Because it’s inappropriate.”

“Says who?”

He doesn’t say anything. I almost roll my eyes. He’s a grump. Just like his boss.

“So, where is Damian?” I look around.

“He’s busy at the moment. Would you like some refreshments before dinner?”

I frown. “Busy?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“But we had plans.” He was supposed to hang out with me. Wasn’t the whole point of buying this place to enjoy each other’s company? We had made arrangements to spend time together after carefully sorting his schedule. Now he is working here as well.

“Where is he?” I ask again and receive the same answer. Hal can be annoying sometimes. While his loyalty to his employer is commendable, he doesn’t have the authority to dictate whether I should keep my distance from my boyfriend. Regardless of his busy schedule, I believe I have the right to know his whereabouts.

When he inquires about refreshments once more, I ask for a Virgin Mojito.

“I’ll be in the entertainment zone. Send it there,” I tell him. He inclines his head and leaves.

As soon as he is out of sight, I go looking for Damian.

After wandering through the never-ending hallways and checking every room in this ridiculously huge place, I come across an intimidating door that is slightly ajar. When I peek inside, I find exactly what I was looking for.

Damian is standing by the floor-length glass wall. The room appears to be a home office. I release a sigh, my hand tightly gripping the door. He looks incredible in that black shirt and trousers. The suit jacket is thrown over the couch at the corner. And although he is facing away from me, he takes my breath away. He’s utterly captivating.

Why was Hal lying? He doesn’t look busy to me. Quietly, I step inside and shut the door behind me. His head turns my way.

“Hey,” I smile but don’t get one in return. I don’t mind as he rarely smiles. But what makes my smile falter are his eyes. They lack the usual glint I see in them whenever I’m around. There’s a hint of bitterness in his dark gaze, tying my stomach into knots.

I want to go to him but a moment of uncertainty holds me back. It feels like I’m standing at the edge of a precipice, unsure whether to take the plunge. Yet, a surge of courage propels me forward. Slowly, I close the distance between us.

When I am standing in front of him, I reach up and cup his jaw. My fingers graze the subtle roughness of his five o’clock shadow. The tension in his jaw is hard to miss but I keep caressing him.

I step closer, pressing my body against his, feeling the rigidity in every muscle. He seemed fine earlier, so what’s happened since then? But I don’t push. This isn’t the moment for questions. Right now, all I can do is try to comfort him, even if I’m not sure what’s going on or how to make it better.

Continuing the tender touch, my fingers trail up into his hair, gently guiding his head down so I can pull him into a hug. He stiffly bends to accommodate me. With one hand in his hair and the other around his waist, I embrace him.

At first, he’s stiff and tries to pull away. I don’t let it deter me. I squeeze him instead. I can be stubborn too. He can’t shut me out. I won’t allow it. I won’t let him suffer alone.

I continue for a few minutes, running my fingers through his hair and keeping my arm securely around his waist. Gradually, I feel the tension in his body begin to ease.

I gently press my lips to his hair, a tender gesture that seems to relax him further. He exhales harshly against crook of my neck before pulling me tighter against his chest. I have to stand on my tiptoes with how hard he is hugging me.

I can feel his heart pounding in his chest as he breathes deeply.

After what feels like forever, he pulls back but doesn’t release me.

I stare up at him. “Did you eat?”

He sighs and leans down to rest his forehead against mine. “Why did you come?”

My heart starts pounding. “W-we had plans.”

“I mean in my life.”

I freeze. He leans back. He is staring at me with an unreadable expression. Too shaken by his words, I try to understand what he was saying. Does he regret being with me? The mere possibility sends waves of insecurity against my fragile heart.

Was I too much for him? I shouldn’t have overwhelmed him with my affection when I knew he was a very private person. Maybe my hugging him when he was having a bad day was a wrong move.

I take a shuddering breath, attempting to mask the hurt. My voice wavers slightly. “I-I didn’t mean to disrupt anything. I just... I care about you. If I’m, you know, too much, I can... I can give you space.” I bite my lip, hoping he’d see the sincerity in my eyes.

A heavy silence hangs in the air. Then he slowly shakes his head. “That’s the last thing I want.”

I’m baffled. Then Damian goes and confuses me by fisting my curls and drawing me close. “It wasn’t supposed to be like this.”

“L-like what?”

“I wasn’t supposed to get close.”

I gaze up at him frowning. I clasp his face with my palms. “What’s wrong, Damian? Did I do something wrong?”

“I’m not a good man.”

I shake my head vehemently. “That’s not true! You—”

“You don’t know me.”

“I do!”

He releases me suddenly. “Being with you is costing me too much.”

My heart thuds in my chest. “You’re leaving me?” My lips tremble as I ask.

“I should. Because if this goes any further, I’m not sure I’d be able to let you go.”

Taking hasty steps, I clutch his shirt with my desperate fingers. “Then don’t. I don’t want you to, Damian.”

“You don’t know what you’re asking for.”

I tilt my chin up. “I know what I want.”

He grips my chin. “What if the price of being with me is more than you bargained for?”

“Then I’ll find a way to pay it. Because you’re worth every damn bit of it.”

He captures my mouth with his demanding one. I let myself sink into the passionate kiss. Wanting, needing this reassurance after suffering the almost heart attack at the thought of him leaving me.

On a choked groan, I reach up and hook a hand around his neck to deepen the kiss. We kiss with a hot, wild urgency that was new. I drive my tongue between his lips and arch into his chest when I get his taste. It’s too much. All these sensations. I can’t keep still as his hands slide down my body. But just as quickly, he drags his mouth away, leaving me unsatisfied.

Groaning, I dig my nails in his chest. “Why do you stop all the time? Don’t you want me?”

“I have to stop.”

“Why?” It comes out as a whine.

“Because if I don’t, every kiss would end with you flat on your back and we both know exactly what that means.”

I’m too stunned to speak.

Damian clasps my hand. “Come let’s feed you.”

I pull at it to stop him. “Are we good?”

He turns his head to look at me. His eyes aren’t cold anymore. “Yes.”

“Don’t ever talk about breaking up.”

He comes back then kisses my forehead. “I won’t. I’ll never let you go now, not even if you beg, angel.”

Later that night, when I casually ask about his morning meeting, he replies with a nonchalant, “It fell through.” I wanted to ask more about it because Damian rarely faces setbacks. He is always on top of things. So I wanted to know why he lost that deal, but I sense no visible distress in his tone.

I attempted to address the incident in the home office but he brushed it off, saying he was preoccupied with work and took it out on me. He apologized for it and promised to never let his professional life affect us.

It wasn’t his cold demeanor that unsettled me—it was the crippling fear of him leaving me. But as I walked out of the mansion, his vow to never let me go wrapped around me like a shield, calming my nerves and making me feel more connected to him than ever.

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

Present

It’s been three days since Damian left for Dubai. Two days since I began volunteering at the community center. And in those two days, I’ve found I no longer need sleeping pills.

I have struggled with insomnia. And it is directly linked to Damian.

It all began in the early days of our marriage. The times when his business trips turned our bed into a cold, empty space. I was already grieving the loss of my relationship with my father. I remember being so scared and so alone. And Damian wasn’t there either.

When I needed him the most, he just wasn’t there. The mansion, the place I once called my safe haven turned into a haunted house. The silence felt louder, and the ache of missing him echoed in every tick of the clock.

Each night without him was a struggle, and sleep slipped away like a fleeting promise.

The longer he stayed away, the more desperate I became. I counted the hours until his return, craving the warmth of his body to fill the emptiness. Because he wasn’t just the cause of my restless nights; he was also the cure.

The moment I had him back, I slept like a baby. His heartbeat was my lullaby. It was in his arms that my mind used to effortlessly fall into a soothing silence. The constant riot of thoughts didn’t pester me when he was with me. But then before I could settle, he used to leave again. And the cycle continued. That’s how I began relying on sleeping pills.

But I noticed something different this time around.

When he left unannounced three days ago, fear gripped me because I knew sleep would turn its back on me again.

Yet, to my astonishment, it wasn’t the case. The history didn’t repeat itself because sleep, rather than snubbing me, embraced me in its comforting arms.

This was possible because of my newfound solace. Volunteering at the community center. Engaging in this purposeful work gave my restless mind something to hold onto, a distraction from the chaos that used to torment me during the lonely nights.

Damian’s back to his old ways, completely ignoring me. He hasn’t bothered calling once. I know he’s getting all the updates he needs through Vicky. It’s clear he doesn’t feel the need to reach out when he has everything he wants to know without doing so.

In the past, his silence would have torn through the fragile walls of my confidence. Each moment without his call would have been a stab, a confirmation of my fears that I was slipping away from his thoughts.

The absence of his words would have echoed louder than any spoken reassurance, leaving me drowning in self-doubt yet again.

It still hurts. I won’t lie. I’m not equipped with a reset button for emotions to just up and erase all the feelings with a single click and move on. It hurts and it will continue to hurt for a while. But because I have something new to focus on, his neglect doesn’t carry the same weight.

The indifference that once shook the foundation of my self-worth, now only managed to hurt me to a degree that I was able to handle.

Slowly, I am trying to make myself believe that his lack of communication doesn’t define my value. It will take a lot of work, and right now all I have is time. So I am willing to work on it.

“Mrs. Montgomery.” Vicky calls out from the bedroom’s doorway.

As I turn to her, I’m taken aback. Vicky doesn’t look like Vicky-the-bodyguard. She looks… rather cute and soft in a comfy pair of jeans, a loose-fitting T-shirt, and a denim jacket. The change in her outfit gives her an entirely different, more easygoing appearance. Even her usual slicked back hair is now falling over her forehead and grazing her jawline. My face breaks into a wide smile as I approach her. “Oh my God, Vicky! You look absolutely lovely!”

She tucks a strand behind her ear and responds with a small smile. “Thank you. I just wanted to blend in with everyone. I felt like a sore thumb in a suit. I hope this is okay.”

“Of course it is!” I reassure her, noticing the worry in her eyes.

She bites her lip. “You wouldn’t tell the boss, right?”

“No way! I’m not a snitch. Besides, I’m thrilled you’re not blending in with the uniformed clones who work for my husband.”

Vicky’s shoulders visibly relax, and a relieved smile graces her lips. “Thank you. I was worried about standing out too much. I appreciate your understanding.”

I return her relieved smile. “No need to worry at all, Vicky. Embrace the change—it suits you perfectly. I’m all for it.”

Vicky pauses for a beat then says, “You know, you look pretty great yourself. This casual style suits you too. It’s a nice change.”

I glance down at my outfit. I’m wearing a pair of stylish yet comfortable sky-blue high-rise jeans and red turtleneck and beige wool cropped jacket.

On her first day, Vicky caught a glimpse of the elegant yet seemingly reserved version of myself. However, over the past two days, she’s observed a shift.

“Thanks, Vicky. It feels good to break free from the mold.”

She nods wistfully before checking her watch. “Are you ready to head to the community center? We don’t want to be late.”

“I need to make a quick phone call. Wait for me downstairs, I’ll be down in a minute.”

“Actually, I can’t leave you alone while you’re on the phone. It’s the boss’s orders,” Vicky says hesitantly, her commitment to her duty evident.

In the mere span of three days, Vicky and I have developed an unexpected closeness. It’s surprising how quickly we’ve connected. But every time she complies with Damian’s commands, I feel a sharp pang. It reminds me of the lines that can’t be crossed, the roles we’re each trapped in.

“All right, I understand,” I say, masking any trace of disappointment. “You can stay.”

I turn away and dial my best friend. She picks up on the second ring.

“River! How are you? Where are you?” Summer’s voice bursts through the line, laced with a deep concern that borders on hysteria. “I’ve been trying to reach you all morning. Something’s up, isn’t it? Please tell me you’re okay.”

“I’m here at home. Sorry, my phone was dead. I just needed to hear your voice.” I try to sound calm despite the deep longing to hug my friend. “Can you talk for a bit?”

“Of course, I’m here for you, River! What happened? You sound upset. Spill the details, and don’t leave anything out,” Summer says, her tone rising with genuine concern.

“Everything’s okay, really. I just missed you and wanted to catch up,” I assure her with a forced lightness in my tone. “I knew you’d be worried if I didn’t call. So, what’s new with you?”

“We might not have known each other long, but I can sense when something’s not right. You don’t have to pretend with me. What’s going on?”

When I hesitate, she adds, “Is this about your brute of a husband?”

“No, Summer, it’s not about him.” I speak fast. Then sigh. Nothing escapes this girl. “I know you’re worried but seriously, everything is fine. I just needed to hear your voice. Let’s catch up, okay?”

“All right,” she finally relents, grumbling but not before saying, “It’s a good thing I didn’t get a clear look at your husband at the new year’s party. Those colored glasses and booze saved him from a piece of my mind. Otherwise, I would’ve tracked down his schedule and popped up in unexpected places to ‘accidentally’ trip him down a flight of stairs. You know, just a little message to remind him to treat you right.”

I burst into laughter. “Summer, you’re one of a kind. I can always count on you for some creative, albeit dangerous, problem-solving. Let’s talk about something else, okay?”

Thankfully, we drive away from the dangerous topic of my relationship with my husband. We spend good ten minutes talking and laughing about random stuff. I can’t help but appreciate how Summer’s energy lifts my spirits.

On the day fate seemingly stole away my happiness on my wedding anniversary, it bestowed upon me a different kind of gift—Summer. She became the unexpected light in the midst of dark clouds, a friend who walked into my life when I needed support the most.

We were talking about Goldie when she begins asking about my next visit. I don’t give her a clear answer, just try to calm her down by promising I’ll visit soon. Of course, it backfires.

“Give me a date, River. Give me something!” she practically yells at me through the phone. I steal a glance at Vicky and find her face blank. But I know even she heard that.

Now, how do I tell Summer that by not meeting her, I’m protecting her. How do I tell her that avoiding her is the only way to keep her safe from the complications in my life? How do I explain that even though I yearn to see her as much as she does me, I can’t risk Damian using her against me.

“I can’t. But I will come to visit soon. I promise.”

“Is he… hurting you?” she asks, her tone filled with dread and protectiveness.

“No!” This time it’s me shouting. Then a sigh leaves me. “My husband is ruthless. He wouldn’t bat an eye before destroying someone’s life. He hurts me emotionally? Yes. But he’s never hurt me physically. Ever.”

It’s the absolute truth. Damian might have inflicted emotional wounds, a relentless assault on my spirit, but never has he laid a finger on me.

The conviction in my voice finally helped her relax. We continue chatting for few more minutes before ending the call on a rather happy note.

Vicky didn’t comment on that and silently led me to the car. Once inside, I can’t help asking, “Will you inform Damian about the phone call?”

Her hesitation speaks volumes and I sigh.

Vicky meets my gaze, her tone carefully measured. “River, I’ll inform Damian about the call, as I must. But don’t worry, I won’t disclose the details of your conversation.”

My eyes widen in shock. “Why?”

Summer was so loud that I’m sure Vicky heard what she thinks of my husband. Even from just listening to my side of the conversation, Vicky must have concluded that Summer was pushing me for answers regarding Damian. And that is something that Damian would want to know. And that would’ve landed Summer in trouble. So it’s really shocking that Vicky is willing to keep it to herself. After all, isn’t she his employee?

Vicky stares ahead as she pulls out of the driveway. “Because this doesn’t concern your safety. It was a harmless phone call to a friend.”

I furrow my brow. “But, doesn’t Damian order you to report everything to him?”

“Yes, he does,” Vicky admits. “But not every detail needs to reach his ears, especially when it’s not about preserving your well-being.”

My mouth opens and closes a few times, no words come to mind.

“Damian’s not my top priority, River.” She turns to look at me. “You are. When I started this job, I thought I’d be dealing with another wealthy wife, someone spoiled, needing protection from her own vices. But then I met you. You’re nothing like what I expected. I’ve seen the restrictions you live with, that’s when my loyalty shifted.” Genuine admiration for me is evident in her eyes.

“B-but how can you be so sure that I’m genuine? That I don’t deserve all these restrictions Damian has imposed on me?”

“Because I saw the haunting pain in your eyes.”

“I’ve been told I have sad eyes.”

She shakes her head. “I can tell the difference.” Then she shocks me into silence again when she says, “because I see something similar in the mirror every day.”

Then she continues speaking as if she hadn’t just revealed something profound.

“I had my speculations about why Damian wanted you guarded 24/7. I thought it was yet another tired husband being suspicious about her wife’s… activities behind his back. But, as I got to know you, the idea of him doubting your fidelity just didn’t add up,” Vicky explains, “I may not know why Damian wants you guarded around the clock, but I do know this—I’m here to protect you. Not just out of obligation, but because you’ve got an ally in me,” she says, a glint of support in her eyes.

Her words hit me with such force that tears pool in my eyes. “Thank you, Vicky,” I manage to choke out. “For believing in me, for seeing beyond the surface. It means more than words can say.”

Vicky tentatively covers my hand, and it’s then that I become aware of the tears streaming down my face. She slowly pats my hand and offers a small, awkward smile. “Apologies if I’m terrible at this comforting thing. But hey,” she says as we stop at the red light and then extends her hand, “tissues are on me, all right?”

Her attempt at humor is funnier than the joke. I chuckle through my tears. “Thanks,” I reply, thanking her for everything.

◆◆◆

Patricia, a sweet woman in her mid-forties, smiles brightly as she sees us enter. She waves us over. “Well, look who it is! Our favorite duo has arrived.”

Blushing, I walk over to the front desk. “Hi, Patricia,” Vicky nods awkwardly in greeting, mirroring my own flustered state. Then we lift the coffee cups carrier we’ve been carrying higher.

Right after our heart to heart in the car, we decided to grab some coffees for everyone on our way to the community center.

“We thought we’d bring c-coffees… for you guys.” I awkwardly mumble.

Patricia’s eyes light up with surprise and gratitude. “That’s a delightful surprise! Thank you, dear,” she says, accepting her cup with a soft smile.

As we stand there, a couple of volunteers notice our arrival. With friendly smiles, they approach us, “Coffee? You’re my hero, River!”

The girl with blonde hair grins. “I needed this. Thanks!”

“It’s not every day we get such thoughtful volunteers. Let’s share these with everyone, shall we?” Patricia says and the two newcomers happily take over the task of distributing the coffees.

After a moment, Laura descends from the stairs and makes a beeline for us. “River! Vicky!”

“You know, your energy has really lifted the spirits around here these past couple of days,” Laura says as she is handed a coffee cup.

I share a smile with Vicky before saying, “That means a lot, Laura. I really believe in the work you’re doing here, and I’m happy to contribute in any way I can.”

She takes a sip. “Well, we’ve certainly noticed your dedication. You’ve been a breath of fresh air. And Vicky, too! It’s not every day we get a bodyguard volunteering with us.”

Vicky tucks a strand behind her ear. “Just doing my part.”

Laura pats her hand, smiling. “Well, we appreciate it. Now, have you both had a chance to try the cookies? Erin made them today, and they’re heavenly.”

Erin, a woman in her sixties with delicate features and silver hair, handles the administrative duties for the community center. She is also a legendary baker around here.

“I’ve heard a lot about her cookies, but haven’t had the chance to taste them myself.” We didn’t get to eat them because every time she bakes, those cookies disappear faster than you can blink.

“Let’s remedy that.” With Laura leading the way, we navigate through the lively hall. Erin notices us, her face lighting up.

When Laura asks for the cookies, her face drops. No surprise, luck wasn’t on our side today either. She looks pretty bummed that we missed out on tasting them, and it takes us a good ten minutes of reassuring her to cheer her up.

The morning ticks with me and Vicky engrossed in duties. First, we begin by moving the art supplies, canvases and easels from the storage room to the hall.

Then we went to the second floor and helped with the banners and posters for the upcoming event. After working there for a couple of hours, we were back on the first floor to clean up after the art session.

“I have to make a phone call.” Vicky sighs after reading the message she received.

“Damian?”

She shakes her head. “Chief.”

Hal. Okay. “Why the sigh? Hal is a lot easier to deal with than my husband.”

At least Hal responds when someone speaks to him. Damian sticks to grunting unless he wants to reprimand someone.

“It’s the other way around.”

“What do you mean?”

“When I talk to Mr. Montgomery, it’s to the point. All the questions are related to you. He doesn’t grill me about unnecessary things.”

Intrigued, I ask, “Unnecessary things?”

She doesn’t say anything as she goes over to the table and grabs two bottles of water. She hands me one.

“Vicky?” I prompt. “Does he bother you that much?”

Clenching her jaw, she says, “Let’s just say I would love it if the roles were reversed for a day.”

My eyes widen. I’ve never seen Vicky so pissed before. Not even when a teen ruined her jeans with water color earlier and refused to apologize.

“What would you do if that happens?”

A dark smile creeps across her face. “Oh, the possibilities are endless. I’ll play his games, only better. To start, I’d call him at three in the fucking morning, just to ruin his precious sleep. Let him feel what it’s like to be interrogated over trivial matters, especially when our line of work demands we wake up at the crack of dawn.”

The sharp, unexpected sound makes me jump. I look down and find her hand is soaked and water is dripping all over her fingers from the bottle that is now crushed.

She blinks then stares down at the floor, horrified. “I’m so sorry. I made a mess.” She looks around and then immediately starts toward the back of the hall. I grab her arm. “Where are you going?”

“To get the mop.”

“I’ll do it.” When she tries to argue, I shake my head. “Call Hal and get it over with. Delaying it will only agitate him.” And judging by Vicky’s reaction, he would take it out on her. I had no idea Hal could be this ruthless.

When Vicky’s shoulders slump in resignation, I give her arm a squeeze. “Go. I’ll clean this up and wait for you in the courtyard.”

The community center courtyard is warm and inviting. The walls are covered in climbing vines and bright flowers. In the center, a marble fountain trickles softly, surrounded by colorful flower beds and cozy seating that make it a perfect spot to unwind. It is maintained well and volunteers often spend their break time there.

“I’ll be outside.”

“All right.”

When she doesn’t leave, I roll my eyes. “Oh, relax! It’s not like I’ll be abducted by aliens in the next five minutes if you step away for that call. I’m not exactly alone in a deserted alley, am I?”

Her lips twitch in amusement. “No, you’re not.”

Smiling, I begin pushing her toward the main door, “Go, make your call, and if little green men show up, I’m sure I can hold my ground until you get back.”

She snorts but leaves nonetheless.

After cleaning up the floor, I make my way to the courtyard and take a seat on the bench.

Staring at the lifelike beautiful female sculpture fountain, I find myself drowning in thoughts, contemplating the simplicity of the tasks I do here.

It’s strange, really. With so much chaos and pressure in my life, I find myself finding peace in the small tasks like mopping the floor or organizing a storage room.

I can’t help but marvel at the novelty of it all. The luxury of doing ordinary things or sit in the open air without a mountain of problems looming overhead.

These simple tasks almost feel like an act of defiance. Damian would lose his mind if he found out his wife was mopping floors. He’d be beyond furious, especially knowing it’s because of the bodyguard he hired. I can’t help but smile. It would be a blow to his ego, seeing his trophy wife brought down to this.

My smile broadens but only a second before it vanishes completely.

If he finds out what I’ve been up to, it’ll be the last time I set foot here. I can’t take that risk. Luckily, Vicky’s got me covered.

“Admiring the fountain, I see.”

I startle, my shoulders tensing at the unexpected remark. Before I can fully process the words, the deep voice continues, “Why the frown, though? Did it forget to dance for you today?”

I turn, catching sight of Matt strolling into the courtyard. He’s wearing striped sweater and jeans, his hair unruly.

I hadn’t caught a glimpse of Matt all morning, and I’d half-assumed he wouldn’t show up today. I was kind of disappointed. It’s silly but true how we get used to certain faces around us. But he is more than just a familiar face. Matt has a unique ability to add liveliness to everything around him.

His energy is infectious. Just like my best friend, Summer. He effortlessly engages with those around him, making them feel seen, important. He can turn the simplest moments into something extraordinary.

Take yesterday for instance, he managed to make Anne smile. That was no small feat considering the teenager is going through a phase where she hates everything and everyone with a passion. Specially her divorced parents who forces her to come here three days a week to channel her anger through art therapy.

So, what did Matt do? He went above and beyond, deciding to throw a birthday party for her at the center. But this wasn’t just any party, mind you. Knowing Anne’s penchant for online games and such, he organized a paintball event. The transformation of the space into a paintball arena was both unexpected and brilliant.

Anne, who usually keeps to herself, couldn’t help but join in. Everyone could see Anne’s joy bubbling over. She was having a blast, splashing colors in every direction. The genuine happiness on her face was undeniable.

In the end, she was so moved that she did something no one expected. She hugged Matt tightly. For a girl who usually keeps her distance, that hug spoke volumes. It was clear that Matt had not only made her day but had also succeeded in creating a wonderful memory she won’t forget.

A smile tugs at the corners of my lips.

“Whoa there,” he exclaims as he rushes over, “is that a smile I see?”

I chuckle at his theatrics. His grin widens, and he leans in a bit, his tone conspiratorial, “Seriously though, what did I do to earn such a beautiful smile?”

I feel a blush rising up my cheeks, and I mumble something about yesterday’s paintball party.

He seems genuinely pleased, “Mind if I join you?”

“Sure,” I respond and he takes a seat beside me. For a minute neither of us speak. And I start feeling uncomfortable. Breaking the awkward silence, I manage to ask, “Um, why weren’t you here this morning?”

His head snaps in my direction, blue eyes locking with mine. “Did you miss me?”

“I... uh, just wondered why you weren’t around.”

“That wasn’t a no,” he remarks, still staring at me.

When I gape at him, horrified, he chuckles. “I’m touched. Maybe I’ll make it a point to be here every morning if it means that much to you.”

“You know I didn’t mean that.” I grumble and he laughs. Then bumps his shoulder with mine. “I was just teasing.”

When I shoot him a droll look, he nudges my shoulder with his again. “Come on, don’t be too hard on me. You love it.”

“Love might be a strong word. Tolerate is more accurate.”

As he continues our banter, he suddenly reaches into his bag, pulling out a small box. “Oh, by the way,” he extends it to me, “This is for you.”

“What is it?”

“I noticed you haven’t had the chance to try Erin’s cookies, so I saved some for you.”

When I keep staring at him, speechless, he takes my hands and closes it around the box.

“You... saved c-cookies for me?”

“I dropped by early this morning to collect the brochures and packed some for you. Consider it a peace offering for all the teasing.”

I look down at the box, feeling oddly touched. “Well, I suppose you can be forgiven this time.” I smile at him.

He chuckles. “See, I knew you’d come around. Now, enjoy the cookies. They’re almost as sweet as your smiles.”

When I narrow my eyes, he raises his palms in surrender. Then urges me to taste it, I tell him that I will share them with Vicky to which he stares at me for a beat then shakes his head smiling. “You are an angel, aren’t you?”

The endearment wipes the smile off my face. “Please don’t call me that.”

“What? Angel? Why not?”

Because it reminds me of my husband.

I’m saved by Vicky’s presence. This is how it always is. Even in his absence, subtle reminders of him persistently find their way to haunt me.

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

Past

The party is everything I expected it would be. Dad wasn’t kidding when he said he was planning a grand celebration.

Our mansion unfolds in a lavish display with glittering chandeliers and flowing draperies, which bathe the polished marble floors in a radiant glow.

Live musicians play softly in the background. Couples dressed in glamourous gowns and expensive tuxedos sway in a slow dance across the spacious floor.

Despite being dressed in a stunning satin floor length gown, hair tucked into a sleek updo and make up done by a team of professionals, my stomach twists with anxiety.

It’s only been twenty minutes since I stepped into the venue, but the constant cycle of meeting and greeting and exchanging compliments and air kisses has already left me feeling drained.

The constant chatter, the flash of cameras capturing every move, and the pressure to maintain an impeccable appearance weigh on me. The dazzling smile I wear hides the discomfort I feel. The main cause of my unease is Edward’s hand on the small of my back and what I can read in everyone’s eyes— In their eyes, our entrance together feels like more than just a social appearance—it’s as if we’re announcing our relationship.

I hadn’t bargained for this when I agreed to come to this event with him. I’m sure even dad didn’t think of this outcome. Because I can’t bring myself to believe that he purposefully orchestrated all of this. And since I know Edward has feelings for me, it makes this situation even more uncomfortable.

“Shall I get you a drink?” Edward murmurs in my ear and I quickly shake my head. If I forced anything down my throat, even water, I’m afraid I’ll puke.

He frowns, his face etched with worry. Edward McAllister is good looking. In his tux, he had managed to turn heads of beautiful ladies when we arrived. He was respectful and polite. And I felt guilty every time I gazed at his pleased expression as we walked together, my arm tucked in the crook of his elbow.

But now, each step feels heavier as I navigate the room, trying to uphold the poise expected in this glittering social affair. With each passing minute, my frustration grows because everyone just keeps shooting us a teasing look.

I get this insane urge to shout out loud to set everyone straight. Their smirking faces are provoking me to cause a scene by declaring that I already have a boyfriend. But I refrain myself.

I am stuck between showing him off and hiding him from the world. Damian and I are happy. Since our almost breakup a week ago, I am extra cautious.

Because of the recent almost-breakup, Damian’s been going all out to make amends—being extra possessive, showering me with gifts, and drowning me in attention. It’s reassuring. And apart from his grand gestures, I see it in his eyes. I see that he was dead serious when he told me he’d never let me go even if I begged to. It gives me comfort. But a nagging anxiety lingers, fueled by the thought that external factors could still mess things up. Especially my dad’s disapproval.

Maybe with time, especially after my upcoming 21st birthday in a few months, I’ll feel more inclined to open up about Damian to my dad. Until then, I’ll have to endure this. That means maintaining the façade of an oblivious girl who can’t read the expressions of the guests who are grating on her nerves.

I lock eyes with Edward, silently pleading for an escape. He reads the distress in my gaze and seamlessly steers us toward a quieter corner of the room, away from the curious eyes.

My peace doesn’t last long though. Mrs. Thompson and her daughter, Melissa glide toward us with sugary sweet smiles. I swallow thickly and helplessly stare at the two women who made my teenage years miserable with their constant criticisms and cutting comments.

Mrs. Nadine Thompson is married to William Thompson, a name well-known for its power and influence in the business world. He’s also my father’s partner.

William Thompson, my dad, and Richard McAllister—Edward’s father—built the foundation of their empire on bold ambitions. United by their shared vision and hunger for success, the three of them embarked on a journey that eventually led to the creation of Innovare Dynamics Group.

IDG, under my father’s leadership, is a strong and influential conglomerate. Richard McAllister, with his expertise in renewable energy, plays a key role in the partnership, while William Thompson, a financial genius, secures the empire's stability and growth.

Innovare Dynamics Group was formerly known as Gibson Innovations Group. It bore our surname because it was Dad’s brainchild. That is the reason he still stands at the helm, leading the several high-profile technology companies under the IDG name.

Richard and William supported him when he needed it most. The inclusion of them marked a pivotal moment for the empire. They took control of the business during the darkest days of his life when he lost his wife and was trapped with a child he began to hate. In a nutshell, they became the only semblance of family left for him.

That’s the main reason I couldn’t bring myself to tell Dad about the subtle insults Mrs. Thompson kept throwing my way. The weight of her words, like tiny knives, dug into my confidence, but the last thing I wanted was to burden him with the painful details of my struggles.

The click of her heels on the polished floor echoes louder in my ears. Beside her, Melissa dressed in a perfect gown, radiates an air of entitlement.

As they approach, Mrs. Thompson’s gaze flickers over my attire in a not-so-subtle assessment.

I straighten my posture, steeling myself. Melissa, her daughter, wears a smile that barely conceals the disdain in her eyes.

“Ah, River, darling,” Mrs. Thompson purrs. “You look positively radiant tonight.”

I begin to smile but it dwindles when she continues, “Your updo is a wise choice; it suits you much better than those unruly curls left wild. It’s remarkable how a simple change can transform what some might find... challenging into something almost acceptable, don’t you think?”

The question is aimed at Edward who looks a bit uncomfortable. Beside her, Melissa chimes in, her eyes running over Edward as if he was a seven-course meal she intended to devour. “Edward, you’re looking quite dashing tonight. A real shame you got stuck with River here instead of someone who could truly appreciate your company. Must be a challenge for you, I’m sure.”

“What do you mean?” he asks, frowning.

“Ever since you came, I’ve noticed River hardly utter more than two words in your presence.”

“Were you spying on us?” he says dryly.

Her cheeks pinken. “O-of course not. It’s just your grand entrance together grabbed everyone’s attention.”

Watching her daughter’s red face, Mrs. Thompson cuts in, “Edward, dear, how delightful to see you again. I’m so happy you got to work on this contract. Your father must be proud.”

He smiles. “I consider myself fortunate to have been a part of the team. I can’t take all the credit for the success. I’m just a small part of the achievement.”

The women happily ignore me as they chat with Edward.

Soon the subtle jabs begin while I stand, invisible and disregarded.

At one point, Mrs. Thompson brings up my mother in the most cruel way. She starts talking about my ill manners, blaming it all on the fact that I’m a motherless child. A surge of pain tightens my chest and I fight to suppress the tears welling in my eyes.

Please, not now. Not in front of them. I feel a lump forming in my throat. The mere mention of her feels like reopening of a wound that never truly healed.

Edward, this time, changes the topic abruptly, making them blink in surprise. But only for a second, because they skip to another topic. The merger.

They go on and on about the contract the firm won. After praising her husband, she goes on to talk about how ruthlessly my dad invited the owner of the competing company who lost.

I don’t pay much attention when they talk about the owner being present. They commend his bravery for showing up at a celebration of his competitor.

All I can think about is wanting to weep in Damian’s strong arms. But he is not here. He is in London at the moment on a business trip. When I told him about the party, he bought me the stunning gown I’m wearing and the diamonds adorning my neck and ears. I reach up and run my fingers over it, trying helplessly to hold on to his thoughts so I don’t lose it in front of them.

When it becomes too much, I part my lips to excuse myself but halt when Dad and his partners join us.

The conversation quickly becomes about this win and how they defeated their competitor.

Just when I contemplate excusing myself now that I waited long enough to not come across as rude, Mrs. Thompson’s piercing inquiry redirects the spotlight onto me. “And what are your plans for the future, dear?” she asks, a deceptively sweet smile playing on her lips.

The group seems to hush, and all eyes turn toward me. “Oh, I’m still figuring it out,” I reply.

Mrs. Thompson’s smile widens as if she hit jackpot. “Figuring it out? Well, dear, some of us have known our paths from the beginning, haven’t we?”

Dad chuckles. “Give her time, Nadine. Not everyone has life neatly mapped out.”

“She must be good at something, though, right? Some skill or hobby?”

“River is into pottery and sculpting,” Dad reveals casually and I can feel my face flush, heat creeping up my neck.

“Really? How charming,” Mrs. Thompson says with a big smile. “So, are you planning to keep it to yourself, or do you have plans for an exhibition? I know a few people who could help you—”

“Oh, she’s not that good at it,” Dad interrupts. The laughter from the group is instant.

I pale. The words hit me like a slap. He doesn’t even know how much I’ve worked on my art, how much I’ve poured into it. He didn’t even see my sculptures and pots. How can he say that? That too in front of everyone? All I can do is stand there, my stomach sinking as I watch them make fun of me including Edward and Dad.

Nadine smirks, eyes glittering with amusement. “I’m sure it’s a lovely way to waste time.”

Biting my lip, I lower my head to hide the trembling of my chin. As the tear slides down my cheek, I hastily brush it away, desperate to maintain the facade of composure.

“Only someone who’s never done anything worthwhile would call it a waste of time.” A deep, dark drawl interjects.

My head whips up and meet the astonishing dark eyes. For a shocking second, everything and everyone disappears. No sound penetrates my ears. The sound of chatter of the guests, the melody playing in the background, everything goes silent. All I can hear is my heart pumping hard.

Damian.

Though my lips form his name, no voice comes out. He is standing few feet away, a tall, dark force, looking intimidating in a tuxedo.

My lower lip trembles, suddenly all the suppressed emotions flooding out breaking the dam.

This is one of those times when you are trying so hard to be strong. Trying to hold it in, refusing to show yourself at your lowest to anyone, yet when you spot the person you love in a room full of strangers, it’s like a wave of emotions hits you. It feels as if the walls you’ve built to protect yourself start to crumble just with a single look. And you just give in to the emotions because you know they will be there for you. To protect you. To give you a shoulder to cry on.

A lone tear manages to leak out of my brimming eye. A muscle jumps at his clenched jaw as his eyes slowly glide over my face. He lets his eyes linger on my probably pale cheeks, glistening eyes and quivering lips.

It’s minute, but I catch the tiniest shake of his head, as if he is telling me not to cry. And for some reason, the vice grip around my heart begins to loosen.

Breaking the silence, my father steps forward, extending his hand to Damian with a polite yet forced smile. “Damian, good of you to join us.”

“You personally invited me.”

Dad’s ears turn red. For the first time in my life, I see my dad faltering. “I thought it’d be a shame if you missed the celebration, even with us competing over the contract. In the end, it’s just business, nothing personal.”

Damian’s expression remains stoic. “Congratulations.”

With a glint of triumph in dad’s eyes, he says, “Thank you. Now, let me introduce you to my business partners and family.”

As the introduction proceeds, Mrs. Thompson steps forward with a charming smile. “That was pretty harsh but I’m a forgiving person. I’m Nadine,” she says, extending her hand toward Damian.

Damian glances at her hand but doesn’t reciprocate the gesture. Instead, he gives her a curt nod. “Damian Montgomery.”

Mrs. Thompson’s face colors but she still attempts to engage him. “I’ve heard so much about your success. It’s impressive.”

No response.

Melissa, apparently having forgotten about Edward, shoots Damian a dazzling smile. “Well, aren’t you the serious type? I bet I could change that.”

Damian’s response is cutting, “I doubt it.”

Edward who was silent all this time narrows his eyes. It seems he doesn’t appreciate Damian’s straightforwardness. It’s a shame he didn’t mind in the least when Mrs. Thompson and her daughter were ripping me to shreds. “Looks like you don’t have a date.” Edward makes a show of glancing around, probably in an attempt to embarrass him.

Damian nods without skipping a beat. “Mind if I steal yours?”

Melissa gasps. Mrs. Thompson grinds her teeth. I remain like a statue whereas my dad glowers but surprisingly stays silent as Damian offers me his hand. “Dance with me, River.”

Wide eyed, I slowly lift my trembling hand. Damian closes his fingers around mine and on a possessive squeeze, he pulls me away from the group, leaving them in stunned silence.

On legs that feel dangerously like jelly, I try not to fall as I walk with him. As though he could sense it, his arm snakes around my waist and steers me onto the dance floor.

Turning me in his arms, he guides us around so that his broad back is to the group, shielding me from their probing eyes.

When he draws me closer, my nose tingles with emotions. “Damian,” I whisper. He cups the back of my head, gently guides it to rest against his chest and starts to move slowly.

With my six-inch stilettos, my head fits beneath his chin. Despite the noticeable difference in our heights, dancing with him feels surprisingly graceful and not awkward at all.

The band plays a soft, romantic song and I close my eyes, following Damian’s lead. If it weren’t for the thoughts racing in my head, I’d be savoring the way he moves.

Damian proves to be a skilled dancer, effortlessly guiding me as we sway to the rhythm. With each second in his arms, the tension begins to fade, leaving a dull ache in its wake.

Then, I suddenly grow still. Nadine and Melissa’s words echo in my ears from earlier. About Dad’s competitor. They chuckled and commended Dad for sending the invitation to his rival so he could show the “loser” his place. How he had specifically arranged this so he would be humiliated.

Damian was the competitor who lost. This was a deliberate move to plan his public embarrassment. But… why? Why would he do this?

Dad might’ve cracked a joke about my art, but beneath that humor, he’s truly the most compassionate person I know. He is known for supporting those in need of guidance. His kindness extends beyond mere words. And I’ve seen him in action myself. He can’t do something so cruel. He is not a bully. Right?

When I begin to tremble, his warm hand moves in a slow caress up and down my back. His cheek rests against my hair. The tenderness leaves me raw and I bite my lip, struggling to keep the tears from spilling over.

He is comforting me when it should be the other way around. I have so many questions. When did he return from London? Why didn’t he tell me that he was invited to my dad’s party? And why didn’t he tell me about this contract? He mostly shared everything with me. Then why didn’t he… just then, like a sudden bolt of lightning, the realization hits me.

Being with you is costing me too much.

That’s what Damian had said a week ago. And on that same day Dad came to my college to invite me for the party.

He was ready to leave me because of his rivalry with my father. He was ready to leave me because he thinks I was costing him his contract. He was willing to throw away everything we had for something beyond my control. Was I truly that unimportant to him?

“You’re leaving me?” My weak yet alarmed voice from the past reverberates in my ears.

“I should.” He had said a week ago, confirming my worst fear. The two words that he had uttered then strikes me again so hard that my heart bleeds.

I pull my head back to stare at him. I stare at the man who I love more than life itself. All the evidence points at the obvious yet… I refuse to believe that he would choose a piece of paper over us.

“Why are you crying?” He asks, his brows lowered.

I love his voice. It is deep and velvety and it gets even deeper when something bothers him.

I shake my head slowly, forcing a small smile to my lips. I don’t want him to see the momentary lapse of faith that flickered through my mind. For just a fleeting second, I allowed myself to entertain the possibility that Damian could choose business over me, that he could hurt me in such a way.

I can’t let him know that. I can’t bear the thought of him thinking that I have such a low opinion of him. Because in reality, my admiration for him knows no bounds. In fact, I hold him in the highest regard. So much so that sometimes I feel unworthy of him. Sometimes, I fear that he might see me as weak or unworthy of his love.

He’s quiet for a beat. Then reaches up and brushes a tear with his thumb gently. He lifts my chin. “Tell me why are you crying.”

“I just missed you.” Another tear slips. It hurts, but I smile up at him. “Why didn’t you tell me you were coming to the party? When did you return from London? How was your trip—”

“River.” He conveys his impatience in the two syllables, as though he knows I’m steering the conversation away. Thankfully the song comes to an end and I step out of his arms.

“I’m sorry about… the whole thing with dad.” My voice is barely above a whisper. I take a hasty step back. “Please enjoy—”

“Where are you going?”

I blink, not sure how to reply without revealing the quiver in my voice. “I should go socialize with other guests.” I blurt then turn abruptly and leave.

◆◆◆

Escaping the crowd with making excuses that they neither care about nor I remember, I slip away, leaving my father’s grand mansion behind like I did on my eighteenth birthday.

My steps carry me to the sanctuary I’ve cherished throughout my life, the treehouse.

Under the moon’s soft silvery glow, I make my way through the darkened woods.

I move with purpose, my footsteps soft against the forest terrain, the earthy scent of pine comforting me.

The distant sounds of the party fade as I approach the familiar silhouette of my treehouse.

I slip off my heels and toss them to the ground before ascending the ladder. Lowering my head, I step inside. The faint moonlight filtering through the branches is the only source of light. Instead of lighting up the candles like usual, I sit in the dark for a while.

The air inside is musty. I take a deep breath, the scent comforting, familiar. I feel my way to the far corner where an old chest lays.

With trembling hands, I rummage through the contents. My fingers graze the worn leather of a journal, its binding softened by years of handling. Memories flood back as I recall the countless nights spent pouring my heart onto its pages.

I remember making the last entry on my eighteenth birthday after Damian had left that night. I turn my head and glance at the cushions, my eyes adjusting to the darkness. Slowly, the younger version of me comes to life in front of me. With a sad smile, I watch her lying on her stomach as she writes furiously in her journal with a smile that can light up the whole world.

I watch her stopping several times to bury her red face in the crook of her elbow as she replays her first kiss in her mind over and over.

Then just like that, she disappears and I’m alone again in the treehouse.

As I delve deeper, I uncover other treasures buried within the chest, smiling as I feel the rough texture of the rock I stole from the beach as a keepsake. The perfectly imperfect rock is from the first time Dad had taken me to the beach. He had spent his entire day me.

I remember hiding the rock under my pillow. Recall the seven-year-old me clutching it with my tiny hands every night. I’d press my lips to its rugged surface, whispering fervent prayers into the silence. I begged God to make this version of Dad last forever.

Smiling, I bring it up and press a kiss over it before putting it down.

I sift through other items before my fingers finally find what they were seeking. Lifting the framed photograph, I hold it close, even though all I see is darkness. Yet, as my fingertips graze the surface, I can feel the contours of her face, etched into my memory. In my mind’s eye, I see her smiling, her eyes alive with warmth and so much love as she cups her swollen belly.

I lie down on the cushions. Curling into a fetal position, I clutch my mother to my chest and close my eyes. Then I finally allow myself to do what I couldn’t out there. I cry. My body racks with silent sobs.

I’m not sure what triggered it. My mother’s picture. My dad laughing with Nadine. Or Damian’s harsh words from a week ago. Or is it all of the above?

Perhaps it was that particular incident when Nadine maliciously brought up my mother. Or my art.

I don’t know the exact cause behind my tears. All I know is, shedding tears feels like you are parting with the pain. Each droplet carries a chunk of it, making you feel lighter by the time you are done. It’s a strange kind of comfort. So I let it all out.

I don’t know how long I stay like this, lost in the grip of grief, but gradually, my sobs turn into sniffles.

Suddenly something touches my shoulder. A large hand. My shriek is loud as I’m rolled onto my back. My heart races, thundering in my chest as I find myself staring upward, into dark eyes.

“Damian?” My voice comes out a bit hoarse and nasally from all the crying. I blink my tear-drenched eyelids rapidly.

“What the fuck are you doing here? I’ve been searching for you everywhere.” His jaw is set in a harsh line, he surveys me with his phone’s flashlight, taking in my disheveled appearance.

“I…”

Damian’s face darkens further as he helps me sit up. “Have you eaten anything?”

I shake my head mutely, avoiding his intense stare.

“When was the last time you ate?” His voice is sharp, cutting through the air like a whip.

As I struggle to recall, I realize it has been longer than I care to admit. Damian is silent and I squirm. He settles down on the cushions, leaning against the wall. Then he circles his arm around my back and tugs me and before I know it, I find myself on his lap with my head against his chest.

His fingers deftly release the pins, allowing my curls to cascade down. His hand then cradles my head, tenderly stroking the curls. Tears well up in my eyes again.

Nadine’s taunt about my curls comes back to me. But his touch… his touch becomes a balm to the wounds inflicted by her criticism, erasing the hurt and insecurity it caused.

“Don’t cry, angel.” The arm around my waist pulls me tighter against him. “Nobody deserves your tears. Least of all me.”

That makes me pull back. And though his phone’s flashlight has illuminated the treehouse a bit, it’s still hard to decipher his expression.

“I’m sorry.” He curves his big palm around my jaw.

“Why are you apologizing?”

“Because even though I should, I won’t leave you alone.”

“Won’t or can’t?”

“Won’t.” He brushes away the wetness on my cheek with the pad of his thumb. “I hurt you last week. I might hurt you again or I could keep hurting you in the future. But I have decided to keep you, River.”

A voice within me whispers to run. To flee from the impending future that could bring more tears. It warns me against the potential for more pain. But as I gaze into his eyes, I see a reflection of my own loneliness. Just like two years ago. I saw emptiness in them that mirrors the fractured pieces of my soul.

Even if I were to part ways from him, his presence would linger like an indelible mark upon my soul. Because he is my heartbeat. How can a heart be without its heartbeat? Without him, I would be dead in every sense of the word.

Without him, I would be nothing but a hollow shell, devoid of purpose. So if being with him means enduring pain, I’ll smile through my sufferings.

I cup his cheek in my small trembling hand. “I’m yours, Damian.” I agree even if he didn’t ask me. “But hey, try not to hurt me too much, okay?” I add, attempting to make him smile.

He stares at me for so long, my smile falters. Then he drags me back to his chest, silently promising me that he won’t.

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

Present

My eyelids flutter, tentatively opening to the soft glow of morning light filtering through the window. The image of his glinting dark irises lingers in my mind, haunting me even as I open my eyes and take in the master bedroom. It’s a stark contrast from my old and messy treehouse.

I rub my eyes, trying to shake off the remnants of the dream that cling stubbornly to my thoughts. But those intense eyes refuse to fade, leaving me feeling oddly empty.

Reaching out, my fingers graze the empty space beside me on the bed. Five mornings have come and gone without Damian, yet each night he continues to show up in my dreams.

With a heavy heart, I swing my legs over the edge of the bed. But before I can plant my feet on the floor, there’s a soft knock. It creaks open to reveal a familiar figure.

I smile as Vicky steps into the room, a tray in her hands bearing a steaming cup of my favorite coffee and a plate of freshly baked chocolate chip muffins.

“Good morning,” she greets me with a warm smile, her eyes scanning my face to gauge my mood.

“Morning, Vicky,” I reply, mustering a weak smile in return as she approaches, setting the tray down on the bedside table.

“I thought you might need this,” she says softly. “You’ve been having trouble sleeping again.”

Yes, I have. Despite volunteering, I still struggle with sleep. Just when I thought I could sleep without the pills, the nightmares from my past started creeping in, disturbing my rest once again. But I refuse to turn to sleeping pills.

I stare at the tray. Or more like at the porcelain mug. It’s the mug Damian gave me, the one with my initials engraved on it. I stopped using it after we got married, but ever since I showed it to Vicky a few days ago, she insisted I start using it again.

Wrapping my hands around the mug, I lift my eyes to her. “Thank you, Vicky.”

She gives me a gentle smile. “It’s my job to take care of you, River. And more than that, you’re my friend.” Then she insists on tasting the muffins.

Reaching for one of the warm muffins, I take a bite. It’s soft and fluffy, studded with gooey chocolate chips that melt in my mouth.

Breathing deeply, I smile then take her hand and pull her beside me on the bed. “So, friend, sit here and…” I lift the tray and put it down between us. “Eat with me.”

“But—”

“Come on, friends share, don’t they?” I smile and she returns it before nodding.

As we quickly finish the last of the muffins, I can’t help but feel gratitude for this new friendship. It has given me a sense of comfort. I no longer feel lonely in my gilded cage. Setting down the empty plate, I turn to her with a smile.

“You know,” I say, breaking the comfortable silence, “since you’ve made it a ritual to wake me up with coffee, you have to promise me something.”

“Okay… And what might that be?”

“That you’ll bring a cup for yourself as well,” I reply, my tone earnest. “For a very long time, I had no one to share coffees or meals with. Or even to have a simple conversation.”

“I’d really like it if we could do that, you know,” I continue, my words carrying the weight of longing. “To have someone to share these moments with, to laugh with, to confide in.” Because in the past, I used to do all that with Damian. He was my only friend in the world. And I was happy it was only him. I wasn’t greedy. I didn’t want anyone else because he used to make me so happy that I never needed anyone but him. Until… we got married and everything changed.

Vicky reaches out and gently squeezes my hand, her eyes filled with warmth and empathy. “I’d like that too.”

Then she clears her throat, “I better leave you to get ready. We need to leave in an hour.”

I nod and push to my feet.

“Hey, Vicky,” I call out when she reaches the door. “You don’t mind volunteering four days in a row, right? I mean we don’t have to go there daily but I like going there so, you know…”

“I like going there too. I enjoy volunteering. Ever since you’ve started, you’re happier and it’s for a good cause so I guess it’s a win-win.”

“Okay! Give me twenty, I’ll meet you downstairs!”

◆◆◆

“Do you want to give it a try?” The question spoken so close to my ear makes me jump and I spin, my wide eyes clashing with blue ones.

“Matt!” I smack at his arm. “You scared me!”

He just laughs. I roll my eyes. Then glance around to look for Vicky. She is supposed to shadow me and protect me from Matt’s pranks.

“Looking for Victoria?” He grins as though he read into my thoughts. “She went to the bathroom. In fact, she stopped me when I crossed paths with her in the hallway and asked me to be with you until she returns.”

“Really?” I ask, even though I know Vicky probably did. That girl takes her job pretty seriously. She hardly leaves my side and when she does, she makes sure I’m never alone.

For this reason, Damian always had at least a dozen men guarding me. In case one is not available, others should be.

Despite Damian’s usual precautions of having a dozen guards around me, she somehow convinced him not to send them with us to the center. Maybe Damian sees how much happier and mentally healthier I am with just her. Or perhaps Damian trusts Vicky’s capability to single-handedly guard me.

Either way, I’m happy.

“You don’t trust me?” he asks, his eyes twinkling with amusement.

“Trust you? Oh, absolutely,” I reply, my tone dripping with sarcasm.

The other day he came running to me in the storage room where I was rearranging supplies and told me I was needed by Laura. I obviously went but only to find out I was pranked. Laura looked as confused as I did. I was so embarrassed I ignored him the whole day.

He widens his eyes in mock offense, placing a hand over his heart. “Oh, really? Questioning my integrity now, are we?” he responds, his tone exaggeratedly wounded. “I’ll have you know I’m hurt to the core.”

When I don’t melt by his wounded puppy look, he sighs dramatically. “Well, despite your lack of faith, I come bearing gifts,” he says, reaching into his bag and pulling out a container. The cookies. “Your favorite, and yes, even my share.”

My anger vanishes. “You know you don’t have to do this every time,” I murmur softly, my gaze shifting away. “I mean, you love Erin’s cookies too.”

He reaches out, his touch gentle as he places the container of cookies in my hands. “I know, but seeing you enjoy them makes it worth it,” he says softly. Then, a mischievous glint flickers in his eyes, and he adds with a grin, “Plus, I can always sneak a few from your share later.”

I can’t help but smile. “Well, in that case, I’ll gladly take them.”

As the day unfolds, the team of the new volunteers’ head to the second floor. Together, we prepare for the upcoming art festival. And in the blink of an eye, time flies by and it’s time to wrap things up.

After collecting our things, Vicky and I begin to make our way toward the exit. Just as we reach for the door, I feel a sudden weight around my neck, and before I can react, I realize it’s Matt and he has his arms around both Vicky and me, halting our progress.

“Where do you two think you’re going?”

I exchange a glance with Vicky and watch color spreading across her cheeks. I subtly shift and pull myself out of his embrace and give him a dry look. “Home.”

“Don’t go just yet. Come join us for a drink at the pub nearby. It’ll be fun, I promise.”

Caught off guard by his invitation, I exchange a hesitant glance with Vicky.

It’s funny, I can’t even recall the last time I went to a pub. People my age do that all the time. It’s not really my scene, but I guess it shouldn’t be a big deal if I tried it for once. I mean, it’s not like I’m going alone; there will be others there, and Vicky’s coming along too. I mean if I decide to go, she’ll be there too.

I waggle my brows at Vicky in silent question and she shrugs as if to say the decision is up to me. But I can see that she seems excited about the prospect of hanging out with Matt.

Maybe it’s time to break out of my shell a bit, even if just for a night. Who knows, it might be fun to step out of my comfort zone. And Vicky seems interested as well.

I chew on my lip in contemplation. She catches my hesitation and misinterprets it as a refusal. “River needs to eat,” she offers, breaking the silence. “She barely had anything for lunch, so perhaps we can do this another time.”

He frowns. “Wait a moment,” and fishes out his phone. After a brief pause, he looks up with a grin, “Actually, they have a dining area too. How about we grab a bite to eat along with those drinks?”

As I’m about to agree, a sudden thought crosses my mind, halting my response.

“What’s wrong?” Matt asks.

“I don’t typically venture out much, especially with the paparazzi lurking around,” I admit, my voice tinged with a hint of resignation.

How could I forget who I am? Just because I’ve started volunteering doesn’t mean I can simply overlook the fact that I’m not an ordinary girl. First, my dad overshadowed my existence then it was gone, only to be replaced by my husband’s.

He looks at me, his brows furrowing, then starts tapping on his phone. After a moment, he excuses himself and walks off, phone to his ear.

I glance at Vicky and find her deathly pale. “Hey, are you all right?”

“I... I’m not myself anymore,” she stammers, her voice quivering with frustration. “Ever since I began working with you, I’ve been... off. How can I be so forgetful? I’ve trained for years, River. I should know better than this.”

Her hands shake as she speaks, “I know the risks, the protocols. I know you can’t just hang out in public places like others, and yet...” She trails off, a deep frown creasing her brow. “I’m sorry,” she says grimly. “I promise you, normally I’m not this irresponsible.”

Stepping closer, I gently place a hand on her shoulder, “Hey, it’s okay,” My voice is gentle and reassuring. “It’s not a big deal.” When she shakes her head frantically, I try to meet her eyes. She averts her gaze in embarrassment. “Take a deep breath,” I suggest softly.

“In all my twenty-six years,” she begins, her voice carrying a hint of disappointment, “I’ve never felt so careless. I take my job seriously. Mr. Montgomery and… Chief, they’ve put a lot of faith in me. They’ve entrusted me with so much responsibility, and now... I never got to do all this. Hanging out with friends. And now that I am getting a chance to do something new, I am acting like a teenager, getting excited about irrelevant things when I should be working.” She pauses, anger evident in her tone.

“Vicky, it’s okay,” I squeeze her shoulder. “It’s understandable to want to enjoy some time with others, especially when we’re all getting along so well. And didn’t you admit this morning, that you’re not just my bodyguard but also my friend? And friends are allowed to have fun together.”

I notice the doubt in her expression, despite my attempts to reassure her. With a small sigh, I decide to put her skills to the test, hoping to boost her confidence. “All right,” I say gently, meeting her gaze. “Let’s say something were to happen in the pub. Do you think you could protect me?”

Her response is immediate and resolute. “Absolutely,” she affirms, her voice filled with conviction.

I nod, then push further. “What if there were ten people? All men?”

“I’ve been specifically trained in Krav Maga to handle situations like those,” she replies confidently. “Your husband made sure I was prepared for anything when he appointed me as your bodyguard.”

I expected nothing less from Damian. The only reason he would ever assign me with just one bodyguard, especially a female one, is if she’s not just skilled, but downright lethal.

“And not just that,” she continues, her voice tinged with pride. “Mr. Montgomery even had Chief personally test my capabilities. He wanted to ensure that I was more than capable of protecting you in any situation.”

The mention of Hal’s involvement adds weight to her words. I can’t help but smile at her proud expression. It appears that garnering praise from her Chief meant the world to her. “Then why are you so upset?” I ask gently. “There’s nothing to be worried about. You’ve been trained for this, and you’ve just proved that you’re more than capable.”

With a reassuring smile, I reach out and squeeze her hand. “Let’s go enjoy ourselves at the pub,” I suggest, hoping to lift her spirits. “We’ll have a great time, I promise.”

Just then Matt comes back with a grin, waving his phone. “I just arranged a VIP lounge that’ll keep you away from prying eyes. That way, you can enjoy the evening without any unwanted attention.”

He notices Vicky’s serious expression and without skipping a beat, he launches into his elaborate plan for ensuring my anonymity and safety. It’s both heartwarming and comical. Then, with a smirk, he declares, “And you know with these blue eyes, chiseled jaw and this Herculean physique, you might as well call me Superman.”

We can’t help but burst into laughter. His persuasive words manage to sway Vicky, and with a reluctant nod, she agrees. “All right then,” she concedes with a small smile, “Let’s give it a try.”

◆◆◆

The ambiance is lively. Matt is laughing and chatting with the group. Vicky is sitting next to me, keeping an eye on the surrounding as well as smiling whenever someone includes her in a conversation. And I am just taking it all in, my senses overwhelmed by the novelty of it all.

Crowded places were never my thing but this feels different somehow. I’m not surrounded by judging eyes and whispered criticisms.

The people around me right now aren’t just faces in the crowd; they’re genuine, down-to-earth individuals who see beyond the façade of wealth and privilege.

I might never get used to the lights, the music, the pulsating energy of the crowd but I can’t deny the thrill of stepping outside my comfort zone.

It’s a stark contrast from my usual quiet evenings spent curled up with a book. People will always make me a little uneasy because it’s the way I am. But despite my reservations, I find myself pleasantly surprised by how much fun I’m having tonight.

I thought I would never be able to take my mind off Damian. He hadn’t called me once since he left for Dubai. And try as I might, I can’t stop thinking about it. After all, I am a wife. Not matter how unwanted I am. So… I’m glad I took a chance and came here. Because it’s easier this way. I am able to distract my overthinking mind. And it’s all because of Matt.

I steal a glance at him and catch him staring back at me, a hint of something unreadable in his blue eyes. How long was he watching me? Before I can dwell on it further, he mouths a silent question, “Okay?”

I meet his gaze with a reassuring nod and a quick smile. He doesn’t look convinced. He parts his lips as if to say something when the beautiful brunette—one of his friends who joined us a while ago—begins pulling him toward the dance floor.

He stands but only to detach himself from the brunette and comes over. He crouches down on his haunches. “What happened?”

I look at him in surprise. “N-nothing.” The brunette was now openly glaring in our direction. “I think you should go back to your friend.”

He ignores my suggestion. “What’s the matter?” His brow furrows with worry as he leans in closer, his blue eyes searching my face. “Is everything all right? Did something go wrong? If there’s an issue with the food, I can definitely sort it out—”

His questions catch me off guard, but I can’t help but appreciate his genuine care. The way he’s ready to jump into action to fix any problem, no matter how small, speaks volumes about his character.

Touched by his earnestness, I shake my head. “No, no, everything’s fine,” I assure him, a fond smile playing on my lips. “The food was delicious, and I’m genuinely enjoying myself.”

His expression softens at my reassurance. “I’m glad to hear that,” he murmurs, his gaze holding mine for a moment longer than necessary.

“Matt!” The brunette whines.

“Seriously, Matt. I’m fine. Go.” I urge him before she comes over and scratches my eyes out.

Reluctantly, he pushes to his feet. But before he leaves, he extends his fist toward me, and I eye it questioningly, unsure of what he is doing. With a gentle nudge, he encourages me to bump my fist against his, and as I do, he twists his hand and opens it, revealing a small, foil-wrapped chocolate. The gesture so simple yet so sweet.

My eyes widen in surprise, a soft gasp escaping my lips. “For me?”

I was expecting something sarcastic, or one of his jokes in response. But all he does is nod. I take it. “Thank you,” I whisper, my voice barely audible above the music, but I know he hears me.

He smiles softly but then rolls his eyes when the brunette latches onto his arm and starts tugging him away.

“Sometimes I get the feeling Matt’s gunning for my job,” Vicky murmurs.

“What?” I chuckle, turning to her.

“He’s always acting like your personal bodyguard. Today, he’s taken it too far—checking the food quality you were served, making sure you’re comfortable. And his eyes were glued to you the entire time. That’s supposed to be my job!”

I don’t let the last part get to me and instead smirk at Vicky. “Jealous, Vicky?”

“More like worried. This is my job. And you’re my friend. I saw him trying to bribe you with chocolate.” She grumbles, making me laugh.

“You think he can sway me with chocolates?” I quirk an eyebrow, amused.

“Don’t forget the cookies! He even let’s you eat his share!”

“Which I share with you.” I bump my shoulder with hers gently, a smile playing on my lips. “What does that tell you?”

Her eyes soften. “It tells me that you’re my true friend.”

“Exactly. So, is there any reason to be worried now?” I ask, with a grin.

She shakes her head, smiling. Then she says, “I didn’t like the brunette.”

I burst out laughing at that. “One moment, you’re worried about me, and now you’re getting jealous over him?”

Before Vicky could reply, the clatter of falling glasses fills the air, followed by the sensation of cool liquid cascading over me. I gasp. Vicky’s muscles tense, her hand instinctively darting out to dodge the tray that was about to hit me.

I stare down at my soaked clothes, liquid dripping from my face and hair. The sound of Vicky’s voice cuts through the chaos, her tone cold as she scolds the waitress. In the midst of my shock, I hear her talking about suing the establishment and having the waitress fired for purposely spilling the drinks on me.

Through the haze, I catch the brunette’s voice. “Matt, wait!” Followed by Matt’s sharp response. “Stay out of this.”

Then strong arms wrap around me, hauling me up from the mess of spilled drinks. Matt. His grip is firm as he asks me questions.

I shake myself out of the shock and lift my head, intending to reassure him that I’m okay. But as I do, my gaze drifts over his shoulder, landing on the waitress Vicky is still admonishing.

A jolt of recognition shoots through me, sending a shiver down my spine. I blink once and then a couple more time.

Standing in front of Vicky with a defiant face and disheveled waitressing uniform is Melissa.

Melissa Thompson. Daughter of Nadine and William Thompson, my dad’s business partner.

CHAPTER THIRTY

Past

The moment we are inside Damian’s car, his arm wraps around my shoulders, pulling me closer until there’s barely any space between us. I bury my face in the crook of his neck, seeking solace in the familiar scent of his cologne, craving the comfort after the emotionally exhausting night.

After Damian found me in the treehouse, I made the decision to leave the party with him without saying goodbye to anyone, not even to Dad. I felt utterly drained and lacked the energy or desire to face them again. Damian understood and without breaking the silence, ushered me to his car. With a heavy heart, I opted for a brief text message to Dad, informing him that I had arranged for an Uber and was on my way out.

The snide remarks echo in my ears once again and I screw my eyes shut and cling to him even tighter. Damian tightens his arm around me. His other hand finds mine and he presses kisses on my knuckles. “They will pay,” he mutters, his voice low and filled with a coldness I’ve never heard before. The words hang in the air, heavy with an ominous promise that makes my heart race.

Drawing back, I look up at him. “What?”

His gaze pins me in place. I struggle to comprehend the intensity of his emotions. A storm is brewing behind those usually calm and composed eyes, a lethal determination that threatens to consume everything in its path.

For a moment, silence is heavy between us. As I keep looking into his eyes, I see something I’ve never seen before—a raw, unbridled fury that burns brighter than anything I’ve ever witnessed.

This Damian is so different from the composed man I’ve always known, a man rarely showing signs of distress or losing his cool.

It’s both terrifying and exhilarating, to see him so consumed by emotion. And that too for me. Damian has always kept his emotions guarded behind a wall. But now that wall is crumbling, revealing the depths of his rage in all its glory.

For the first time, someone is angry for me instead of with me. Someone is willing to stand up for me, to fight on my behalf. It shows that I have my own person in this big bad world. A person who can hurt when I am hurt. One who can hold me just like he is holding me when things get too much.

Tears well up in my eyes again. So I bury my face against his chest and listen to the steady rhythm of his heartbeat. Here, in this moment, I know that I’m safe. Safe in the arms of a man who would do anything to protect me.

“What you said... it’s enough,” I murmur. When he says nothing, I pull back and reach up, cupping his face with my hands, searching his eyes for any sign of understanding. “You’ll not do anything to them.”

What my dad did tonight was utterly disgraceful. He deliberately invited Damian to publicly humiliate him, unaware of Damian’s potential for far more sinister actions. He should’ve researched about Damian like I did when I was infatuated with him. He is known for ruthless acquisitions and takeovers, executed with a merciless precision whenever he felt slighted. I’ve delved into enough articles detailing his cutthroat tactics to know that crossing him could lead to consequences far beyond mere embarrassment.

So I know when he declared, They will pay, it wasn’t just a casual remark. It resonated with a sense of purpose and determination that signaled Damian meant serious business.

There’s no response from him, only the steady rise and fall of his chest as he breathes.

“I know you want to protect me,” I say, my thumb tracing gentle circles on his hollowed cheek. “And you do, every day. Just by being here, holding me like this, you’re protecting me more than you know.”

Silence hangs heavy between us, his expression unreadable but I press on, determined. “When I said I was yours earlier, Damian, I meant it,” I confess, offering a sincere smile. “But what I didn’t say was that you’re just as much mine. The Thompsons are big shots, and even though you’re getting stronger every day, they could still crush you. And if they do, they’ll crush me too, because we’re in this together. Can you really stand to see me hurt?”

His jaw is set in a line.

“Tell me?” I urge. I see his dark eyes flashing before his mouth takes possession of mine. Forcing my lips apart in a rough move that rocks me to my core. It should’ve scared me. The way he is devouring my lips. But fear is the last thing on my mind. Instinctively, I cling to him, burning in the fire of his passionate kiss. My head spins and my skin prickles with goosebumps.

Make him understand! My mind screams at me. He can lose so much if he decided to lock horns with the Thompsons. I am not sure if Dad would understand if I tried telling him about the bullying and Damian’s reaction. Because then I would have to tell Dad I’m dating Damian.

So even if I didn’t want to, I attempt to break the kiss by pulling away. But he pushes his fingers in my curls to keep me where he wants me. Shivers run up and down my spine at his dominance but I reluctantly reach up to clasp his head with both hands. On a muffled moan, I try to pull his head away, to make him listen to me but his tongue against mine feels like heaven and I find my attempts of breaking the kiss weakening.

Just when I’m about to lose myself in the moment, Damian ends the kiss. Heart racing, I tremble like a leaf, my eyes screwed shut. I can hear his hard breathing. Can feel the weight of his gaze but don’t dare move.

This is what you wanted! I cry out internally. He stopped! Now, go on! Tell him what you wanted to say so we can get back to what we were doing! I curse myself.

When the silence gets suffocating, I open my eyes. I meet his night eyes and my mouth goes dry.

“You underestimate me, angel. In business or life, the only one capable of defeating me is myself.” His voice is deeper, huskier from the kiss. It’s so delicious that wetness pools between my legs.

I turn my head away, flustered. He takes my chin and brings my eyes back on him. My heart skips a beat. He is devouring me with his dark eyes. Openly. Shamelessly.

This time, when Damian bends his head to kiss me again, I meet his lips eagerly, doing what I wanted to do earlier, submit.

The kiss hits me with a force that every other thought scatters and evaporates. I forget that we are in his car. I forget about the Thompsons. Forget that I was scared for Damian and his still growing business. I even forget about the taunts they cut me open with. His hunger drives away the last of my inhibitions.

With the other hand, he jerks me closer, making my breasts rub against his shirt. The heat emanating through him makes my nipples painfully tight.

He feels so good, I think internally as my greedy fingers run over his shirt, going up, up, up until I find the hot skin of his throat. I moan when I caress his smooth neck before spearing my fingers into his silky black hair.

There it was again. The wild throbbing. Each and every cell in my body is throbbing with need.

Something is different tonight. He feels different. It’s like the ironclad control he typically wields has been stripped from him. Every time we’re together, I try to push things further than just kissing, but he’s always the one to pull back, keeping us from crossing the boundary. But not tonight. Tonight, there’s a hunger in his touch that matches my own.

His arms gather me, pulling me into his lap. The skirt of the gown rides up as my knees falls on either side of his thighs. My hands are tangled in his dark hair while his move over my body with fevered urgency.

When he thrusts upwards against my pussy, my insides clench violently and a loud moan slips from my lips. My heart soars. Yes! This is it. My lungs burn from the lack of oxygen. It hurts not being able to breathe but I smile internally. Because it would hurt even more if he stopped.

The ache between my thighs increases tenfold. It becomes absolutely unbearable. I want him inside me. Sheer shock grabs me by the throat at the thought. I always desired Damian. His kisses always left me wanting for more, dreaming for more. But this… urgency in me is new. The blood in my veins is so hot with desire, I’m scared it will burn me alive.

I rock against him, moaning, urging him to do that again but everything comes to a halt. One minute we are writhing against each other and the next he is drawing back with a ragged sigh.

I open my haze-filled eyes, heartbeat thumping and heat pulsing between my thighs. “Damian?” I whisper-pant. His mouth tightens. To my dismay, he lifts me from his lap and gently places me back to the seat.

“We’re here,” he says calmly while I can barely breathe, let alone speak. I peer out of the window and realize we are parked in front of my apartment building.

My gaze darts to his face, searching for any hint of what he’s feeling, but his expression is unreadable, his features schooled into that familiar mask of control.

I blink several times as I fight to rein back the tears threatening me, cut to the bone at his rejection. A wave of hurt washes over me. It’s not the first time he’s pulled away like this. But after the night I’ve had, his rejection has left me feeling even more worthless.

I swallow hard, trying to push down the lump that’s formed in my throat, threatening to choke me. With trembling hands, I reach for the door handle, desperate to escape the suffocating confines of the car.

As I step out onto the pavement, my vision blurred with tears, I start to run toward the building, my heart pounding in my ears. It’s okay. I’m just being emotional. Damian loves me. He just doesn’t want to cross the line because of our age gap. I try to convince myself that his rejection didn’t mean anything but doubts begin to flood my mind. Does he really want me? He does because he was hard. Then why?

I love Damian. I want him like a woman wants a man, with a hunger that cannot be quenched by mere words or gestures. There’s nothing wrong in that, is there? Then why am I feeling ashamed? The funny thing is I am not ashamed enough to deny this want.

I am sure he didn’t mean to humiliate me but he unconsciously succeeded. A sob traps in my throat as I hurry but my foot catches on a crack in the pavement, and I stumble forward, bracing myself for the impact.

But before I can hit the ground, something stops me. Strong arms wrap around me, pulling me back. I look up, my vision swimming with tears, and meet his brilliant dark eyes.

I try to pull away from him, unable to stand more humiliation. He doesn’t let go. With a swift, fluid motion, he sweeps me off my feet. My breath catches in my throat, and for a moment, all I can do is cling to him, my arms wrapping tightly around his neck as if he’s my lifeline. His touch is electrifying, sending shivers racing down my spine, and as he holds me close, I can feel the warmth of his body seeping into my bones, chasing away the chill of the night air.

He doesn’t offer comforting words. Does not try to ask questions but simply holds me. His silence… sometimes causes more hurt than his words ever could. It doesn’t matter how in tune with me he is to realize what I’m thinking or going through.

Sometimes, you just need more than being in tune. You need more than silence. Sometimes, you need words. And actions to prove that you care about your partner. That you love them.

Still smarting from his rejection, I squirm, attempting to slide down but he tightens his arms around me. His jaw set in a stubborn line as he carries me back toward the car. Sighing, I let myself rest against him, too spent to fight him.

My blood warms again. My senses become heightened once more. His scent amplifying everything, making it difficult for me not to kiss him.

He lowers me into the backseat before following and slamming the door shut. I scoot as far away from him as possible. The slamming of the door convinced me that he is pissed and doesn’t want me with him right now. Then why come after me?

I turn my face away as I will the tears to go away before they can escape.

“I’m sorry.” He speaks. I stop breathing.

“I got carried away. If I could take it back…” he trails and I lower my eyes. He would take it back? My heart clenches in agony.

“You don’t want me,” I say, straining to keep my emotion veiled.

“That’s not true. You know that.”

“You don’t want me enough then.”

“I do.”

There is a rustle against the leather seat and Damian is suddenly in my space. He effortlessly angles my body so he can stare at my face. I struggle to shift away but he drags me back against him. “I didn’t stop to humiliate you, River.”

I avert my gaze. He reaches out, cupping my face in his hand, making me face him again. “You deserve so much more than a hurried, fumbling encounter in the back of a car.”

I swallow thickly, my heart wavering, wanting to believe him.

“I want you.” He lifts my chin. “More than you want me.”

My mouth goes dry.

“I’ll take you when the time is right. And when I do, I’ll make it unforgettable,” his dark, deep voice rumbles, his eyes smoldering with intensity.

My face heats up, heart racing at his promise. His words send a thrill coursing through me, igniting a fire that burns with a fervent longing. And although I want to hide my colored face with my hands, I find myself staring at him instead. He is just so breathtaking. I drink him in. There is not one thought left in my mind that contained anger or hurt or disappointment.

I know that whenever that moment arrives, it will be an explosion of passion unlike anything I’ve ever experienced. It will be worth the wait. I just know it. Because in his arms, I find a desire that knows no bounds, a hunger that can never be quenched, a love that burns with an intensity that leaves me weak in the knees.

My lips part as he draws me in closer. I can feel the heat between us, a palpable tension in the air like static electricity. He cradles my head as he thoroughly devours me. But the kiss ends before I can kiss him back. And then he takes me to the place I am beginning to call home. Our mansion.

CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

Present

My mind reels with disbelief as I stare at Melissa Thompson. It can’t be her. But it is. The woman holding the empty tray, her gaze defiantly meeting mine, is none other than my childhood tormentor. The same girl who, along with her mother, made every gathering and social affair a nightmare for me.

No matter how hard I try, I can’t wrap my head around how Melissa ended up here. It’s been more than a year since our paths last crossed, and in that time, it seems the world has shifted beneath our feet.

In stunned silence, I take her in. Her hair, once glossy and meticulously styled, now bears the unmistakable signs of neglect, the poorly done color job of mismatched hues clashes with her complexion. It’s a stark contrast from the image of perfection she once projected. Even her uniform looks worn. It’s as if life has chewed her up and spat her out, leaving her barely hanging on.

Her eyes, burning with hatred, lock onto mine. Despite the scolding she’s receiving by Vicky and the manager of the pub, her focus remains squarely on me. It’s a gaze filled with accusation, with a bitterness that chills me to the bone.

“This is unacceptable.” Vicky’s voice slices through the air like a sharp blade, her tone leaving no room for negotiation. “Do you even know who she is? Who her husband is?”

The manager, already flustered by the commotion, pales visibly. His troubled gaze meets mine, and for a moment, I see a hint of recognition flash across his face. And he pales even more as he realizes who I am.

He knows he’s dealing with more than just a wealthy patron. He’s facing someone who wields power beyond money, someone who is not accustomed to being subdued by mere apologies and empty promises. He is dealing with Damian Montgomery. After all, my husband’s reputation precedes me wherever I go.

This is because of that once incident that took place before our marriage. We were out on a date. It was our first outdoor date. A private dinner at an upscale restaurant. Although I always loved spending time at the mansion with him back then, I sometimes wanted to be taken out too. When I told him, he surprised me the next day. He had made arrangements for dinner by booking the entire restaurant to avoid paparazzi violating our privacy.

Everything was wonderful until a waiter in the haste of rushing to attend to our table, accidentally brushed against me, knocking over the spoon in my hand, causing a few hot droplets to land on my chest.

As the mishap was minor, I merely laughed it off when the waiter began apologizing. He anxiously began to reach me with a tissue as if to dab at the hot liquid when someone pushed his hand away violently. It was Damian and he was livid.

In a matter of seconds, Damian’s demeanor had transformed from composed to incensed. His eyes blazed with fury as he stared at him. The restaurant staff, sensing the gravity of the situation, rushed to apologize and offer assistance.

It all went downhill when the restaurant owner showed up, clearly furious about being dragged away from wherever he’d been over something so minor. “It’s no big deal,” he scoffed. “It’s not like the entire soup burned you.” Those were his exact words.

Damian didn’t utter a single word, didn’t raise his voice in anger. Instead, he simply fixed the owner with a chilling stare, a silent promise of retribution that sent shivers down the spine of everyone in the vicinity.

The waiter, unable to withstand the tension, stammered out one last apology before fleeing the scene in terror.

Then, One day, out of nowhere, we heard the restaurant had shut down for good. Just like that. The owner vanished without a trace, leaving behind a trail of unanswered questions. It showed the lengths Damian would go to protect me, to ensure that even the smallest slight did not go unpunished. I remember questioning him about it and he merely shrugged explaining that the owner couldn’t take the pressure his legal team was inflicting upon them.

“But it was a mistake, Damian. A minor mistake.”

He stared at me then. “Exactly. A mistake and they paid their price.” He lifted my chin. “Whoever hurts you deserves punishment.”

“Does that include you?” I mocked. He answered with a punishing kiss, easily distracting me from the incident.

Damian’s love for me knew no bounds. At least that’s how I used to see it. Until… I was proved otherwise.

As time passed, I understood that in his eyes, I was not his wife, but his most prized possession, and he would stop at nothing to shield me from harm, no matter the cost. It was darker than it sounded.

And even after his tight security, and PR team’s efforts, the word about his involvement in the shutting down of that exclusive restaurant still got out. Or maybe it was because of his team that the news got out. Maybe he wanted to let the world know that his wrath knew no mercy. Either way, after that incident, Damian’s name began to circulate through the hospitality industry—notorious for his unwillingness to let things slide. Word spread fast, and soon every restaurant owner seemed to know who he was, his reputation for holding establishments accountable cementing itself after just one encounter.

The manager rushes over, apologizing profusely. “I will fire her immediately, ma’am.”

I shake my head. “No, please. Don’t. It’s all right. I’m fine.” My attention is still fixed on Melissa. That makes her angrier and she stalks in my direction. Seeing her storming toward me with fury in her eyes, I instinctively shy away, bracing myself for what? I don’t know. But just before she can reach me, Vicky grabs her elbow with the swift iron grip and shoves her back.

“Don’t even think about it,” Vicky warns, her voice cold. “Try that again, and you’ll regret it.”

“Whatever.” Melissa glares at her then at me before turning on her heel.

“Wait.” I step forward. “Melissa!”

She turns and my gaze locks with hers.

“You know her?” Matt comes to my side, frowning. I nod grimly.

“What do you want?” Melissa’s words are sharp, her tone laced with bitterness.

I take few steps toward her but Vicky intercepts.

“I know her, Vicky. I want to talk to her.”

Vicky’s eyes trail back to Melissa and they narrow with distrust. “Fine. But she will maintain distance.”

Melissa’s gaze hardens. “Well, you can fuck off with your distance because I’m not in the mood to entertain sluts.”

Vicky and Matt, including the manager attack her verbally.

“I should have smashed the tray into her face after dumping the drinks over her head,” Melissa sneers.

I suck in a breath.

The manager wipes his forehead and looks at me helplessly. “I’m deeply sorry, Mrs. Montgomery. This behavior is utterly unacceptable. She’s terminated immediately. If you wish to press charges, we will fully support you.”

“I don’t know why you’re so upset, Melissa. I... I just wanted to make sure you’re okay. I didn’t expect to see you here.”

She scoffs. “Well, surprise, surprise. Life doesn’t always go the way you want, does it?”

My brow furrows, concern growing. “What happened, Melissa? How did you end up working here?”

Her lips twists into a sneer. “None of your business. You can put on that innocent and sweet act for everyone else, but you can’t fool me. Deep down, you’ve always been nothing but a spoiled, useless waste of space, thinking you’re better than everyone else!”

Eyes burning with unshed tears, I stare at her numbly.

“Enough!” Matt snaps. “Call the security.”

“I never thought that, Melissa. I’m sorry if I ever made you feel that way.”

Two men in black uniform are suddenly at her side. But she is unfazed. “Sorry doesn’t change anything. Look at you, enjoying the lavish lifestyle while I’m stuck serving entitled brats like you!”

“Wait, please!” I look at the men. “Melissa, please. Let’s talk somewhere quieter. I want to understand.”

Melissa’s gaze turns icy. “I never want to see your face again after what your husband did to me and my family. You’re as vile as he is. Stay away from me!”

My heart stops. A horrible feeling washes over me like a sudden chill, sending shivers down my spine. Like a bolt from the blue, Damian’s words come flooding back to me, as clear and cutting as if he had spoken them just moments ago.

They will pay, he had said, his voice laced with a steely resolve that left no room for doubt.

At the time, I had brushed it off as a mere expression of anger on my behalf, a hollow threat uttered in the heat of the moment. But now, as I stand here face to face with Melissa Thompson, I can’t shake the feeling that there was more to his words than I dared to admit.

The suspicion gnaws at me. Is there a possibility that he played a role in Melissa’s downfall?

It’s a chilling thought. Melissa, the daughter of my father’s business partner, William Thompson, once seemed invincible, like the embodiment of success itself. But if she’s truly fallen, if her life is in shambles, what about her family? William, Richard and Dad built Innovare Dynamics Group together, an empire worth billions. Their partnership isn’t just professional; it’s personal, entwined with our lives. If Melissa’s family is ruined, could it mean the collapse of our fathers’ legacy?

But why would Damian ruin everyone related to Melissa over a stupid incident that happened more than a year ago?

Then like lightning bolt, realization hits. He isn’t doing this for me.

Memories flood back like a tidal wave, crashing over me with such a force, it sweeps me back in time. I find myself standing in Damian’s home office, hugging his anniversary gift to my chest.

Tucking a curl behind my ear, I slowly step into the dimly lit home office, a nervous excitement coursing through me. It’s our first wedding anniversary, and I can’t wait to surprise Damian. I lift the small gift and smile softly. It’s a 3D solar system crystal ball.

Damian has everything, and it’s hard to find something that truly catches his eye. But I remembered his fascination with stars and space, so when I found this beautiful piece online, it felt meant to be.

It’s not just a gift. It’s a reflection of what he means to me. This isn’t about stars or galaxies; it’s about showing him that he’s my everything. My universe. The one I orbit around, always.

He hasn’t spoken to me properly in what feels like an eternity. And our relationship feels strained by distance. Even today, he is not with me. But it’s all right. I will wait for him. I will like I always do. Because I love him. I refuse to be upset over the distance between us. And through this gift, I hope to bridge the gap between us, to remind him that no matter how far apart we may be, my love for him remains strong, like the gravitational pull of the sun.

The familiar sight of his cluttered desk greets me, papers strewn haphazardly across its surface. I take a deep breath and move toward the desk, the gift still clutched tightly in my hand.

Where do I hide it? I think inwardly as I glance around. Most probably on the desk, so he could find it as soon as he gets here. But there’s no space. I begin with the top drawer of the desk and find it locked. I try the second one and it’s locked too.

I am about to head to the bookshelves across the desk when something catches my eye. A piece of what appears to be a folder is peeking out from under the table. Frowning, I sit on Damian’s chair and roll it forward to the desk. Putting my hand underneath the desk, I try to tug the paper.

It doesn’t come off but when I pull again, a hidden drawer opens. Stunned, I peer inside and find files.

This might be a better place for hiding the gift. Grinning to myself, I begin lifting the files to make room. But as I do, a folder slips from one of the files, spilling its contents onto the floor in a flurry of papers and photographs.

I bend to gather them but my heart stops. The familiar faces of my family stares back at me from the photographs. Alongside them are documents detailing my father’s business dealings and financial records.

Confused, I struggle to make sense of what I’m seeing. Putting the rest of the files back on the desk, I open the one that contained the folder. My college schedule. My birth certificate. My bank information. Dad’s business partners’ personal information. Their families’ records.

Why would my husband have these files? And why keep them hidden like this?

I flip through a few pictures of me with Dad at charity galas, some from my high school graduation. Then I find a document detailing my food preferences, allergies, and a few other personal things.

My hands tremble as I sift through the papers, each one feeling like a dagger to the heart. The notes and annotations over my lunch breaks and the time I visited the campus café.

All those “coincidences,” the gifts, the sweet gestures, everything, down to the smallest detail, was carefully orchestrated. The dinners, the dates, the way he held me like he couldn't get enough—all of it was calculated. It wasn’t love. It was manipulation. It was a lie.

Then it dawns on me. My husband has been using me, using our marriage as a stepping stone to get closer to my family, to gain control, power, and leverage.

My heart aches as I look at the proof spread out before me. I thought I knew him. I thought we shared something real. But now, with tears blurring my vision, all I can see is the betrayal.

Why, Damian? Why?

If he had only asked, if he had only opened up to me, I would have given him everything—my love, my loyalty, my very life. I would have laid the world at his feet, without hesitation or reservation. But instead, he chose to deceive me, to manipulate my trust for his own gain.

Was I just a pawn in his game, a means to an end? Did he see me as nothing more than a means to an end? The mere thought sends shards of pain ripping through my soul.

What did I do to deserve this betrayal?

How could he play me like this, toy with my emotions as if they were nothing.

The tears come then, hot and bitter, as I realize the depth of his deception. He didn’t just betray me—he shattered me, leaving behind nothing but broken pieces of the woman I was moments ago.

I don’t know how long I stay inside his home office, but when I walk out from there, I decide to walk out from this mansion and away from the man who was my universe.

All I can do is sink weakly into the nearest chair.

My heart lurches with alarm. It’s such a shock, I could hardly make sense of it.

All this time, I was convinced that Damian’s animosity toward my father stemmed from their business rivalry. But I’m not so sure anymore.

He had detailed information on everyone connected to my father, including me. Melissa claimed he destroyed her and her family’s lives. He’s ruined my life as well by marrying me without a shred of love.

Something tells me this isn’t just about business rivalry anymore. It’s deeper, more twisted—far more complicated than it appears.

If he really is behind all this then I’m afraid he might not be content with simply ruining Melissa or her family. No. He’s after everyone connected to my dad, every business partner and even their respective families. It’s a systematic dismantling of not just a business empire, but of lives and livelihoods.

My only question is… why?

I don’t know how, but I find myself standing inside the grand foyer of the mansion. I don’t remember leaving the pub, don’t recall the journey home. All I know is that now I’m here.

I begin walking numbly.

“River…” Vicky calls out.

“I’d like to be alone for a while.” Without waiting for a response, I turn and let my feet carry me through the expansive hallways.

As I reach the end of the corridor, I come upon a pair of sleek, modern doors. With a gentle push, they swing open effortlessly.

In front of me is an indoor, state-of-the-art pool, its clear surface glowing from the soft underwater lights, casting gentle ripples of light across the room.

I step out of my shoes. With trembling hands, I peel off my alcohol-drenched clothes. Then dive into the water naked.

The shock of the cool water momentarily distracts me until the same thoughts plague me again. I resurface, gasping for air, my heart pounding in my chest.

I swim laps with a fierce determination, each stroke propelling me forward, driving away the thoughts that threaten to consume me.

But no matter how hard I swim, no matter how fast I push myself, the weight of Damian’s betrayal suffocates me.

It’s my fault. I let myself hope that I’d gotten it wrong about Damian. When he refused to explain, I thought it could’ve been innocent, that maybe digging into my father and his partners was nothing more than curiosity. I even let myself believe that all those details he had about me were because he wanted to know me on a deeper level.

How foolish was I? Clinging to excuses that didn’t exist. Seeing Melissa tonight, hearing her speak, stripped away every last shred of doubt. The truth couldn’t be clearer now. He didn’t marry me for love. He married me for a purpose, one I was too blind to see.

The water around me blurs with tears as I swim, my movements becoming sluggish and uncoordinated. Exhaustion begins to set in, both physical and emotional and I finally pause.

Resting my forehead on my folded arms on the tiled rim, I pant. Swallowing hard, I turn to begin again.

“You’ve done enough swimming for one night, angel.”

Everything freezes, I forget how to draw another breath as I lift my head and stare into a pair of all too familiar dark as night eyes. “Damian!”

CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

Past

It’s unfair. And absolutely wrong. Being fooled by a man who means the world to you. Dad shouldn’t have done this.

When I received Dad’s message asking me to meet for dinner, I reluctantly canceled my date with Damian. After my hasty exit from his celebration party three weeks ago, I’d been avoiding his calls. That had put a strain on our relationship because I never went without talking to him for three weeks straight. I was sad and I knew Dad felt the same way. He wanted to mend the rift between us, and this dinner was his attempt to reach out.

Despite my reservations, I knew it was needed. After all, I couldn’t blame him for Nadine and Melissa’s behavior. I love him too much to let this divide us any longer.

As I stepped into the lavish, dimly lit restaurant, two impeccably dressed hosts immediately approached me and led me a secluded, elegantly set table in a corner.

My heart stopped for a second when I found Edward waiting for me instead of my father. It hit me like a ton of bricks—I’d been set up.

When Edward rose from his seat, his smile wide and confident, I had to keep my composure. It was hard. This was bad. And yet I couldn’t blame Edward. He was clearly very excited to see me. What dad did wasn’t fair to me but it wasn’t Edward’s fault.

That’s why I instead of leaving, I decided to stay. I wanted to reach for my phone and call Dad. I wanted to confront him but I couldn’t.

I should have seen it coming when Dad asked me to be Edward’s date for the party back then. He must have been trying to set us up all along.

Edward reaches across the table, his hand gently covering mine. I can’t help but flinch slightly at the unexpected touch. He doesn’t seem to notice, or if he does, he doesn’t say anything.

“I’m really glad you’re here,” he says, his eyes meeting mine with a smile. “I’ve been looking forward to this all week.”

All week? Dad had only texted me about this last night. How long had they been planning this? Guilt starts to gnaw at me. It wouldn’t be right to continue deceiving him as well. I should tell him about Dad’s match making. I don’t want to lead Edward on and give him any wrong signals.

I manage a smile. “I didn’t expect to see you here tonight.”

Edward’s smile doesn’t falter. Instead, it seems to grow more assured. “Yeah, I know. Uncle Christopher thought it would be nice to surprise you.”

As he speaks, it dawns on me that Edward knew I was unaware of the setup and chose not to inform me. Why didn’t he say something? I don’t know what to make of this.

I jump when I feel his lips against my knuckles. “I can’t deny that I was in on the surprise,” he admits. “But I don’t feel guilty about it. In fact, I’m glad your dad suggested this. I’ve been wanting to spend more time with you, and I hope this isn’t too forward, but I really like you.” His eyes hold mine.

My face reddens, caught off guard by his boldness. I shift uncomfortably in my seat.

In a subtle, clumsy motion, I gently withdraw my hand from his and reach for the sparkling water. “I... I appreciate your honesty, Edward,” I manage to say before taking healthy swigs. Then, “I just... wasn’t expecting this.” I avoid his gaze, focusing on the plate of food in front of me.

Edward’s expression remains composed. “I understand,” he says smoothly. “This might be unexpected for you, but our fathers have always envisioned a union between us.”

My eyes fly up, meeting his. “What do you mean by that?”

Edward leans back. “You know exactly what I mean. Marriage. Our families already work as one unit in the business world. But there’s more to gain. A union between us would strengthen the bond, ensuring our empire’s legacy. It will solidify our families’ alliance and would set a foundation for the future.”

For a moment, I just sit there like a statue. I can’t believe it. I simply cannot. I don’t know how long I stayed frozen but when I snap out of the shock, I ask, “Are you for real, or is this some kind of sick joke? Does my father even know about this?”

His sleek brows arch at that question. “Of course he does. Our fathers have discussed this at length.”

I suck in a breath. How could my father do this without even talking to me? The man I’ve always trusted and looked up to, the one I thought was closest to me, has orchestrated this entire setup behind my back. I feel betrayed. How could he think I would be okay with this? I thought we had a great relationship, one built on unconditional love, mutual respect and open communication. But now, I’m questioning everything.

And marriage? Edward is talking about marriage as if it’s just another business deal, another merger to strengthen our empire. My stomach churns at the thought. I can’t believe this is happening. I’m already with Damian. And now, Dad is forcing me to consider an arranged marriage for the sake of business?

“He never mentioned anything about this to me,” I say numbly.

“I understand it might be surprising, but your dad thought it would be best to approach this naturally. He didn’t want to pressure you.”

He didn’t want to pressure me? My eyes sting. He didn’t want to pressure me but he did end up cornering me. I begin shaking my head. “But Edward, I’m only twenty. This seems like a lot to consider at my age, don’t you think?”

I desperately want to set him straight. I want to tell him about Damian. But how do I do that without revealing too much?

How do I explain that I am in love with my father’s business rival? How would Edward or my father understand when they are forcing me to consider an arranged marriage for the said business.

How do I explain that I’m in love with the man they all conspired to invite and humiliate, especially my dad? How do I tell him that the man who had the courage to defend me against the cruel remarks—when even Edward and my father didn’t—is the one I want to share my life with? How?

Edward’s smile remains steady. “You’re going to turn twenty-one in a few months. You’re more mature than most people I know, and you’ve grown up in the same world I have. You understand the responsibilities.”

His casual dismissal of my age makes my face flush with a mix of embarrassment and fury. “That’s not the point, Edward. Just because I’m almost twenty-one doesn’t mean I’m ready for this kind of commitment.”

Edward leans forward slightly, his tone smooth and persuasive. “I get it, really. It’s a lot to take in. But think about it—we’re in a unique position. Our union isn’t just about us. It’s about ensuring the future of everything our families have worked for. You’re not alone in this, and I’ll be there to support you every step of the way.”

“Edward,” I attempt to control the panic that’s building inside me. I take a deep breath, summoning my courage. “I never really thought of you in that way,” I say, my voice wobbling. “And right now, I want to focus on school and other priorities.”

“I appreciate your honesty. I’m willing to be patient, to give you the time you need.”

But I don’t need time!

I stop my leg that was bouncing under the table uncontrollably, and subtly wipe sweat from my forehead. “What about Melissa?”

After all, Dad has two partners. And Melissa fits in the criteria he mentioned perfectly. In fact, Melissa would welcome this arrangement with glee.

“Melissa is already engaged.”

“What?” I squeak. Clearing my throat, I speak again, “What? When did this happen?”

“Last week. And even if she weren’t, I would still go for you, River. I told you I like you a lot,” he says softly, reaching across the table to place his hand over mine.

His words are persuasive, calculated. It’s clear he has thought about this a lot. But as much as I want to respect his feelings and the potential benefits, I can’t ignore my own heart. I need to find a way to gently let him down, without causing too much damage to our families’ relationship.

“I can’t speak on this matter at the moment,” I say finally, my voice soft. “Please understand, this is a lot to take in.”

He smiles, a bit more relaxed now. “I know. Just know that whatever you decide, it needs to be the right choice for our future. And I hope you’ll see the potential in what we could achieve together.” He gives my hand a squeeze.

I subtly pull my hand away. After that, thankfully, Edward shifts to his travelling stories and I resume nodding when necessary.

I will find a way. There’s no way I would ever marry Edward. Dad will surely understand. He won’t go against my wishes. I take a deep breath, reminiscing our Paris holiday. Dad and mom’s love story had inspired me. Dad’s tales encouraged me to fall in love with Damian.

He will understand once I’ll tell him about Damian. After all, he knows how it feels to be helplessly in love. He can never wish a tragic ending for my love story. That thought gives me a bit of hope and I begin feeling better.

One thing I have learned from this date. Edward loves to talk. I stifled my yawn twice and he didn’t notice. He has shifted to his Greece adventures now.

At one point, my gaze begins wandering around. I take in the modern, sleek décor, and the tables, noticing the cozy couples lost in their own worlds. A brief smile tugs at my lips at the sight of a girl playfully feeding her companion dessert. I let my gaze drift away from them and roam again. But all of a sudden, abruptly, my eyes come to a halt. Through a swirling haze of cigar smoke, a pair of piercing black eyes lock onto mine.

A jab of shock goes through me.

Edward’s fingers gently capture my chin, turning my face toward him with a grin. “My stories had you daydreaming, didn’t they?”

Caught off-guard by his sudden touch, I lean away from it, I manage a faint reply, “I… um, yeah, they did.”

My heart pounds loudly in my chest, drowning out Edward’s voice for a moment. Am I hallucinating? It can’t be. With a shuddering breath, I trail my eyes across the room once again. And for the second time, I meet those black eyes. Because he is still watching me.

“Damian.” I mouth his name. He arches a dark brow. That one move sends a shiver down my spine.

He takes a confident drag of his cigar, his eyes locked on mine through the swirling smoke. For a moment, I think I saw fury in the depths of his dark gaze. But I’m not sure because it’s gone.

I cancelled our date because I told him I had to see dad and now I’m here with Edward. He probably thinks I am cheating on him.

The fear of losing him almost makes me whimper. Before I can do something, a waiter arrives with our dessert, blocking my view. When he finally moves away, I look back eagerly, only to find Damian’s seat empty.

Panic sets in as I frantically scan the restaurant, finally spotting him striding toward the exit. With a woman by his side. And just like that, my heart stops inside my chest.

I had been so preoccupied with my own fear of losing him that I hadn’t even glanced to see if Damian was accompanied by someone. I push to my trembling feet. Barely managing an apology, I run after him.

Reaching the foyer, I see them heading for the elevators. I halt for a few seconds. It feels like I am dying. But I resume walking.

My eyes burn the entire time as I make my way toward them. But by the time I reach there, they are already inside and the doors are closing.

With numb, cold fingers I press the call button to the elevator beside the one Damian just boarded. Within seconds, it arrives, and I quickly step inside. My vision blurs with tears as I helplessly stare at the buttons, unable to discern which floor they selected. I randomly press one and the doors start to slide shut.

Suddenly, a hand shoots through the narrowing gap between the doors at the very last second. The doors open again. And through the opening, Damian strides in.

For a second or two, I just stand there, unable to move. Pure shock makes my heart hammer against my breastbone.

All I can do is watch as Damian presses a button, making the doors slide shut. Once we are trapped inside, he faces me, leaning against the opposite wall, intent black eyes colliding with my startled greens.

His head tilts to the side as he studies me. “Breathe.”

I inhale then, only now realizing I wasn’t breathing. It’s hard to control my erratic heartbeat when he is watching me like that but I try to calm myself the best I can.

“Busy night?”

I flinch. He continues, “First, I see you with Edward McAllister at the restaurant,” he says coldly. “Then I see you running after another man.”

“No, it’s not what you think!”

Without warning, he swiftly presses a button. The elevator gives a jerk and then grinds to a sudden halt.

“Damian!” I gasp. “What did you do?”

“I stopped it.” He moves closer. “We need to talk. I’m afraid your date will have to wait. As well as that man you were chasing.”

“Damian, it wasn’t what it looked like. I thought that man I was following was—”

“So you do admit you were following him,” he says, his voice dangerously low. “First you follow me for my number, now you’re running after someone else. Quite the habit.” He advances and I take a step back, the sound of my breathing loud. The confined space suddenly feels even smaller, the air thick with tension.

“No, it’s not like that! I can explain.”

He takes another step closer, and I can feel the heat radiating from his body.

“Explain then,” he demands, his gaze never leaving mine. There’s a fire in them that both terrifies and excites me. He places a hand on the wall beside my head, caging me in.

My cheeks burn under his watchful stare. “I t-thought he was y-you. He was wearing the same suit as you. When I saw him with a-another woman, I felt... betrayed. I followed him because I thought you were with her,” I confess, my words spilling out in a rush.

Now that I know that man wasn’t my Damian, I feel a surge of relief flood through me. It’s so intense it borders on physical pain. The thought of Damian betraying me had nearly shattered me. I love him fiercely, with every fiber of my being. The mere idea of losing him, of him being with someone else, had been unbearable. My heart had clenched in agony, my mind racing with thoughts of what could have been. But now, knowing it wasn’t him, I can breathe again. I can feel my love for him burning even brighter, a fierce determination settling in to never let doubt cloud my heart again.

He places his other hand on the wall, boxing me in completely. I’m trapped, and my pulse races at the nearness of him. “You thought I was cheating on you.”

“I saw him from a distance and assumed the worst. I was wrong,” I admit, my cheeks flushing with shame.

His gaze roams over my face, and I feel the intensity of his scrutiny like a physical touch. “You doubted me, angel.” His eyes drop to my lips, and I swallow hard, my heart pounding.

“I know, and I’m sorry. It was a mistake,” I plead. The tension between us is palpable, and I find myself leaning in ever so slightly, craving his touch. Giving into it, I reach up and cup his jaw. When he doesn’t reject my touch, I go on my tiptoe and press my lips against his jaw.

“A mistake. Like going on a date with Edward behind my back?”

I freeze, pulling away. The cold hard look on his face makes my eyes go wide. “Damian…”

He leans forward until his body is flushed against mine. “I thought we were supposed to be together tonight, but then you tell me you have to go see your father. Imagine my surprise when Hal fills me in on your change of plans.”

“It wasn’t a date, Damian. Please, believe me! I was supposed to have dinner with dad, but he arranged for Edward to come in his place,” I explain, desperation bleeding into my voice. His proximity is intoxicating, and I can feel the heat of his breath on my skin. I can hardly think.

“Your father set you up with Edward?” He runs his eyes over my face.

I lick my lips, nodding. Only Damian can get me hot and bothered while questioning me.

“Yes, and I didn’t know until I got here. I was just trying to be polite.” I don’t tell him about the marriage proposal. How can I when Damian is in such a mood?

“Is letting him touch you your idea of politeness?”

“I didn’t invite his touch,” I say, meeting Damian’s intense gaze head-on. “I leaned away every time, trying to signal that I wasn’t comfortable with it but he didn’t seem to notice.”

His jaw ticks. “Sounds like he needs to learn his boundaries,” Damian says, his voice chillingly calm. “Perhaps a broken hand might make him think twice.”

My jaw drops. He clasps my chin, exactly how Edward had earlier and rubs the skin with his thumb as if he is erasing the other man’s touch. “No one touches what’s mine.”

Damian’s possessiveness had never surfaced so visibly before.

He places his bronzed index finger against my neck where my pulse is beating out of control. “Do I scare you, angel?”

Color rushes up my face as he runs his finger slowly up my throat. “Damian…” His name comes out as a moan. My eyes fall shut when he reaches my mouth, caressing my parted, quivering lips.

“Tell me,” he murmurs. “Does my possessiveness intimidate you?”

Fighting breathlessness, I start to shake my head but his fingers tug my ponytail, tilting my head back. “Don’t think about lying.”

“Yes… it does.” I open my heavy-lidded eyes. “But it also makes me want you more.”

Dark satisfaction shines in his eyes and it sends shivers through me. Every bit of dignity in me falls away when it comes to this man. It’s like the connection between my brain and my mouth breaks whenever I am around him. That is why I often end up confessing things I should keep hidden.

With my face flushed, and my breasts rising and falling with every shallow breath, I stare at him, letting him see how he affects me. I show him how much I desire him, hoping and praying for his control to snap so that he could finally make love to me.

Through half-lowered lids, he watches me, then slowly reaches down and grabs my wrists. I tremble when he raises them and places my arms around his neck.

He bends his head and I gasp when his lips brush the corner of left eye. One hand slides down my back and with the other he catches my chin and tilt my head backwards, making me look up at him.

Feeling incredibly shy, I shut my eyes, while my heart beating wildly in my ears.

“Look at me,” he murmurs.

I shake my head, swallowing thickly.

“Don’t you want to witness the effect your honesty has on me?”

At that, my eyes fly open of their own accord and what I see shakes me to the core.

A raw, unadulterated desire is burning in his gaze. For me. Just for me. I whimper and his mouth takes possession of mine.

A moan escapes me as his mouth moves hotly against mine. My hands restless in his hair. I arch toward him, pressing into his hard body, wanting to merge myself with him forever. His hands grip me with equal need, his tongue demanding. I let his kiss, his touch, consume me until I become boneless. Literally.

My knees buckle but Damian wedges his knee between my legs. I’m wearing flared trousers, and the layers of our clothing is only heightening the pressure of his hard thigh against my pussy. I shudder when he moves his leg slightly, rubbing me. The friction makes me wetter and I do the unthinkable. Without any thought, digging my nails in his broad shoulders, I give into the primal urge and move against his thigh.

With his mouth still moving against mine, he reaches for my ponytail and deftly pulls the hair tie, setting my curls free.

Damian kisses me like he has all the time in the world. And I just soak it all in. This is where I want to be, in his arms. Feeling him all around me, taking over my senses.

He lets out a little groan when I suck on his tongue. It’s so foreign because Damian isn’t always vocal. He is always in control. The rush of knowing I’ve managed to pierce through his steel control is so exhilarating, it’s filling me with a heady sense of empowerment.

His hard body is pressing me against the wall as he devours my mouth and even though I’m trapped, I feel like flying. I feel safe. I feel at home.

The bulge in his pants make me blush harder but does it stop me from grinding against him? No. Picking up on my signals, Damian increases the friction, making me gasp. At the same time, his lips move down and nip at my jaw before sliding to the side of my throat. I tilt my head, giving him full access, wanting more of his rough kisses on my skin.

His kisses are so aggressive, hungry and passionate that I shiver when I feel his tongue on my flesh. I’m on fire, the tension in me building the harder he kisses my neck and his thigh rubbing between my legs.

I dig my fingers through his hair and push his face harder against the crook of my neck. Damian reaches between our bodies and unfastens the button on my trousers. As his fingers work to lower my zipper, the shrill ring of his phone pierces the air. Simultaneously, distant voices filter in, just outside the elevator door.

I pull back from Damian, the spell broken by the sudden interruption. His eyes meet mine, frustration evident in the tight line of his jaw. “Damn it,” he mutters quietly, his voice rough with desire and irritation.

I tuck my curl behind my ear, suppressing a smile. But it instantly turns into a gasp when he hooks his finger in the waistband of my trousers, tugging me closer. I watch, mouth agape, as he zips me up and buttons my pants. Then, unexpectedly, he produces a handkerchief.

Blushing furiously, I wipe at my lips and then glance up to find him watching me intently. Without a word exchanged, I stand on my tiptoes and gently wipe his lips as well.

He leans down and presses his lips to my forehead. As he does, he reaches out to press a button on the panel. The elevator jolts momentarily before smoothly resuming its ascent. Pulling me close to his side, he murmurs, “I’ll take you home.”

I sigh, understanding the unspoken message. Even tonight, he won’t make love to me. I’m beginning to think Damian is old-fashioned. He won’t take me to bed until he puts a ring on my finger.

The idea of marrying him fills me with a rush of joy so intense that if I could, I would marry him right this instant. Imagining a future together, sharing our lives in every way, feels like the most natural and perfect thing in the world.

He was my first kiss on my eighteenth birthday; what if I get my first time on my twenty-first? If only he would ask me to marry him.

CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

Present

“How long have you been watching me?” I stare at him through drenched lashes, my arms hiding my breasts from his intent gaze.

“Long enough to know something’s bothering you.”

Gritting my teeth, I say, “Watching someone swim naked isn’t very gentlemanly.”

“Well, we both know I am no gentleman. And let’s not forget you are my wife.”

Unbelievable. He thinks reminding me I’m his wife is supposed to justify everything! It’s infuriating, the way he disregards decency and expects me to accept it. And to think, he didn’t even bother to talk to me when he was in Dubai, but had the audacity to demand hourly update on me through Vicky and his staff. Like I am his property. The nerve of him.

And it’s not beyond him to strip right then and there and join me without hesitation. He’s done it before. And after what happened tonight, I am in no mood for that. Especially when I am getting more proofs of his true nature. I lift my chin. “I want to step out. Leave.”

Instead of leaving, the infuriating man shrugs out of his suit jacket, drops it unceremoniously on the floor then reaches for a towel draped on the chaise lounge. I watch with pursed lips as he walks to the edge and stands there with that towel stretched out, waiting.

When I just glare, he raises his eyebrow. I don’t know why but that little action sets me off. I’m not known for a bad temper. Even after learning that his intentions for marrying me weren’t based on love, I was more heartbroken than angry.

Despite knowing he’s baiting me and I shouldn’t engage, I can’t help myself. He thinks I will stay in the pool like a prude. Well, even if that’s true, I want to prove him wrong.

Eyes locked with his, I move purposefully toward the edge of the pool. As I step out, the cool water trickles down my bare skin, sending a shiver through me. The air feels colder against my wet body, heightening my awareness of every inch.

“You’re shameless.” I snap but he doesn’t seem to be listening. He is too busy staring, his dark eyes clinging to my naked breasts before gliding down to my flat stomach, then to my hips and the dark triangle of hair below.

Shuddering—not entirely because of the cold air—I snatch the towel from him and wrap it around my body. “I hate you.”

His hands slide smoothly into the pockets of his black trousers. “You desperately want to but can’t.”

“Actually, you make it pretty easy,” I retort, tightening the towel around me. I turn to leave, but before I can take a step, his arm snakes around my waist, pulling me back to face him.

“Why are you upset?”

“Because you came back,” I tell him coldly.

“Let’s not entertain that lie. I was referring to your unexpected late-night swim. It’s quite out of character for you.”

“Maybe I’ve changed. Get used to it!” I snap.

He angles his dark head and studies me. “Wasn’t that you who couldn’t keep your hands off me before I left for Dubai?”

I feel my face heat up instantly. I can’t even look him in the eye. My mind races, scrambling for a response, but nothing coherent comes to mind. He’s right, of course, I was the one clinging to him that night after the charity gala but admitting that would mean giving him the upper hand.

Not wanting to fall for his provocations, I turn away. I rush toward the door, ready to slip away before things escalate, but he interrupts me. “Did you sleep well without me?”

He damn well knows the answer. Every time he’s away, it’s like I’m stranded in a storm, all alone. I’ve never told him how desperate those nights can get—how I lie there, trying to conjure the scent of his skin, the steady rhythm of his breathing beside me. He knows how much I am dependent on him. And now, he’s using it to cut straight through me, like he enjoys seeing me unravel, knowing he’s the only one who can stitch me back together.

“Like a baby,” I taunt, not bothering to turn. There’s a satisfaction in my voice that surprises even me. “I slept even better without you.”

I wait for his retort, but I’m met with silence. Just as I’m about to revel in my victory, I gasp sharply when his hand settles on my hip. “Damian! I don’t know what you’re thinking—”

He pulls me to him, his shirt grazing my naked shoulders. “Oh, yes, you do.”

I freeze when he gathers my hair and pushes it off to one side. My heart starts beating fast when I feel his breath on my neck. “Don’t touch me.” I try to pull away but he tightens his grip on my hip.

“I’m going to touch you,” he whispers brushing his lips against the side of my neck, making me shiver. “Because you want me to.”

He slides his other hand around my front and reaches up where I’ve tucked the edge of the towel between my breasts. But before he can unwrap it, I squirm away, tightening my grip on the towel.

I glare at him. “No! I don’t.”

He smiles. “Liar.”

I can’t believe there was a time when I lived for his smiles. Now, his smile is dark and predatory, like a shark’s, and it makes me want to scratch his eyes out. “Stop smiling!”

“You’ve really changed. Where’s my sweet angel, and what have you done with her?” he mocks, a smirk playing on his lips.

“She grew up and realized angels don’t belong in hell,” I snap back, glaring at him. I push at his chest when he draws me closer, his arms caging me in.

“Enough!” he jerks me a bit and I look up at him, shocked and find his jaw ticking. “You might have slept well these past nights, but I sure as hell didn’t,” he asserts, his voice low and deep. “Even with the crisis in Dubai consuming me day and night, my thoughts kept drifting back to you. I’d lie awake, hard as a rock, imagining your body pressed against mine, your breath quickening with my every touch. I couldn’t escape the need, the hunger for you.”

I take in the dark shadow covering his jaw and search his tired but determined black eyes.

And just like that, the small spark inside me becomes a raging, burning need. I feel so ashamed that his words alone managed to make me this hot that my breasts feel swollen and sensitive beneath the towel. So ashamed that even after everything, I crave to be with him.

I manage a shaky little laugh. “The act would’ve worked in the past, but it’s not going to work this time!”

That makes him angry because his soft lips twist in contempt. “Exactly. It worked before, and it will work now too. If you’d just quit the drama, I’d be inside you now.”

Trembling with anger, my hand flies up of its own volition but steel-hard fingers seize my wrist mid-air. The silence that follows seems to go on forever. The realization of what I was about to do makes my throat dry. Dark fury flares in his eyes, making me step back instinctively.

I massage my bruised wrist, my heartbeat thumping loudly in my ears. “I hate you.” When I begin backing away. He erases the gap between us and grabs my hips to jerk me closer. “Do you think I love you?” he scans my face with scorchingly angry eyes. “Do you think I enjoy wanting you this much? Do you think I’m proud to give in to my desire for you again and again?”

I stop breathing altogether. “Then why are you here? If you hate yourself for wanting me then why bother?”

“Because you owe me.”

I push his chest hard and back away. “I owe you nothing. Do you hear me? I owe you nothing at all!”

When he just steadily watches me, I turn away, ready to get the hell out of the pool area.

“You are so much more entertaining now than you were back then.”

How dare he? At this point I’m vibrating with fury. I don’t know whether to turn back and engage in yet another fight or just run.

“Run,” he says, making me look over my shoulder. “In the past, you were so docile. So compliant. But now you have turned into this wild creature and suddenly I am in the mood to hunt.” He smiles and a shiver runs down my spine. He slides his hands in his pocket. “So, run, River. Because this time, I don’t want your submission. I want your fight. And I promise I’ll give you what you want.”

“And what is it that I want?” I try for sarcasm and fail.

“What you want is for me to chase you and take you so thoroughly you’ll beg me to lock us up in our bedroom for a week straight.”

His words wash over me, drenching me in fear and excitement, leaving goosebumps in their wake.

“I’ll give you a head start. You always complained about how big our mansion is. Pick a spot and hide. If I find you, you’ll welcome me in your body. Willingly.”

“And if I win?”

“I’ll take a cold shower.”

I bite my lip in contemplation. Is this a trick? Why is he suddenly giving me an out?

“Run, River. Or did you change your mind? Want me to take you right here?” He arches his eyebrows. When he takes a step toward me, I snap out of my stupor and run. Adrenaline floods my veins.

With a hand clutching the towel, I sprint down the grand hallway. The marble floors are cold beneath my bare feet, and the chill of the winter night seeps through the grand windows.

The mansion is eerily silent tonight. Not even Vicky in sight. Then I remember he always clears the staff upon his return from trips. Each second feels like an eternity, my heart hammering in my chest. My footsteps echo loudly as I dart toward the stairs. But before I can ascend, I hesitate. This is madness. Why the hell am I running?

Because he manipulated you into playing his game that’s why.

And now if I didn’t run… didn’t hide, he will… I shake my head frantically to stop the series of obscene images our lovemaking. As if my brain wasn’t torturing me enough, it replays Damian’s words from moments ago.

Do you think I love you? Do you think I enjoy wanting you this much? Do you think I’m proud to give in to my desire for you again and again?

I squeeze my eyes shut, but doing that only makes me remember the disdain I saw in his eyes when he said those things to me. It stripped away another layer of my dignity. And tonight, I was going to slap him… I am not a violent person. How did I reach the point of wanting to hit someone? Hit Damian? Pain begins to coil like a barb wire around my chest.

I freeze when I hear a faint noise behind me—a door opening in the distance. Panic grips me and I turn a corner and run further and further down this wing and dive into a random room.

It’s dark in here but I manage to register that I’m inside our library. I quickly move across the room and hide, pressing myself against the bookshelves. The room is pretty dark, shadows play tricks on my eyes as I hold my breath.

I feel the towel start to loosen. Frustrated, I grab the ends and pull them taut, securing the towel tightly around me once more.

“River…” I hear him call out from the hallway, just outside the library and I jump. A shudder spreads through me for an entirely different reason than the cool touch of the bookshelf against my back.

I stand there, my heart racing like a wild stallion against my ribcage.

Snap out of it! I scold myself inwardly.

He dared me, with that infuriatingly calm tone of his, to run. This… game or challenge or whatever is a twisted dance of dominance and submission. Anger simmers beneath my skin which is an appropriate reaction… but so does an illicit thrill that I refuse to acknowledge.

I don’t know why I did the exact opposite of what’s logical. I took part in his game. And now I am stuck here without clothes, breathless.

The silence stretches agonizingly. Just as I begin to relax, a shadow looms in the doorway. “I know you’re in here, angel,” he calls out softly, his voice sending chills down my spine. “There’s no use hiding.”

His footsteps draw closer, slow and deliberate, each step a taunt to make me sweat.

“You can hide now but you know you’ll submit later.” His velvety smooth voice echoes in the quiet room.

I grit my teeth, refusing to give him the satisfaction of a response, but my pulse betrays me, quickening at his words.

I swallow hard, trying to regulate my breathing as his gaze sweeps the room, a calculated predator assessing his domain.

Biting my lip, I nervously stare around and spot a small, delicate statuette nestled on a nearby shelf. As he takes a step closer, I move swiftly. With my heart beating out of my chest, I throw it with all my might in the other direction.

It crashes on the floor with a loud clatter, its delicate form breaking into pieces. His attention snaps to the sound, giving me the split-second advantage I need.

Adrenaline propels me forward, bare feet barely touching the ground as I come out of my hiding spot to dart past him.

His reflexes are fast, he turns and reaches for me. I give a little cry as his fingers suddenly closes on the edge of my towel. The force causes my body to spin and when I come to a stop, I’m facing him, eyes wide as I see him holding one end of my towel in his hand while I cling to the other, my body scarcely covered.

I struggle to tug it from his grasp, my heart pounding. Damian smiles, amusement dancing in his eyes as he watches me. A smile that was so beautiful once is now frightening.

He doesn’t pull the towel even though he can. Easily. He is toying with me. I clutch it harder and try again.

He looks amused, his hand continuing to grip the towel. I meet his gaze nervously. I’m breathing hard while he is calm and confident. We look at each other for what feels like forever before he suddenly loosens his grip. I’m stunned as I quickly wrap the towel back around myself, my mind racing.

It’s confusing. He is letting me go when he had me. Why? He had clearly won. He slips his hands into his pockets and gives me another smile. Like he expects me to start running again.

Whatever it is, I don’t dwell on it much. I turn swiftly and bolt out of the library. My insides are going haywire. Oh, God! What’s happening to me? I’m feeling like an innocent little virgin all over again, going crazy over just the slightest touch of his fingers. I almost collide with a servant’s cart in the way, narrowly avoiding it.

He is right on my heels. My legs tremble as I head straight for the staircase this time and ascend quickly.

My lungs burn with exertion as I reach the top and turn left. I duck into a guest bedroom, heart racing as I slam the door shut. But before I can lock it, Damian twists the knob, opening the door. I give a startled cry and attempt to push the door shut but he is much stronger than me.

I back away when he opens the door and charges inside.

Eyes wide, I watch as he kicks the door shut behind him. But instead of approaching me, he leans his back against the door.

“Damian…” My voice trails when he opens his arms. For me. The action makes my knees go weak. “Don’t.” The word breaks out of me in a whisper.

He doesn’t answer and I bite my trembling lower lip.

“You lost. Now, you’ll open yourself to me, willingly. Just like we agreed, right?”

“I-I…”

He puts his arms down and tilts his head, studying me. “What’s wrong? Are you too scared now? Should I take pity on you like I did in the library?”

“Stop talking!” I glare at him.

He sighs then pushes away from the door, straightening to his full height. Shaking his head, he turns to leave.

“Where are you going?” I blurt out before I can stop myself.

He stops, glancing over his shoulder with a bored expression. “I have no interest wasting my time on a coward.”

Stunned by his dismissal, I’m left standing there, utterly speechless. The humiliation burns deep, making my cheeks flush hot with anger and disbelief. How dare he call me a coward? His words hit like a slap in the face, igniting a fury I can barely contain. Who does he think he is, labeling me and then just sauntering off like it’s no big deal?

First, he manipulates me into playing this stupid game of hide and seek and then he has the audacity to belittle me like this?

I clench my fists. How can he just walk away, as if I’m not worth his time? The audacity of his arrogance sickens me. He’s crossed a line, and I won’t stand for it. No more. I won’t allow him to undermine me, to make me feel small and insignificant. This ends now.

I burst out of the guest room and go after him. I move swiftly down the hall. My gaze falls upon his discarded shirt lying carelessly on the floor just outside the master bedroom. The sight ignites a fresh wave of anger within me, propelling me forward.

I barge inside. The faint sound of the cascading water catches my attention. Fixing my gaze on the bathroom door, I stride forward. Gripping the handle, I swing the door open.

Through the glass wall, I see him standing under the shower. There is no steam, confirming his earlier declaration of taking a cold shower. The water rains down on him, the droplets glistening like diamonds as they cascade over his sculpted form.

His head is slightly bowed, dark hair slicked back, the water running in rivulets down his broad shoulders and across the expanse of his chest.

Striding forward, I yank the shower door open. His eyes snap open, meeting mine with a flicker of surprise.

Without a second thought, I step into the shower, the shock of icy water making me gasp. Ignoring the chill, I go on tiptoe and reach up, my fingers curling around the back of his neck to pull him down to my level. “I’m not a coward.” I grind out against his lips before I capture his mouth with mine, pouring all my pent-up emotion into the kiss. For a moment, he is still, then he makes a low, sexy sound in his throat, his hands gripping my waist, pulling me closer as he responds with equal fervor.

And just like that, everything changes. His passionate kisses work on my body and soul like black magic. I instantly forget everything. It makes my head spin dizzily.

A kiss is supposed to be just that. A kiss. And I know I don’t have anyone else to compare, but Damian’s kisses are like fireworks. When he drives his tongue shamelessly between my lips and tastes me, I forget even my own name.

And when he bends to lift me off the floor, I wrap my legs around him. His wicked mouth descends on the slope of my neck and I shiver. He mistakes it for cold because one of his hands leaves my ass for a second. Then suddenly the water’s temperature changes.

“Better?” he asks jerking me up in his arms to adjust his grip.

I nod. Then he pries my lips apart for another deep kiss. But this time it’s slow, unhurried. More erotic. The softness of his lips moving against mine, the deep, relaxed stroke of his tongue only notches up my craving higher.

My hand digs in his black hair when he breaks the kiss to explore my throat once again. “This is what I wanted,” he breathes against my skin. “I didn’t want to take from you, River. I wanted you to give freely.”

I pull his hair hard. “Shut up.”

I feel him smiling at my collarbone before he moves down. I cry out when his lips close around my pebbled nipple.

I didn’t even realize my towel had slipped and my breasts are now exposed to him. I look down and find him looking right at me, his mouth still attached to my nipple.

He raises an eyebrow, as if asking if I’ve changed my mind. Without breaking the eye contact, I tug his hair, forcing him to release my nipple with a pop. He stares at me waiting. I keep him guessing just for fun before redirecting his mouth to my other nipple, proving him that I didn’t change my mind.

I’m determined not to blow hot and cold. Now that I’m here, I don’t intend to turn back. I’m rewarded with a flick of his tongue before he draws the hard bud into his mouth and sucks earnestly.

After a few minutes, we are back to kissing. Roughly this time, our faces twisting and turning as we devour each other. The ache between my thighs is growing with every passing second and I squirm against him, gasping when the action rubs my sensitive nipples against his hair-roughened chest. It serves as both a punishment and a reward all at once. So I do it again, and end up rubbing his erection in the process.

I groan in frustration against his mouth, and squirm again. Damian suddenly sets me down on the shower floor. “What—”

He drops to his knees, then props my leg on his shoulder. I gasp when he starts eating me out. My eyes slam shut, my head banging against the wall as I tip it back.

He eats me like a starving man. A new kind of pleasure bubbles in me. This man, oversexed demanding man has always stayed loyal to me. Even when I ran from him. Even when I drugged him with my sleeping pills to get away, he managed to find me and bring me back.

He stayed faithful, not because he couldn’t stray, but because he simply didn’t want to. And that’s the sexiest thing ever.

We may still clash and I haven’t forgiven him for his past deceit but that doesn’t stop the raw, carnal passion that ignites every time we’re together.

Our chemistry is electric, a magnetic force that pulls us toward each other despite everything. Even in the heat of our arguments, the desire is always simmering just beneath the surface, ready to explode.

No matter how much we might fight or how deep the wounds may go, the attraction between us is undeniable. It’s a powerful, unstoppable force that keeps drawing us back together, making everything else fade away.

I whimper, running my fingers through his wet hair. His teeth grazes and nibbles at my flesh. His fingers dig on my thigh and ass as he keeps me still.

The need that was building inside me is threatening to tear me to shreds. And when he sucks at my clit, I lose my balance but Damian steadies me. He then puts my leg down and stands up. He sweeps me up off my feet and strides out of the bathroom. And without any grace, he throws me on our bed.

I prop myself on my elbows and watch as he crawls over me. “Ready for your husband?”

“I’m starting to miss the quiet version of you,” I grumble, breathless.

He uses one hand to tip my chin to kiss me hard, his teeth nipping at my lower lip. “Maybe I’ve changed too. Get used to it,” he repeats my words from earlier. He lowers his head grazing my temple with his nose.

“What’s gotten into you?” I narrow my eyes.

“You.” He nuzzles the tender skin of my throat with his stubble. I quiver and feel his smile again. With one hand I reach up to sink my fingers in his hair. I pull until we are staring into each other’s eyes. “Stop laughing at me.”

His response is another infuriating smile. His hand captures my breast and pinches my nipple between his thumb and forefinger. I gasp.

“Tell me.” He commands.

I know what he wants to hear. He wants me to admit that I want him. He wants to hear how much I need him. This is one of his kinks. He was never vocal during sex but always made sure I screamed his name until my voice was hoarse. He made sure I was begging and delirious with need before he gave it to me. This is the pattern I am familiar with. His torment starts with this. Him making me admit all sorts of sordid things.

When I remain silent, he pinches my nipple again. Harder this time. Electricity zips through me. I slide my hand from the silky strands of his hair down to cup his strong, roughened jaw. My eyes, glazed and heavy-lidded with desire, meet his, letting him see just how much I want him. I slowly lean closer, letting my lips graze his ear. “Go to hell.”

I pull back and give him a taunting smile. When he keeps regarding me silently, I arch my eyebrow. Using the hand that was on my breast, he gives me a shove. My elbow buckles and my back lands on the bed.

Before I can recover, he captures the tortured nipple in his mouth while his other hand plays with other. My teeth clenches at the unbearable ache in my pussy.

Why is he giving in so easily? I thought my taunting would push him harder, ignite that fire in his eyes, and make him double his efforts to get what he wants from me. Instead, he’s retreating, and it’s throwing me off balance. I expected more determination. Not this.

Through glazed eyes, I watch his dark head moving against my pale skin. I watch his bronze fingers squeezing my breast. The vision along with the feeling of his hot mouth sucking me is too much. A low moan escapes from my treacherous lips. His answering groan, tinged with victory makes me realize that I lost the battle.

I jerk when the pads of his fingers brush against my clit. “You’re so wet.” He speaks against my nipple. “Like always.”

My face warms. “And you are a jerk. Like alwa—” My body almost comes off the bed when his fingers rub me. He studies me with concentration as I shudder. Then to double the torture, his mouth latches onto my nipple once again.

As his muscles flex under my hands, I realize I’ve been gripping his biceps. This is not right. I am losing control. Like always. I take my hands away and clutch the sheets beneath me. He doesn’t like that.

He releases my nipple and flicks his gaze to mine. I stare back even when I want to look away. I don’t want to admit defeat. But it’s hard. To keep looking at him when his palm is rocking between my thighs.

I gasp but quickly bite my lip to keep from crying out. The more I resist, the faster his hand moves. “Oh, God,” I moan. But at the gleam of satisfaction in his black eyes I retreat behind the mask of indifference, trying my best to give him nothing.

His eyes narrow and within seconds he is detangling himself from me and stands at the foot of the bed. I’m too stunned at the sudden change of action so I keep looking at him. He grabs my ankles and drags me to the edge of the bed then positions his cock against my aching center. “I was planning to take my time. I wanted to eat you out. Over and over again before we got to this part. But I think I’ll have to fuck the stubbornness out of you first.”

Against my better judgement, I glance down, shivering as he rubs the swollen head through my folds. I jerk and shudder when he slides it up and down.

“All out of snark, I see.”

With a glare, I say, “Fuck. You.”

That put an end to any gentleness he was showing toward me as he enters me in one powerful thrust. The sudden invasion makes me bite down on my lower lip. It had been months since we had sex and Damian is huge. So the flash of momentary pain was expected.

His breath comes out in a hiss. He pauses for a second or two before settling his hands on my hips and driving into me again. This time the sensation is so unbearably pleasurable that I moan loudly.

Damian eases his hips back and then pushes inside again. Deeper this time. From that point, he picks up the pace. My mind and body are at war as he moves inside me. My mind is screaming at me to remember all the coldness, the distance, the undeniable truth of our marriage. But my body, traitorous and weak, responds to him as if it knows doing that would please its owner. Him.

I try to keep quiet, to resist from showing how much I missed this. How much I longed for this. But every thrust, every touch sends waves of pleasure coursing through me. It’s maddening. I’m lost in the moment, letting my body take over, betraying everything I know is true.

He has thrived on my vocal responses in the past. Always made sure to drive me mad with pleasure until my throat is sore. And right now, he is doing just that. I should fight it, shouldn’t give what he wants. But I can’t. Not now. Not when he’s making me feel like this.

Every gasp, every moan, it’s like my body is mocking me, showing me how weak I am.

Building a punishing rhythm, he continues to fuck me. I tighten around him, my moans getting louder. I’m so close to coming.

“I can feel you clenching my cock. Missed me that much, angel?” he taunts.

“Fuck you!” I snarl.

He pulls out and shock floods me. No, no, no! How could he stop now? My body screams in frustration. I was so close! So close!

“Why did y—?” before I can finish my question, he climbs onto the bed, grabs my hips and pulls me on top of him. His dark eyes sweep over me, illuminated only by the faint light spilling from the bathroom.

He drags me up and closes his mouth hungrily over my nipple. I cry out, my head falling back. At the same time, he guides himself inside me. Gripping my ass, he starts fucking me again.

When I’m about to reach my peak, he slows down. Gritting my teeth, I dig my nails in his chest and attempt to increase the pace by bouncing faster but he easily controls me with his grip on my hips.

“Not so fast, angel.” His hands tighten their hold, keeping me from moving at the pace I crave. Every time I try to thrust down, he resists, pulling me back just enough to frustrate me.

A groan escapes my lips, a mix of pleasure and desperation. My body is trembling with the need for release, but he’s not giving it to me. Instead, he lifts his hips slightly, grinding into me in slow, agonizing circles that send sparks of pleasure through my entire being.

“Damian,” My voice a breathless whisper. “I need it.”

His eyes are dark and intense as he watches me struggle. “Say it, and I’ll give you what you want.”

I shake my head, defiant despite the overwhelming need coursing through me. “No,” I gasp, my nails digging deeper into his chest.

He watches the sweat coating my skin, takes in my unsteady breathing. “You’re stubborn, I’ll give you that,” he says, his grip on my hips tightening as he slows his movements even further, dragging out the torment. “But I can do this all night. How long can you hold out?”

The frustration builds, my body quivering with the need for release. Every slow thrust, every deliberate pause, drives me closer to the edge only to pull me back again. I can see the pleasure in his eyes.

“Just say it,” he urges, his voice a seductive growl. “Say you’re mine, and I’ll let you come.”

I bite my lip, refusing to give in. The tension inside me coils tighter and tighter, tears pricking my eyes.

He leans up to capture my lips in a searing kiss. “You’re so close,” he whispers against my mouth. “But you won’t get there until you admit it.”

His words send a shiver down my spine, and I moan in response, my body arching into his. He takes advantage of my vulnerability, one hand slipping between us to find my most sensitive spot. His fingers move in sync with his thrusts, adding another layer of pleasure to the mix.

It’s too much. It’s not enough. I’m caught in a whirlwind of sensation, every nerve ending on fire. I’m so close, but he keeps me there, denying me the sweet release.

“Say it,” he demands again, his voice rough with need. “Say you’re mine.”

“No,” I gasp, my voice breaking with need. “I won’t.”

He growls, the sound vibrating through me as he continues his ruthless pace, bringing me to the brink over and over. My body is a trembling, desperate mess above him, but he doesn’t relent.

But I can see it’s taking a toll on him. I am not the only one suffering. It’s in the strain in his eyes, the way his control is slipping. He’s as close as I am, barely holding on.

With a sudden surge, he flips us over, pinning me beneath him. His thrusts become harder, more frantic. And then, with one final, brutal thrust, he loses it. His release triggers mine, a wave of pleasure crashing over me so intense it leaves me sobbing.

As the last tremors of our shared climax fade, he collapses on top of me, breathing hard. His lips brush against my neck, his voice a low, serious murmur. “Next time, you’ll break.”

Not a chance. I meant it when I said I’ve changed. You won’t break me, husband. Not now, not ever. Not in this lifetime.

CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

Past

The air is crisp and cool as I step outside the college building. I shiver slightly as I walk toward the curb, where I see the familiar black car with my father’s security chief, Derek, waiting for me.

Frowning, I approach him. “Derek,” I greet him, trying to keep my tone friendly despite my concern. “Is something wrong? I wasn’t expecting a ride.”

Derek’s expression is as composed as always. “Miss Gibson, your father has requested your presence at his office. I’m here to take you there.”

A pang of unease settles in my chest. “What happened? I’m worried—”

Derek simply opens the back door of the car for me and waits. I purse my lips. He won’t reveal a thing. I don’t have any other option but to go with him.

As I sink into the back seat, my mind drifts to the past month, overwhelmed by guilt. Ever since that disastrous dinner with Edward, where he not so subtly proposed marriage to advance our family’s business interests, I’ve been avoiding Dad’s calls.

It’s been a month since that evening. And the distance between us has grown with each passing day. I didn’t reach out, not because I didn’t want to, but because I was hurt and didn’t know how to bridge the gap that had suddenly widened between us.

I used to look forward to our talks, our shared moments, but now this impromptu meeting is filling me with dread. I knew I was being naïve by ignoring his calls. I anticipated that he would demand answers, given how abruptly I left that evening. But apart from few phone calls, he didn’t try to contact me. I hoped that by delaying this confrontation, Dad would somehow forget what happened that night. Clearly, I was wrong.

When we finally arrive, I walk through the busy lobby of Innovare Dynamics Group main building. I follow Derek to the elevator.

The elevator doors open to the top floor. I’m guided toward the conference room rather than his office even though both are connected through a mirrored wall. The change strikes me as odd but I keep my thoughts to myself.

Derek opens the door for me. When I step inside, a cold shiver runs down my spine. The sight that greets me is a shock to my system.

Edward is seated at the table with his arm in a sling, but it’s not just the sling that has me reeling. His face is marked by a series of faded but still evident bruises that make my stomach drop.

The sight of his battered face and broken arm sends waves of nausea through me. Edward’s father, Richard McAllister sits beside him, his face set in a rigid, unforgiving line. Dad sits at the head of the table, his expression grim while William Thompson is seated across from him.

“Dad?” I manage to say, my voice wavering as I step into the room. “What’s going on?”

“Take a seat.” His gaze is piercing as he regards me. “We need to discuss your boyfriend. Damian Montgomery.”

The shock of hearing him mention Damian so openly makes me stumble over my words. “You—you know about him?”

“Yes,” he says, his voice laced with distaste. “I know everything about your secret relationship. The phone calls. The text messages. The secret dates. The mansion he bought for you and how you’ve been seeing him for over two months now.”

I try to speak, but my father cuts me off with a sharp gesture of his hand. “River, I’m deeply disappointed in you. I can’t accept this relationship. Not only is he a rival of mine with questionable morals, but he’s also a decade older than you. I’ve kept quiet, hoping you’d eventually come clean about it yourself.”

“Dad, I—”

“However, this meeting isn’t about your lies and secrecy,” he interrupts, his voice growing colder. “It’s about your boyfriend’s criminal behavior.”

I flinch. “Whatever you think of him, dad, I promise it’s a misunderstanding. Damian is nothing but an honest, hardworking, respectable—”

“Feared.” Edward interjects harshly.

“—businessman.” I ignore him and stare pleadingly at dad. “Just because he’s your competitor doesn’t mean he’s a criminal.” I stare at him imploringly, “If only you’d meet him, you’d see—”

Dad pushes to his feet. “I don’t need to meet him to know he’s dangerous.”

“How can you say that?” I ask, my voice filled with desperation.

“Because Edward’s injuries speak volumes about the brutality that man is capable of.” Dad’s expression hardens.

The words hit me like a sledgehammer. I can hardly breathe as I turn to Edward and examine his bruised face again.

“No,” I whisper, my voice trembling and barely audible. I mutter the same word over and over again, my voice rising in pitch as panic sets in. “No, that can’t be true. Damian would never—”

At that precise moment, Damian’s words come back to haunt me.

“I didn’t invite his touch,” I say, meeting Damian’s intense gaze head-on. “I leaned away every time, trying to signal that I wasn’t comfortable with it but he didn’t seem to notice.”

His jaw ticks. “Sounds like he needs to learn his tboundaries,” Damian says, his voice chillingly calm. “Perhaps a broken hand might make him think twice.”

“It’s true.” Edward snaps. “Damian was the one who attacked me. I saw him clearly.” When I shake my head vehemently, he snaps again, “Stop shaking your head like an idiot!” The harshness in his voice makes me flinch, my lower lip trembling uncontrollably.

I glance at Dad but he just stays silent, watching me.

It’s devastating to watch him let Edward speak to me that way, without so much as a word of reproach for his behavior.

“When you took off so abruptly, I was furious, so I settled the bill and left shortly after. I went out clubbing with friends for a few hours before deciding to call it a night. I still can’t figure out how Montgomery knew exactly when I’d be home or how he managed to bypass the tight security of my building, but he found his way into the garage and attacked me there.”

I listen in stunned silence. I don’t know how to react or what to say. It’s all too surreal. Damian had made vague threats about hurting Edward, but I brushed them off as nothing more than his possessiveness. I never imagined he would actually follow through and break Edward’s arm. The thought makes me shudder inwardly.

Edward glares at me, his eyes smoldering with fury. “He didn’t just beat me—he made sure I felt every ounce of his fury. He coldly declared that I needed to learn my place and stay away from anything he considered his. Oh, and that wasn’t all. The asshole said this was merely a warning. If I dare cross him again, he promised the next encounter would be far more brutal. He was making sure I understood the consequences of stepping onto his territory.”

Dad crosses his arms and levels me with a cold, penetrating stare. “He made sure to erase all the CCTV evidence.”

I’m trembling, my palms sweaty as I gaze up at him helplessly. “No, there must be some mistake. Damian wouldn’t do something like this.”

“The evidence was tampered with, River. Edward’s injuries, combined with the missing footage, reveal not just Montgomery’s power but his willingness to misuse it. I wanted you to see this, to understand the gravity of the situation.”

I stand on trembling legs. “If this happened a month ago, why did you keep it from me?”

“If you’d been answering my calls and messages, you would have known about this sooner.”

My heart pounds painfully in my chest. “I need to talk to Damian about this. I have to—”

“You’re not going anywhere,” my father’s tone is final.

A cold dread settles in my stomach. “What do you mean I’m not going anywhere?”

“You’re not going back to your apartment. You’ll be staying with me from now on.”

I gape at him, my voice shaking with alarm. “Wait, what? You’re not serious, are you?”

He meets my shocked gaze steadily. “I’m serious. You’ll be coming home with me. It’s the only way to keep you safe.”

A cold shiver runs down my spine. “No! You can’t do this to me. I need to see Damian. I need to—”

My father’s calm demeanor only heightens my fear. “I can do whatever I deem necessary. I am your father.”

Trembling, I shake my head, my feet retreating. “Y-you c-can’t do this…” My heart pounds wildly as I make a frantic move toward the door, my hands trembling as I reach for the handle.

Just as I manage to wrench the door open, Derek steps inside with a swift, imposing presence. Before I can react, his strong hands grip my shoulders, pinning me gently but firmly. “Please, Derek, let me through,” I plead, tears welling in my eyes.

Soon, sheer panic takes over, and I begin to thrash violently in his hold. I twist and writhe, trying to break free, my scream piercing the air. “Let me go! Please, let me go!” My voice cracks and rises in a desperate, frantic wail.

Derek remains resolute. I push against him, but he doesn’t budge. The room seems to close in on me, my vision narrowing as the walls feel like they are closing in. I can’t breathe properly.

“Dad!” I cry out, turning to him with wide, pleading eyes. “Please, don’t do this. I’m begging you. Just let me talk to Damian. I need him.”

His gaze remains cold and indifferent. “This is not up for discussion, River.”

“But you can’t do this! You can’t keep me against my will, Dad!”

My panic escalates into hysteria. My hands claw at the air, my breathing becoming more erratic. I begin to scream uncontrollably. “Let me go, Derek! Someone help me! Please, somebody!”

Dad’s detached eyes are fixed on Derek who is still holding my struggling body. I catch dad giving him a subtle nod and within seconds, I hear the shuffling of feet. People in lab coats enter the room.

“No! What are you doing?” I shriek as one of them approaches with a syringe. The sight of the needle sends a jolt of pure terror through me. I struggle against Derek, but he holds me firmly.

“Please, no,” I beg, sobbing. Tears run down my face as I watch helplessly. “I don’t want this. Please!”

One of the men presses the syringe into my arm, and I feel a cold, sharp sting. Almost instantly, a chill of numbness spreads through my body. My limbs grow heavy, and my attempts to resist are feeble. My thoughts scatter, slipping away like sand through fingers.

A single tear escapes, trailing down my temple as my neck slumps backward, unable to support the weight of my heavy head. “Damian,” I mumble as the darkness closes in and pulls me under.

CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

Present

Damian is sprawled on the other side the bed, deep in sleep, his tanned body looking irresistibly inviting. I gently extricate myself from the tangle of sheets, careful not to wake him. As I move to stand, a sharp ache floods through my body, radiating from between my legs.

I wince with each step, my legs feeling unsteady beneath me. The soreness between my thighs makes me walk awkwardly as I tread carefully toward the bathroom.

My face heats up as soon as I peer at my reflection. My curls are a complete mess and my mouth is all swollen and pink. There is redness all over my neck and chest by Damian’s stubble. I look down and flush again when I find teeth marks in intimate places.

After examining all the hickeys and finger marks and feeling beyond embarrassed, I limp toward the shower. The erotic memories from last night torments me. And as if that wasn’t enough, the moment the hot water touches my skin, every muscle I possess throbs and aches.

He was insatiable.

So were you, my mind counters.

All right, I admit I was a bit out of control. But honestly, it was nothing compared to his hunger… his stamina. He was more demanding than ever before. We were at it until 5 am.

I’ve long since accepted that nothing has ever meant more to me than Damian. When you love someone for as long as I’ve loved Damian, it’s easy to lose yourself in the process. Four years of deep, consuming love can make you forget everything about who you are outside of that relationship.

When you’ve given so much of yourself to someone else for so long, untangling your emotions and reclaiming your sense of self isn’t instantaneous. It takes time. It takes a great deal of patience.

So, it’s pointless to berate myself for wanting him so much. However, that doesn’t mean I won’t uncover the truth behind his intentions for marrying me. I owe it to myself.

I reach for the towel hanging on the rack, blushing furiously as I recall Damian chasing me while I was wrapped in nothing but a towel. Shaking off the memory, I swiftly wrap it around myself and step out of the en-suite only to find Damian awake, his dark eyes raking over my body.

My mouth goes dry as the awareness of our nakedness hits me—him concealed by the sheets, and I barely covered by the towel. Feeling my face burning up at his shameless appraisal, I snap, “Do you ever think of anything else?”

He lifts a shoulder in an infuriatingly nonchalant shrug before pushing himself up from the bed. My gaze trails irresistibly from the rich bronze skin of his broad shoulders to his bare chest, and then to the curling hair that shadows his powerful muscles.

Suddenly, breathing becomes a challenge. My fingers dig into my palms as my eyes wander helplessly down, lingering on his taut abs, and further down to the area that makes my pulse race. In a flash of horror, I realize I’ve been staring. I twist my head so fast I almost get a whiplash.

“You still blush like an innocent,” he murmurs huskily, his voice rough with sleep as he prowls toward me. My chest heaves up and down from shallow pants by the time he reaches me. I feel his nose grazing my temple. “Even after all this time, after everything we’ve done, you’re still so shy—”

I cover his mouth with my palm, but he only kisses it and pulls it down. “That turns me on even more, angel.”

I take a small, instinctive step back, my heart pounding in my chest as a shiver of anticipation trails down my spine. “We shouldn’t be doing this right now.”

“And why not? I want you even more than I wanted you last night.”

My face burns from his words. Glancing at the clock on the bedside table, I stammer, “Y-you’re going to be late for work.”

“I’m the boss. I make the rules. And besides, the only thing that matters is us. Everything else can wait.”

That makes my head whip back to him. “You’ve never neglected work before!”

He steps closer, his gaze intense. “That’s what happens when I’ve been kept away from you for months. I’m deprived and I need you.”

“But—”

In lightning speed, he grabs my wrists and draws me against him. “Instead of spewing more excuses, why don’t you use that mouth to kiss me instead?”

My eyes are huge as he lowers his head and parts my already parted lips wider with his tongue and gives me a slow, deep kiss. “I want you again. After you passed out, I had to go for a cold shower to keep myself from waking you.”

My knees wobble. How can I keep resisting when he says things like that?

When he bends his head to kiss me again, I open my mouth willingly. All my hesitance melts away as my arms go around his neck, yanking him closer while I rise onto my tiptoes, pressing my body against his.

I shiver violently as he wrenches my towel and lifts me up to kiss me more comfortably. I instantly wrap my legs around him, kissing him back with equal enthusiasm, pawing any part of him I can reach.

With a guttural groan, he turns and brings me down on the bed. We keep kissing for what feels like forever before he lifts his head. Slowly, I open my eyes and stare at him.

“I want to break you down and make you beg for it.” He grazes my lower lip with his thumb. “But I don’t think I’ve got the control to hold out.”

I suppress a smile.

He narrows his eyes. “You’re laughing at me, angel?”

I shake my head, but a smile slips through. “I wouldn’t dare.”

His brows draw together as he gazes down at me. When he keeps looking at me, I ask, “What?”

“It’s been a long time I’ve seen you smile like that.”

My smile fades. “And whose fault is that?” Suddenly feeling depressed, I lower my lashes. “Maybe we shouldn’t…” I try to roll out from under him but he easily pins me down.

“Damian—” My breath catches as his hot mouth latches onto my pulse, which flutters wildly beneath his lips. I whimper, my eyes rolling back in pleasure, and my hands, which were supposed to push him away, now cling to him desperately.

He kisses his way up, his lips trailing a heated path to my mouth, and when he claims it with a fierce, unrestrained passion, I can’t help but surrender completely. Again.

He breaks the kiss, his breath hot and ragged against my lips as he lifts his head. “The more you run from me, the harder I chase. The more you shut me out, the more I push, breaking through every barrier you put up. You’re mine and nothing will ever change that.”

And for the next two hours he fucks me with such raw intensity that I can’t tell if he’s trying to prove his words to me or if he’s convincing himself.

When I finally wake up again, it’s well past noon and I’m alone in bed. My entire body feels like it’s been through a storm, every muscle aching and throbbing.

It’s a good thing he isn’t here. Not because I am sore, but because I know that even after being taken over and over again last night and this morning, I still wouldn’t say no to him.

Sighing, I crawl out of bed, wincing and gritting my teeth against the pain. I head to the bathroom, quickly shower, and then move to the walk-in closet.

I reach for a fitted pale pink silk shirt, pairing it with tailored, high-waisted white trousers. I layer the shirt with a light pink tweed cropped jacket. The white Valentino bag completes the look.

It’s already afternoon, later than I usually go, but I can still make it to the community center. The Mural Project event is just two days away, and they could really use all the help they can get. I have to go—besides, I love volunteering.

I apply light makeup and pull my long curls into a sleek ponytail. Dressed and ready, I step out of the bedroom, my movements a bit stiff as I walk with the soreness.

Heading downstairs, I’m halfway to the kitchen when familiar voices reach my ears. I slow down and glance down a nearby hallway leading to the staff quarters. There, just out of direct view but still visible, I spot Hal standing rigid, his arms crossed as he towers over someone.

I edge closer and crane my head to get a better look at who Hal is scolding.

My eyes widen when I see Vicky, dressed in jeans, white tee and leather jacket. Her jaw is clenched as she stares down, clearly struggling to keep her composure.

“Look at me when I speak.” Hal’s voice is hard.

Vicky lifts her head slowly.

“Do you think you can dress however you want here? Behind the boss’s back? Behind mine?”

“I... I didn’t think it was a big deal,” Vicky says, her voice faltering slightly.

I chew my lower lip, as I hide and watch them. It’s my fault. I shouldn’t have encouraged Vicky into ditching the boring black suits. I should’ve known better. Hal is just as intimidating as his boss.

“A big deal?” Hal’s tone escalates, his irritation obvious. “This isn’t just about dress code. It’s about maintaining a level of professionalism. You’re not just any staff member; you’re under my watch.” He uncrosses his arms and steps closer, cornering her against the wall. “And if you’re going to work under me, you follow the rules I set. No exceptions. Clear?”

“Crystal.” She gives him a tight-lipped smile. “Anything else, Chief?”

Hal’s eyes narrow as he takes in her defiant smile. “Just make sure you keep it that way,” he says, his voice low. “One misstep and there’ll be consequences.”

Vicky gives him a quick, mocking salute before turning to leave. As she moves past him, Hal grabs her by the elbow, his grip firm.

“Not so fast,” he says, his tone colder. “Mocking me won’t get you anywhere. You’re to go back to your room and change into something appropriate.”

Vicky’s eyes flash with anger. “You can’t be serious!”

Hal’s grip tightens slightly as he looks at her with authority. “Oh, I’m quite serious,” he replies, his voice steely. “Now, go change before this escalates further.”

“What’s wrong with my clothes?” she demands, frowning. “I’m completely covered—no skin showing. It’s smart casual for goodness’ sake!”

Hal’s expression darkens. “Smart casual? Are you dressing this way for someone in particular? Someone who might appreciate this... look?”

She wrenches her arm away and glares at him. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

“I think you know exactly what I mean.”

“Are you implying I’m doing this for someone other than myself?” She laughs bitterly. “So what if I am dressing for someone?” she snaps, her voice sharp. “What’s it to you? Are you really that bothered by who I choose to impress?”

Hal steps closer, his jaw tightening. But before he can say a word, I step into the hallway. “That’s enough, Hal.” I interject. I turn to Vicky with a warm smile. “You look great, Vicky. Like always.” I shift my gaze back to him, my tone hardening again. “And as for you, Hal, I asked Vicky to dress casually while she accompanies me for volunteering. She’s doing important work with me while she protects me, and the last thing she needs is to be harassed over her clothing.”

Hal’s expression falters as he takes in my words. Now that he knows it was me who allowed Vicky to dress casually, he has no reason to blame her. He gazes at her briefly then gives me a curt nod before leaving.

Once he’s gone, I gently take her trembling hand in mine, giving it a reassuring squeeze. “Are you okay?”

She nods, but her movements are stiff.

“I can see why you wished to swap roles with him. Hal was a total jerk to you. Has he always treated you like this?”

Her shoulders slump. “I don’t know why he hates me so much...”

“That’s just Hal for you. Working with my husband has made him tough and insensitive. They’re both so entrenched in their own harsh standards and lack of empathy that they expect everyone else to measure up. It’s not about you—it’s just how they are.”

“You were incredible, Vicky. Standing up to him like that took serious guts. I’m really proud of you.”

After all, I know how much inner strength it takes to be brave and stand up for yourself. I’m still learning that myself.

“You really think so?” she whispers. “I was so scared... but I just couldn’t take it anymore.”

“You’re one of the toughest women I know, Vicky. The way you tackled Melissa last night without even blinking, then laid into her like that? You didn’t hesitate for a second to protect me. You’ve got nothing to be scared of—you’re the best at what you do, and I’m so grateful to have you as my bodyguard and my friend.”

Vicky’s eyes soften, and a small smile graces her lips. “Thank you,” she murmurs. “That means more to me than you know. I just… I just want to keep you safe, no matter what.”

I squeeze her hand again, my heart warming at her words. “You’ve always had my back, Vicky, and I appreciate it more than I can say. I’m really lucky to have you in my corner.”

I pause, my expression turning serious. “As for Hal... If you want, I can talk to my husband about how he’s been treating you. It’s not right, and you don’t have to deal with it on your own.”

Vicky squares her shoulders, a fierce determination in her eyes. “Thanks for offering, but being compliant with him hasn’t gotten me anywhere. It’s time I start pushing back and stop taking his crap lying down.”

I nod, impressed by her determination. “I understand. Just know I’m here if you need any support.”

Vicky gives me a firm nod, but then her expression shifts suddenly, a flash of worry crossing her face. “I must inform Mr. Montgomery about last night.”

I shake my head. “No, I’ll handle it myself. I need to speak with him personally about Melissa and her family.”

“But it’s my responsibility to inform him about any threats to your safety. And honestly, it’s not just about my job—I want to tell him about that crazy woman attacking you. He has the power to press charges and take action against her.”

She pauses for a moment before continuing, “Last night, while you were swimming, Mr. Montgomery arrived with Hal. Before I could grasp what was happening, Hal was ordering the entire staff out, including me. They even booked me along with the few others into a hotel since we live on the premises. When I came back this morning, the staff was still gone. I’m not entirely sure what it was all about.”

My face heats up. “It’s Damian’s thing. He usually prefers… privacy when he returns from a business trip.” Then I add jerkily, “But that’s going to change. I am not staying home to entertain him. We’re going to the community center. But before that, I’ll talk to him about Melissa.”

Vicky worries her lower lip. “But what if Mr. Montgomery gets angry when he hears about last night and doesn’t allow—”

I cut her off. “That won’t matter because I don’t need his permission.”

She nods silently, but her expression reveals her inner doubts. Like me, she knows all too well that Damian isn’t easily swayed, and while she’s right about his stubbornness, I’m determined not to bow to his will any longer.

◆◆◆

Damian was in his office, finishing up an important call. Hal mentioned it when I asked about his whereabouts. There was a time when knowing he’d returned to work after just one night together would’ve hurt me—especially since he used to drop everything and lose himself in bed with me for an entire week after a long business trip. But now, that old wound doesn’t hurt anymore. Today, it actually plays right into my hands as I want to go out.

After a quick breakfast, I march straight to Damian’s home office. Despite swearing I wouldn’t let him control my life any longer, I still have to inform him before I leave. Because even though I plan to conquer the devil, I know better than to provoke him when I’m not fully prepared.

Pushing the door open, I’m met with a sight that makes my breath hitch. A fitted long sleeve black t-shirt clings to his chest and dark sweats hang low on his hips. Even in sweats, he exudes that air of dominance as he stands by his desk, slightly bent over as he reads something on his laptop while simultaneously talking on the phone.

His damp hair is slightly tousled, falling loosely over his forehead. But his beard—the one that was so rough against my skin—is gone. His face is now clean-shaven. I feel a twinge of disappointment that his rugged look is gone, but it’s replaced instantly with a fierce craving to feel the smoothness of his jaw beneath my fingertips.

He’s completely engrossed in whatever’s on the screen. His dark brows are deeply furrowed as he snaps at someone and the sight makes me bite my lip.

I can’t help but feel a flush rising to my cheeks. He’s so damn hot it’s almost unfair. But I shake myself out of it. I clear my throat and call his name, “Damian…”

He doesn’t look up, his eyes still fixed on the screen. Instead, he holds up a finger, a silent command for me to wait. So I wait.

“Enough.” He straightens, his voice arctic. “I don’t want to hear excuses,” he snaps. “You had one job—just one. If you can’t manage it, I’ll find someone who can. You know how replaceable you are, don’t you?” The words are like a slap, even though they’re not directed at me. I stand there, my heart pounding, listening as he eviscerates the person on the other end of the call with that chilling tone of his.

Minutes pass, and he’s still engrossed in his call, still oblivious to my presence. I call his name again, a bit louder this time. “Damian.”

Nothing. He doesn’t even acknowledge me, his attention completely absorbed by whatever mess he’s dealing with.

I stride up to him, the top of my head barely reaching his shoulder, and without hesitation, I reach up and snatch the phone from his hand. The suddenness of my action catches him off guard. I hear the muffled voice of the person on the other end of the line before I bring the phone to my lips.

“He’ll call you back, sorry! I need my husband,” I say, before ending the call and lowering the phone.

Damian’s eyes lock onto mine, dark and intense, watching me closely. He doesn’t say a word, just stares, making me squirm. I swallow hard, feeling the need to justify myself under his penetrating gaze. “I-I was waiting for you, Damian,” I say, then add hastily, “I just... I needed to talk to you. I couldn’t wait any longer.”

Damian’s gaze shifts to my hair, and a slight frown creases his brow. Without a word, he reaches up and gently tugs the hair tie of my ponytail, letting my curls spill free. His fingers linger in my hair for a moment, smoothing it out, as if making sure it falls the way he prefers.

Satisfied, he meets my eyes again. “All right,” he says. “You have my attention now.”

A warm feeling spreads through me. Does he remember that day over a year ago, when Melissa’s mother mocked my curls so cruelly it made me want to hide them forever? I’d told him how her words left me feeling small and ashamed, how I started tying my hair back just to avoid their judgment. But he stopped me. Don’t ever hide them again, I love them, he’d said, his voice so sure it made my heart flutter. And just like that, he made me fall for him even harder.

From that moment on, I had proudly worn my hair down, letting the curls fall freely just the way he liked.

But I started tying my hair again out of practicality, not insecurity. Volunteering at the community center often required me to keep my hair out of my face, but seeing the deep frown on his face now made me realize how much he still notices small things about me.

“I’m heading to the community center,” I say softly, meeting his gaze. “I’ll be back in a couple of hours.”

In response, Damian pulls me into his arms. I am not proud of myself because I don’t fight and let him crush my body to his. My heart races as I feel the unmistakable press of his arousal against me.

“I need to go,” I mumble against his shoulder, but my body remains limp, not even attempting to push him away. Again, instead of using words, he lifts me effortlessly and sinks down into his chair with me onto his lap.

I pull back slightly, only for him to capture my mouth with his. His kiss is fierce and demanding, his tongue exploring with a heat that leaves me gasping.

Breaking the kiss, I draw in a shaky breath. “What are you doing?”

Damian’s eyes has a dark glint of satisfaction. He trails his fingers slowly down my spine, the touch so deliberate and intense that it sends shivers through me. He then slides his hand under the hem of my blouse, his thumb brushing against the bare skin of my lower back making me tremble with the electricity of his touch. “I think you know the answer to that, angel.”

“I need to go,” I say, blushing and trying to break free from his embrace. “I have to volunteer.”

Damian’s grip tightens. “Did you forget? You’re all mine for at least a week.”

“You were the one who jumped back into work first thing this morning!”

He tucks a stray curl behind my ear. “The London branch is facing issues and I had to handle it. But that doesn’t mean I can’t make up for it now.”

Without warning, he stands and lifts me effortlessly, setting me on his desk. His laptop and papers go tumbling to the floor with a swift sweep of his hand. He looks at me with a determined glint in his eyes. “I’ll rectify my mistake by fucking my wife right here.”

“No! I’m not doing this right now.” I blurt.

Damian arches an eyebrow. “Found a backbone while I was gone, wife?”

His taunt ignites a fierce anger in me. I shove him away with all my strength, successfully climbing off the desk and stepping back. Back stiff, I face him. “We had a deal. I stay with you and follow your rules so Summer is left alone. But just because I agreed not to run doesn’t mean I’m going to live like a shadow of myself, confined and stifled. I’m done existing in the margins of your life.”

He narrows his eyes. “One of the rules is to keep me satisfied.”

I meet his gaze with a defiant spark and tilt my head, my voice dripping with sweet sarcasm. “So tell me, Damian, do you want a mute, lifeless sex slave, or a living, breathing wife who actually has a voice and a life outside your bed?”

Damian’s expression remains unreadable. “Enough of the drama. If you’re finished, you know where the door is.” He turns back to his desk, clearly signaling that the conversation is over and he’s not interested in further discussion.

I feel a sharp sting in my chest. Is this really how he sees me? A mere inconvenience to be brushed aside? What else did I expect? It’s just another cruel reminder of how little I matter to him. This is how he really sees me—just a means to an end. He kisses me when it suits him, takes me to bed when it’s convenient, but when it comes to my feelings, he couldn’t care less.

I had come here to talk about Melissa’s attack last night, but now I’m not sure I can stand his presence for even a second longer. I turn away from him and head toward the door, determined to escape the stifling atmosphere.

CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

Past

What is pain?

How much can a heart endure it before it shatters? They say the heart is resilient, a muscle built for strength, yet mine feels like it’s crumbling with every passing second.

It’s been ten long days since my father destroyed my trust in the most unforgiving way. Ten days since I was dragged here, sedated, my cheeks still stained with tears. Ten days since something deep inside me died, leaving a hollow shell behind. Ten days of mere survival, hooked to an IV drip because my father, hell-bent on controlling me, resorted to this after I refused to eat or drink.

The door to my art studio creaks open, its sound breaking the deep silence of midnight.

I step inside, and the air feels a touch warmer compared to the cold emptiness of my old bedroom. I’ve longed to be here during these endless days of confinement. I wanted this. I needed to create something. My sanity depended on it. And now, after what feels like an eternity, I’m finally here.

I can’t pretend I am here by chance because my every movement is monitored. Being here came with a price.

A bitter smile tugs at my lips. Who would have thought I’d have to negotiate with my own father just to stand in my art studio?

Who would have imagined my own father would exploit my fragile state, using it as leverage to force me into making a public appearance at my 21st birthday celebration tomorrow?

This place, my passion, my very essence, has been reduced to a transaction.

Thick drapes cover the large windows, deepening the darkness in the room. I don’t bother turning on the lights; the darkness feels strangely comforting. Instead, I pull back a curtain just enough to let the moonlight filter in, casting a soft, gentle glow that brings a touch of light to the space.

I glance around numbly at the shelves, my eyes drifting over the pots, jars, mugs, the scattered tools, and the half-finished sculptures that have been left behind since I went to college and couldn’t come back to finish it.

I cross the cold floor, my bare feet barely registering the chill. I shouldn’t be surprised. When your heart shatters like mine has, numbness becomes the only thing you can hold onto.

The loose fabric of my top hangs off my shoulder, reminding me of how much weight I’ve lost.

The blocks of sculpting clay are stored in clean, sealed containers. I reach inside and unwrap a block. The clay is still slightly damp, a sign that Dad kept it in good condition while I was gone. It’s a cruel irony that he can be so attentive to my supplies but is also capable to shatter my trust in a way that’s impossible to fix.

I stop in front of the sculpting table. I push my hair out of my face, the curls tangled and knotted from days of neglect. It’s a mess, just like me. I haven’t bothered to brush it, haven’t cared about it like I used to, to keep it glossy and soft just the way Damian likes it. What’s the use of that when he isn’t here to appreciate it?

My chin trembles. Sniffling silently, I begin working on a new sculpture. Tears blur my vision as I work.

I press and pull at the material, but it refuses to take form. The more I try to shape it, the more it seems to mock my efforts. The sculpting tools in my hands becomes unsteady because of how much they are trembling.

Dad’s lies come crashing back, like a fresh wound that refuses to heal. I’m pulled into that memory again, the day I woke up in my old bedroom after being sedated. I remember how my confusion swiftly turned to dread. I remember throwing myself out of bed, stumbling toward the door, only to find it locked.

I remember how I screamed until my voice was a broken whisper. Cried until I could barely see through my swollen eyes. I begged for someone, anyone, to listen, but all that greeted me was the cold, suffocating silence. Not even food was brought to me that day. I wasn’t a person anymore—just a prisoner in a place I thought was home.

Being trapped in my childhood bedroom threw me back to when I was only five, back to the times when he would isolate me over the smallest things. I remember how I thought it was because of Mom’s death. I believed his strictness, his cold distance, was a way of coping, that he blamed me for her loss. But we worked through that… or so I thought.

Now I’m not so sure anymore. What kind of father locks up his daughter because she fell in love with his rival? What kind of father cuts her off from the world, taking her phone, her freedom, just to keep her away from someone he despises?

My hands move faster, cutting, shaping, destroying, rebuilding.

What kind of father tells his daughter to erase the one person she truly loves from her heart or else remain a prisoner forever? And what kind of father arranges his daughter’s marriage without her consent, threatening to destroy the man she loves if she doesn’t comply?

Mine does. My father is the kind of man who does all of that.

I choke on a sob, my throat tightening painfully as the tears spill over.

How do I explain to Dad that even though I love him, I can’t live without Damian? How do I tell him that while I’d do anything for him, I can’t leave Damian? It’s not even a choice anymore. Loving Damian is like breathing—I can’t survive without him. It’s beyond my control.

I carve again, faster this time, my hands moving on their own as I work with a desperation I never felt in my life before. The clay starts to blur under my frantic movements, its face shifting in and out of focus as my mind spirals. I can feel my sanity slipping, my heart beating too fast, too hard in my chest.

I pour everything into the sculpture. My pain flows out. Heartbreak spills through my fingers. The sense of betrayal. Loneliness. The deep hollowness in my chest. Everything. I don’t pay attention at what my hands are creating. I just let my instincts guide me.

I don’t know how long I have been working on the sculpture, all I know is my legs feel numb, my back hurts, and my cheeks are wet. But I don’t dare stop. Because I know if I stop, if I let my hands still, the silence will swallow me whole.

The harder I work, the further my mind drifts into chaos. Everything around me feels like it’s crumbling, and I can’t seem to find a way to stop it. How do I escape this prison of my father’s making? How do I convince him to understand?

In the past, I preferred this isolation. But now that I have Damian, every minute, every second without him is unbearable. I crave his presence. I want to see him. I need to see him. I want to feel the warmth of his palm against my face. I want his arms around me so I could feel safe again. I want to hear his gruff voice. I need him to tell me that everything is going to be okay.

My hands shake so badly I can’t hold the tool anymore, and it clatters to the floor, the sound echoing in the silence.

And then, just as I think I can’t take it anymore, just as exhaustion begins to take me under, I see it.

His face.

Damian’s face.

Perfectly formed in the clay, staring back at me with the same intensity. My breath catches in my throat as my vision swims again, black spots dancing across my eyes.

I reach out, my hand trembling as I trace the line of his jaw in the clay, my touch feather-light. My Damian.

But just as the warmth fills my chest, the world tilts on its axis. I collapse on the cold marble floor. A sad smile touches my lips and a warm, fresh tear escapes my eye as I longingly take in his features. That’s the last thing I see before surrendering to the darkness.

◆◆◆

“You look just like your mother,” Dad says, stepping inside the lounge room where I’ve sat numbly for the past two hours, surrounded by stylists and makeup artists.

The compliment would’ve brought a big smile on my face in the past. But not today. Not only because my birthday reminds me of her loss but also because tonight I’m getting engaged to Edward.

Dad walks over to where I am sitting in front of the mirror. I feel his eyes probing my features but I keep them blank.

“Indeed! You look beautiful, cara.” The makeup artist croons, her rich Italian accent thick with warmth. The tension between dad and me must be really palpable if the famous makeup artist, Fiorenza, feels the need to step in herself.

Well, I can’t pretend to care tonight. Dad demanded my compliance. And here I am, dressed to the nines. My curls beautifully tucked into a sleek updo. Makeup exceptionally done to mask the dark circles under my eyes and my deathly pale complexion.

I look exactly how a billionaire heiress is expected to on her birthday and engagement night. But on the inside? I feel sick to my stomach. A throbbing pain pulses in my temples, making me dizzy. I’d rather spend the entire night passed out on the cold marble floor of my art studio than take part in this charade. Yet, I have no choice but to comply. His words come back from this morning:

“You will do as I say. Present yourself as my obedient daughter tonight and show everyone how genuinely happy you are to be engaged to Edward. And if you so much as falter in your role, I promise there would be consequences.”

“I’ve pulled strings to cut off his funding for a new project.” When I gasp, he says, “What? You dared to sculpt that lowlife’s face under my roof, he had to pay the price.”

His big palm settles on my shoulder. He gives me a gentle squeeze. “I am doing this for your own good, sweet pea. You’ll thank me later, I promise you.”

I lift my head and meet his eyes in the mirror. “Can I keep my hair down, Dad?” My voice is soft, his face immediately transforms, his eyes softening.

“You look great, River. Why do you want it down?” He smiles as he asks.

I turn and look up at him. “Because Damian likes it.”

His eyes blaze with fury and he looks like he wants to hit me. But instead turns abruptly and leaves.

I smile tiredly at Fiorenza. “Let’s get this over with please.”

After I’m finally ready, they let me out of the room, only to guide me downstairs like a puppet on strings.

Edward’s smug, mocking smile greets me the moment he sees me approaching, and it’s all I can do not to recoil.

For the longest time, I believed Edward might be a decent man, even when he first proposed this marriage for the sake of our business. I told myself his practical nature was just a product of his upbringing. But now, I see him for what he truly is.

“You look beautiful.” Edward’s gaze sweeps over me with a sense of entitlement, and I suppress the urge to shudder in disgust. His fractured arm still rests in a sling over his tux, though the bruises on his face have faded completely.

His hollow compliment does nothing for me. I straighten my spine, meeting his gaze with cold resolve. “Can we drop the charade? I’ve already agreed to this circus. You don’t need to waste time with compliments I neither want nor believe.”

Edward doesn’t care about me—not in any real sense, anyway. How could he, when the whole point of this marriage is to preserve our families’ precious empire? So why even bother pretending?

“Why not?” he counters with a shrug. “You’re really beautiful, River. Well bred. You suit me in every way that matters.”

In other words, I am just convenient for him. I’m to be his trophy wife. After all, I’m Christopher Gibson’s daughter. Sure, Edward’s father might be Dad’s partner, but my father holds the controlling share, making him the one with the real power. Marrying me is a strategic win for Edward and his family. Beneficial for him in every possible way.

Skylar and her friends gush over my gown, their admiration sickly sweet. I force a smile, wondering if Skylar even knows how I’m being forced to marry her brother.

Next come Melissa and her mother, Nadine, offering hollow congratulations. Their smiles are as real as the joy on my face.

Across the room, I spot Dad deep in conversation with Richard and William, his business partners. Even though he’s speaking to them, his eyes never leave me. His unspoken message is crystal clear: Don’t screw this up. Be grateful you’re allowed to mingle with the guests, or you’d be back upstairs, locked away.

I make the rounds with Edward glued to my side, enduring the knowing smiles from the guests as if they all already know about the impending announcement. It’s suffocating, each polite nod and forced smile.

By the time an hour passes, my cheeks are aching from pretending. I excuse myself under the pretense of needing the bathroom, scanning the room for Dad. He’s distracted, locked in conversation. Perfect. At least he won’t send anyone after me.

As soon as the door clicks shut behind me, I sag against it, letting out a shaky breath.

I sink onto the nearest settee, my legs giving out beneath me. I just can’t do this anymore. I am sick and tired of this. Every part of me is screaming to stop, to run, to break free, but there’s nowhere to go without alerting the bodyguards.

The sharp knock on the door startles me, snapping me out of my spiraling thoughts. I shoot up from the settee. Clearing my throat, I call out, “It’s occupied—” I stop when the door swings open without warning.

I freeze when Damian steps inside and shuts the door, locking it. Then he turns and leans his back against the door. I continue to remain motionless, shocked beyond belief as he pushes his hands in his pockets and fixes his gaze on me.

Just like his sculpture had. Those eyes. Those night eyes. Oh, how much I craved to see them.

Dressed in a black suit, he looks big and hard and intimidating and absolutely breathtaking.

Is he real? Is he really here?

I begin to tremble. And something wet slips down my cheek. “Damian…” I choke.

I tremble harder when he pushes off the door and strides toward me with purpose. He doesn’t stop even when he is in front of me. In a second, I’m swept off my feet as he lifts me into his strong arms effortlessly. I wrap my arms around his neck, a sob escaping as I cling to him like my life depends on it while my heeled feet dangles in air. My body molds against his chest, and I can feel his warmth enveloping me, shielding me from all the pain. The heartache I suffered.

Suddenly, I feel so spent. So drained. It feels like I’ve finally come home after a war that lasted for years—tired, but relieved that I survived. Damian’s strength is the only thing keeping me upright; without him, I’d have collapsed by now as I’m still struggling to process that he’s here, that I’m back where I belong. In his arms.

“I’ve missed you, angel,” he says roughly.

It’s so unlike him. He hardly talks about feelings. Barely expresses them. It’s so touching to hear him admit that. I smile through my tears. “I missed you too, Damian. So much. I haven’t felt alive until just now.” I tighten my arms around his neck then pull back to kiss his clean-shaven jaw but he seals his lips to mine instead.

Hot, salty tears overflow down my cheeks, only this time, they are happy ones. Every fear, every ache, every torment I’ve carried vanishes. All that remains is the need of kissing him back. And kiss him back I do. I melt against him, desperately clutching onto him, pressing into him in an attempt to become a part of him, to feel his heartbeat in sync with mine.

I love this man. He has no idea the agony I’ve endured without him, the countless moments I felt my heart shatter in his absence. How I died a thousand times in every moment I spent without him.

He gently lowers me to the floor, though he bends to keep our lips locked as if he, too, can’t bear to break away.

Head swimming, mouth tingling, I gaze up at his hard features. His jaw ticks as he wipes my tears gently. Unable to stop myself, I clasp his face in my hands and go on my tiptoe to press my quivering lips on his forehead.

His big hand cups my cheek. I turn and kiss his calloused palm and screw my eyes shut. “Take me away, Damian.” I choke. “I can’t live without you. I don’t want to.”

I cry out in surprise when he picks me up in his arms and settles down on the settee with me on his lap, looking down at me with a fierce frown. “You’ve lost weight.”

I don’t pay attention at his disapproval because I am too busy taking my fill staring up at him, running my gaze over his features. It’s like I’m memorizing him all over again. Every inch of him. It’s a wonder I survived this long without seeing him. I missed him so much. Even his scowls.

“Did you think I wouldn’t come for you?” he asks grimly.

That makes me focus. I lower my eyes. His fingers slide beneath my chin, tilting my face up toward him. “You’re mine. No one can keep me from you. Not even your father.”

I shake my head frantically. “You don’t understand, Damian. He can ruin you. He’s already begun.”

As if he didn’t hear me, he reaches down, his fingers deftly working to remove the pins from my updo. “Let him try.”

“But—” He captures my lips in a fierce kiss. Then sets me back on my feet before rising to his full height. “You need to go out there. They’ll start looking for you.”

I still, then begin shivering. “No.” I shake my head frantically. “I don’t want to go, Damian. Please, let’s just get out of here.”

“I’m not the kind to run like a coward. And neither are you,” he says, gripping my chin when tears begin to well in my eyes.

I grab his hand that was gripping my chin with both of mine desperately. “You don’t understand! They are going to announce my—”

“Engagement. I know.”

“Then why would you tell me to go back out there?”

“Do you want to marry Edward?”

“What?” I look at him stupefied and to be honest, a bit appalled.

“Do you, River?”

“No! Absolutely not!”

With his hands on my hips, he pulls me to his chest. “What about me? Do you want to marry me, angel?”

I gasp. “Are you asking?”

“Answer me.”

My cheeks heat and I stutter. “Y-you know I’m yours.”

He releases me and pockets his hands. “Then go out. And trust me.”

For a second, I hesitate but I take a breath and obey, knowing that I trust him with every fiber of my being. I trust him with my life.

As I rejoin the party, my father is immediately at my side, gripping my elbow with an iron-like grasp. “Where have you been? I’ve been looking everywhere for you!” His voice is a furious whisper, a muscle jumping in his jaw.

“I—”

“Doesn’t matter. Come. It’s time.” He begins to steer me toward the grand staircase where Edward is waiting, my palms clammy with anxiety as I feel the weight of everyone’s gaze on me. I desperately scan the crowd for Damian, but all I find are the curious faces of the elite surrounding us.

Once we reach the foot of the staircase, my father pivots to face the room, and I hold my breath, bracing for what’s to come. But before he can utter a word, a commanding voice slices through the murmurs of the crowd.

“Ladies and gentlemen.”

All heads snap toward the voice. They part like the Red Sea, revealing none other than Damian.

The shock of his presence sends a ripple through the room, and my father’s grip on me tightens.

Edward, who had been standing proudly by my side, instinctively takes a step back, his expression morphing from arrogance to fear.

Damian strides forward, his movements purposeful and fluid. The tension thickens as he reaches the dead center of the room, eyes locked onto mine.

“I know it’s unusual to steal someone else’s moment,” he says, his voice resonant, “but I have something that needs to be said.”

The air crackles with electricity as he extends his hand toward me. “Angel, come here.”

In a heartbeat, I find myself moving toward him, drawn to him like a moth to a flame. The crowd blurs around me, their whispers and shocked gasps suddenly muted. I can’t think about anything but reaching him.

To my surprise, my father’s grip on my elbow slackens. Perhaps recognizing the scandal brewing or he seems to understand that confronting Damian here would only make matters worse. I don’t know the reason and I don’t care.

As I reach him, Damian doesn’t take my hand; instead, he wraps an arm around my waist, pulling me close against his side. I blush furiously because his hand rests possessively beneath my breast. And nobody misses that. Especially my father and Edward. It’s a clear message to the world. That I am his.

The room falls into a heavy silence, everyone anticipating, curious. My heart races, but in this moment, I feel unbreakable, safer, shielded by the man beside me.

“I’m glad to see so many familiar faces here tonight,” he begins, his voice cutting through the stillness like a knife. It’s amusing how detached he sounds, as though he couldn’t care less about the crowd around him. My lips twitch into a small, private smile. That’s Damian.

“I have an announcement to make.”

I glance up at him in confusion. He looks down at me intently as he addresses the room. “River has consented to be my wife.”

My eyes widen. I hear ripple of gasps and murmurs. A camera flashes but all I can do is stare up at him. Everything was happening so fast, I couldn’t concentrate. One second, Damian was announcing about our supposed engagement and the next I hear Dad’s bodyguards ushering everyone. For what? I have no idea. I only register Damian’s head lowering as he captures my mouth. All I remember is us kissing. Like really kissing, greedily, hungrily, our tongues sliding together in a heated, erotic, shameless dance.

Without caring about the audience, my hands reach up and circle his neck. All that matters is the feel of his mouth on mine, the way his hands grip me like he never wants to let go.

He picks me up with strong hands and begins walking without breaking the kiss.

Am I dreaming? If so, I never want to wake up. I don’t know where he’s taking me, but it doesn’t matter. The only thing I’m aware of is the heat of his body, the way his mouth refuses to part from mine, and the thudding of my heart.

Tonight, Damian claimed me, he didn’t ask, he just took what he believed was already his. Me. As his future wife.

A sharp thrill courses through me, and suddenly I remember something. My wish. I had wished to be his in every way on my 21st birthday. And here we are, my wish becoming a reality, only more intense than I could have ever imagined.

It was really meant to be. Me and him. With a kiss on my eighteenth birthday, he stole my heart. And on my twenty-first, I willingly bound my fate to his with another kiss.

I’m his now. Entirely, unmistakably his.

I’m going to be Mrs. Damian Montgomery.

CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

Present

I hit call again and wait. Come on. Pick up. Please. My leg bounces in a restless rhythm as the silence drags on, the ringing growing louder in my ear. When it cuts off with no answer, disappointment presses down on my chest. I lower the phone slowly, staring at the name on the screen like it might magically change something if I just keep looking.

Summer.

Just seeing her name stirs something warm in me, something that makes the emptiness hurt a little less. But she’s probably busy. She’s always got her hands full—juggling jobs, racing from one thing to the next. I know that, but still, it doesn’t stop the ache that settles in deeper. I needed this. I needed her.

It’s hard. Especially when the memories creep back. They hit me out of nowhere sometimes, these jagged, painful shards of the past that cut me open and leave me bleeding. They hit hard, especially when I least expect them.

Summer doesn’t know about the wreckage of my past. About Damian. My marriage. But talking to her always makes it easier to bear. There’s a comfort in her voice, even when she’s just rambling on about her day or singing praises of her cute pup. She doesn’t need to know the details of my heartbreak to soothe it. Her words, her voice help quiet the storm inside me, at least for a little while.

I stare across the room, my gaze settling on Vicky as she moves between a group of teens, guiding them through the preparations for the upcoming art fest this weekend. Every few seconds, I notice her gaze flick over to me, assessing, making sure I’m okay. Always on alert, even when she is engaged in an activity.

Vicky’s become more than just someone tasked with my protection. She’s earned my trust. I know I could share anything with her, let her in on the darkest corners of my life, and she’d guard it as fiercely as she guards me.

But even with that trust, I can’t talk to her about my past. As much as I want to confide in her, I hold back. I have to. Not because I doubt her loyalty, but because I care about her too much to put her in that position.

I’ve seen how Hal operates. I know she’d never spill a word of what I tell her, but if Hal or my husband ever found out we are close, they wouldn’t hesitate to make her life hell. Interrogations. Accusations. The constant threat of being dragged into something beyond her control. She’d be caught in the crossfire, facing consequences she doesn’t deserve.

The last thing I want is for her to become a target of their wrath just because of her loyalty to me. I refuse to let her be put in a position where her silence could cost her.

I walk over to Vicky. “I’ll be downstairs,” I tell her.

Immediately, her brows knit together, and she steps forward like she’s about to follow me. But I stop her. “I’m safe, Vicky. I’m not leaving the center, I promise. Trust me?”

She hesitates before she relents. “Keep your phone on you, okay?”

Right. The phone. I glance at it. One might think, I am free. After all, I started going out. Have a phone I can use anytime. Right? Wrong. The device is being monitored, tracking my every move. The only reason I still have it is because I’ve played by Damian’s rules, only ever contacting Vicky or Summer. No outside calls, no internet access. Just a false sense of freedom in the palm of my hand.

“Ring me if you need anything. I’ll be down to check on you in a few anyway.”

I roll my eyes playfully, trying to lighten the moment. “You don’t have to check on me every five seconds, Vicky. I’m not going anywhere.” As I say it, I can’t shake the tightening in my chest by how real those words are.

I turn to leave, the forced smile slipping from my face as soon as I’m out of her sight.

Love makes you foolish. How naïve I was to believe his grand gesture on my engagement day was a token of love?

My father might have been wrong to lock me away, but in the end, wasn’t he right? Choosing Damian has brought me nothing but heartache. And that truth is hard to swallow.

In the span of a few days after my wedding, I went from being the happiest woman alive—married, glowing, utterly in love to becoming a hollow shell of a woman whose life had been reduced to waiting.

Waiting for her husband to return from yet another business trip. Waiting for more than just his fleeting attention in the bedroom. Waiting for him to follow through on those date nights I used to plan with so much excitement, only to watch them slip by, one by one, because he never showed.

I blink rapidly, fighting the sting of tears threatening to spill over. No. Not here. Not now. I force myself to focus on helping the volunteers to manage the group gathered downstairs for today’s art session. Maybe if I dive into the task at hand, the memories will stop gnawing at me.

For the next few minutes, I busy myself by distributing the supplies to everyone. In my haste, I drop the brushes I was carrying. I bend to pick them up. Just as I am about to straighten, a small hand tugs on a strand of my curls. I glance up and see a sweet little boy, no more than three, with dark hair and wide innocent eyes staring up at me, a playful smile tugging at his lips.

Instantly the community center around me vanishes and I am back at the mansion. In front of me I see my past-self standing in front of Damian. I see myself, shyly asking him. “When do you think we’ll try for kids?”

He had insisted on the birth control shots as soon as we were married. And I wanted kids. I always adored them. And now that I was married, I didn’t want to wait. So I approached him with the subject.

Instead of the warmth I’d imagined, I got coldness. “We’re newlyweds. And you’re still too young.” His words were clinical, detached, like I was making some foolish request. And though I accepted his answer back then, I now know it wasn’t just about timing. It wasn’t about us being newly married. He simply didn’t want it.

Because after that day, he made sure to personally keep track of the shots. Now that I think back, I can’t help but conclude he simply never wanted me to have his kids. Maybe that was another one of his rejections.

I’m brought back to the present when the boy tugs at my curl again. His chubby fingers hold onto my hair like it’s the most fascinating thing in the world.

My breath catches in my throat, my heart seizing with an intensity I can’t control. The dam I’ve been desperately trying to hold back shatters.

His mother appears, rushing over to scoop him up. “I’m so sorry! I knew bringing him here wasn’t the best idea. He’s always getting into trouble—” Her voice fades into nothing as a loud ringing fills my ears. I can’t hear her anymore, can’t see anything but the little boy she holds in her arms.

A wave of grief crashes over me, too strong, too sudden. The ache of wanting something I know I’ll never have claws its way through my chest. I try to speak, to offer some polite excuse, but my throat is tight, strangling any words before they form.

“Excuse me,” I manage, my voice barely above a whisper. I turn on trembling legs, stumbling away as fast as I can, the tears spilling freely now.

I barely make it to the storage room before I’m sobbing. I push farther into the storage room. I find a corner and sink to the cold floor, my back hitting the wall with a dull thud.

I cover my face with my hands, as if I can somehow block out the memories that don’t just hurt, they shred me from the inside.

Why does it hurt so much? My chest feels like it’s caving in. I swallow hard, pressing my palms against my chest as if I could somehow stop the ache.

The sobs come harder, shaking my body as I sit there, curled up in the dark.

I wipe at my cheeks, but the tears keep falling. I’m so tired of being this version of myself. This broken, hollow thing. I used to be someone. Someone who believed in love. Who believed in happiness. And now, I’m someone who cries all the time because the past refuses to fade.

Most of the time, it’s anger that keeps me standing. It’s sharp and burns through the pain, making me feel like I’m still in control of something, anything. Bitterness. That too gives me purpose, strength. But then, grief sneaks in, slipping through the cracks of my heart when I’m too tired to fight it. And that’s when I fall apart. That’s when I’m weak all over again.

It’s grief and the heartbreak that make me feel small, pathetic even. Like now, sitting here, crumbling under the weight of the questions that always come back.

Why can’t he love me? Was money and power all Damian ever cared about?

Was I just another piece on his chessboard? A pawn he could use without a second thought in his rivalry with my father?

If I keep pretending, if I keep letting him use me, if I keep sharing his bed, letting him take everything from me without asking for anything in return, not even the chance to have his child, would that change things? Would he come to love me then?

I hate myself for even considering such bargain. Such questions rip my dignity to shreds. They make me feel pathetic. Like I’m not worth anything.

I’ve cried so much it’s become second nature. But the ache in my chest? It never heals. It always feels fresh, like it’s cutting me open for the first time, over and over again.

“River…”

The voice snaps me out of my spiral, and my body goes rigid. Slowly, I look up, finding Matt standing there, his eyes full of concern. “Hey, what’s going on?”

Shame floods my veins. I quickly wipe at my eyes, trying to pull myself together, but it’s too late. He’s already seen everything.

“I-I just needed a minute,” I glance at the shelves filled with supplies, hoping to find some sort of excuse, but nothing comes.

Matt doesn’t buy it for a second. He kneels down in front of me, his gaze searching my face, worry etched into every line of his features. “River, talk to me. What’s really going on? Is this about that waitress from last night?”

Melissa didn’t even cross my mind. Her attack, and her words didn’t really get to me because she was always like that. How do I tell him I am crying over my husband, my marriage?

“I don’t know, Matt,” I whisper, lowering my head. “I don’t know where to start.”

Matt lets out a long breath, sitting down beside me. He stretches his legs out, leaning back against the wall. He’s quiet for a moment, giving me space. I can feel his blue eyes on me.

“Stop staring,” I mumble.

“How do I do that when you look so beautiful even when you cry?”

I lift my tear-drenched eyelids and stare at him. Expecting to see his signature smirk but all I find is sincerity. He reaches out and gently wipes my tears. My throat tightens. The action makes me cry again.

Matt swears under his breath before pulling me into his side, wrapping an arm around my shoulders as he rests his chin on top of my head. His voice is soft as he speaks soothing words while I cry silently.

I close my eyes, leaning into his warmth, letting his words wash over me. For the first time in what feels like forever, I allow myself to be comforted. To let someone else take some of the weight off my shoulders.

“Do you want to talk about it?” he asks quietly.

I shake my head. But somehow, things pour out of my mouth the next second, “I just don’t want to feel like this anymore,” I whisper, my voice cracking.

Matt tightens his arm around me. “Then you have to get it out.”

“What?” I ask weakly.

“I can tell something’s eating at you. You shouldn’t keep it buried inside for long. It’s not healthy. You can talk to me.” When I remain silent, he says, “Please, River.”

I pull away slightly, looking up at him with a forced smile. “I wish it were that simple.”

Brushing a strand of hair away from my face, he says, “You smile even when you’re hurting, did you know that? Everyone else might be fooled, but I can see the truth in your eyes.”

I pull away completely and sit straighter. “What do you mean?”

“Your eyes. When you pretend and hide your pain with those smiles, your eyes lose their brightness, turning into a shadowy green. And though it takes my breath away every time with how beautiful they are, it pains me to see you hide like this.”

I gasp. “You’re so direct.”

He shrugs, a rueful smile touching his lips. “It wasn’t easy becoming the person I am today.”

When I keep gazing at him questioningly, he looks away. “Pretending only makes the pain worse.”

Matt’s always been the type to fill silence with easy conversation, the kind of guy who makes everyone around him feel at ease. But there’s something raw in his voice when he said that, something he doesn’t show often.

“You say it as if you’re speaking from experience.”

Silence stretches between us for a beat. I half expect him to change the subject, to try to cheer me up with his usual laid-back charm, but when he speaks again, his tone is different—more serious. “Yeah, you can say that.”

He exhales, leaning his head back against the wall, his eyes distant for a moment, like he’s lost in some old memory. “I was seven when I was sent off to boarding school in London.”

“Why?” I can’t help but ask.

“I was just a kid in the wrong place at the wrong time. My mom raised me on her own, and when her employer offered to send me to boarding school, covering everything, she jumped at the chance. She thought it would give me a better life.”

“Did it?”

He just gives me a rueful smile. “For my first whole year there, I didn’t talk. To anyone. Refused to even take my mother’s calls.”

I don’t know what to say. The thought of young Matt, alone in a strange place, dealing with something that had ripped his world apart. “Was it because you didn’t want to go?”

He shakes his head. “No, it wasn’t that. I was actually relieved to leave the States behind. It felt like an escape.”

“But this isn’t about me,” he says suddenly. “I brought it up to encourage you to share, too. Keeping everything inside will only tear you apart. What saved me was learning to let go, talking to others, and finding support. It helped me move on.”

I try to make up an excuse but he puts a finger against my lips. “I get it, you know? Pretending everything’s fine because it’s easier than dealing with the truth. But it’s not… it doesn’t make it hurt any less.” His voice softens. “You don’t have to pretend with me.”

I close my eyes, the weight of his words sinking into me. “My husband’s back,” I finally whisper, my voice barely audible.

Matt doesn’t react at first, but I feel him shift slightly beside me. “Is that why you’re hiding in here?”

“It’s complicated.”

He doesn’t say anything but I can feel his quiet encouragement in the silence.

I take a shaky breath, my fingers trembling as I clasp them together in my lap.

I share the truth about my marriage, keeping the details vague. I tell him Damian and I aren’t close; how he’s always away on business trips, rarely making time for me. I mention my dad’s rivalry with him, how it ruined everything. How I defied my dad’s wishes by marrying Damian and lost all contact with him.

I finally explain about my connection with Melissa. How seeing her at the club shocked me. As her father was dad’s business partner then my father’s empire is probably falling apart too.

“And now I don’t even know if he’s okay, if he’s healthy, or if everything he built is crumbling. I wouldn’t even know where to start.”

“Do you want to find out how he’s doing? I can help you with that.”

The thought of Matt going out of his way to help me feels comforting.

“I’d like that even though I wouldn’t know what to do even if I had the answers,” I admit, my voice trembling. “It’s not like I can contact him. He hates me.”

Besides, Damian would be very upset if he caught wind of me going behind his back contacting Dad.

He leans in, his gaze suddenly fierce. “Hate? That’s impossible. You’re far too sweet for anyone to hate you. Even if your father is angry, it doesn’t change what you mean to him. Love doesn’t just vanish, especially not for someone as unforgettable as you.” He pauses, his eyes softening. “Trust me, there are people who see your worth, even if you can’t. You’re not just someone who can be overlooked.”

I blink in surprise, my cheeks warming at his words. When he keeps staring, I glance away, trying to gather my thoughts, feeling the heat of my blush intensify.

Probably sensing the tension in the room, he chuckles softly. “You know, your blush is really competing with the color of my shirt.”

I snap my head in his direction and notice his red button up shirt for the first time. I can’t help but let out a soft laugh.

“But seriously, you’re not alone in this,” he continues, sobering. “I’m here, and together we’ll figure everything out. I’ll help you every way I can.”

“Thank you.” I give him a smile, genuine instead of forced this time. And he smiles back.

Matt helps me to my feet and I’m surprised by his hand on my back, steadying me as I step into the hallway.

When Iris and her group of volunteers spot me, a jolt of tension races through me. I might look somewhat composed, but I’m nowhere near ready to explain my red, swollen eyes.

Matt acts swiftly, stepping in to divert their attention. In no time, they’re heading off in the opposite direction, leaving me relieved.

He catches my gaze and smiles. “Let’s head to the break room. We both need a strong dose of caffeine right now.”

I nod, but curiosity gets the better of me. “What did you say to make them leave so fast?”

He chuckles, his eyes sparkling with mischief. “I told them the art fest banner had arrived, but they messed up the sponsors’ names.”

I stop in my tracks. “You did not…”

He bursts into laughter. “Oh, I absolutely did! Now, come on, let’s find Victoria before she starts accusing me of kidnapping you.”

“Why would she accuse you?” I ask, puzzled.

“Because the moment I walked in, I hunted her down and asked for you. That’s how I ended up tracking you down in the storage room.”

“Thanks again… for earlier,” I say, my voice softening. “I really appreciate it. I—”

“River?”

Both our heads spin around and I freeze at the sight of Damian standing few feet away. Dressed in black sweater and dark wash jeans.

My mouth goes dry and my heart skips a beat. I have no idea what’s more shocking, him coming to the community center or the casual outfit he is sporting.

Laura stands beside Damian, her voice lively as she talks to him enthusiastically. In fact, the entire room is fixated on him. And why wouldn’t they be? Tall, commanding, and exuding an aura that dares anyone to challenge him, he’s impossible to ignore.

“Vicky told me you were with the volunteer group on the first floor. But you were nowhere to be found.”

Just behind him, Vicky, who is ghostly white, looks like she’s about to pass out. She stands stiff as a board, her face turned downward. Her lips are rolled between her teeth like she’s afraid even a breath might set Damian off. Hal stands to her right, stoic and unreadable.

Completely oblivious to the thick tension in the air, Anne—the moody teen—strolls up. “You’re here for volunteering?” she asks, not waiting for an answer as she blathers on. “You can be my partner for today’s session if you want.”

When Damian doesn’t even glance her way, her face turns a deep shade of red. Patricia practically flies over, grabbing Anne by the elbow and pulling her back, saving her from embarrassing herself further.

“What? I was just trying to have a friendly chat!”

A nervous giggle bubbles up my throat but the second I look at Damian, it dies.

Without a word, he extends his hand to me.

After bluntly kicking me out of the home office because I refused sex, he has the audacity to come here and stake his claim.

I want to shove that hand away, to throw his arrogance back in his face and remind him that I’m not some possession he can control on a whim. But I don’t. I can’t. Damian holds my freedom in his grasp, and we both know it. If I push too hard, he’ll tighten his hold. He can clip the wings I’ve only just started to spread, without a second thought.

With hesitant steps, I move toward him. Déjà vu hits me hard when, instead of taking my hand, Damian’s arm snakes around my waist.

When his possessively splayed fingers beneath my breast move in an intimate caress, I shoot him a startled glance and find him already watching me. He holds my gaze with a silent challenge.

My brow furrows in confusion but then it hits me. I start to pull back as he lowers his head but it’s too late. He takes my mouth in a dominating kiss. His tongue plunges between my lips and I tremble violently. His free hand fists my curls painfully, holding me in place as he deepens the kiss, consuming me in front of everyone.

Each and every person I work with can see us. The thought makes me stiffen.

My face turns bright red when Damian breaks the kiss with an unashamed groan of intense satisfaction.

Then he lifts his head and speaks, “Introduce me, angel.”

I swallow hard, my chest heaving, and follow his gaze to where Matt stands. His face is tight with barely concealed fury, his jaw ticking.

And then it all makes sense. Damian didn’t kiss me for me—he kissed me for Matt.

My heart thunders painfully in my chest as I force out the words. “Matt, this is Damian Montgomery.” When his fingers dig into my skin, I add flatly, “My husband.”

Watching the sheer pleasure gleam in Damian’s dark eyes makes my blood boil. How dare he? That kiss wasn’t for me—it was a show. A cold, calculated move to stake his claim in front of Matt and everyone else. Fury surges within me. I want to shove him away, scream at him for using me like that. But I can’t. Not here. Not with everyone watching. So I swallow the anger, letting it settle like a stone in my gut, my jaw clenched so tightly it aches.

Matt holds my gaze for a moment longer, pain flashing in his eyes before he nods stiffly. “Matthew Lane.”

Damian barely acknowledges him, his focus still on me, as if the introduction was nothing more than a formality. With a firm tug, he pulls me closer, steering me toward the door. “River is going home.” He carelessly throws it in the direction of Laura who is only too happy to accommodate him.

“Let’s go,” he murmurs, his voice low and threatening. “You’re in trouble,” he informs me as he picks me up and dumps me inside the car.

CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT

Past

I sneak a glance at Damian, sitting beside me in the back of his Rolls Royce. He’s so breathtaking, every angle of his face chiseled like a masterpiece I could never tire of studying. I could spend hours tracing every curve, every hard line of his face, letting my fingers memorize the places my lips crave to touch.

I bite my lip, fighting the urge to reach out, to close the space between us and touch him. I ache to mold my body against his, resting my head on his broad chest, where I know the steady beat of his heart would soothe me. My fingers itch to trace the sharp line of his nose, then glide down to his lips, soft yet strong, before cupping his now stubbled jaw.

But sadly, I can’t. He’s on a business call, his deep voice vibrating through the confines of the car, authoritative and cool.

He’s dressed impeccably, as always, in a perfectly tailored suit that fits him like a second skin. Even sitting still, he’s every bit the man who holds the world in the palm of his hand. He doesn’t even have to try, and yet he dominates every space, every moment.

I squint playfully and lift my hand, letting my finger hover in the air as I trace his sharp nose, the sweep of his brow, the curve of his lips, all without touching him. It’s my own private indulgence, knowing he can’t feel me, but I still get to drink him in. My smile is soft as I reach his mouth, imagining the feel of it under my fingertips.

My eyes drift over my hand, catching the glint of the diamond on my finger, the eight-carat cushion-cut ring and the wedding band sitting right beneath it.

The platinum band is soft and beautiful. But the diamond ring is massive and kind of overwhelming, but it’s mine. Because he gave it to me. And what’s more, it means I belong to him now, in a way no one else ever could.

I’m his.

I’m his wife.

The thought sends a warm shiver through me, a slow heat that settles in my chest and wraps around my heart. That makes him my husband.

My husband.

Damian Montgomery, the love of my life, my first kiss, my first and only crush, the man of my dreams is my husband.

Never in my wildest dreams did I imagine this moment—me, married at twenty-one, sitting next to the man who now owns every inch of me, body and soul. And it happened so fast. Yesterday, I turned twenty-one. Today, I’m wearing a ring that marks me as his forever.

A soft smile blooms onto my face as I slide off my sandals and tuck my legs beneath me. Once comfortable, I lean back against the leather seat, staring out the window. Even the afternoon sun seems brighter today.

I’d always thought my wedding would include a stunning white dress, a long aisle, Dad walking me down it with tears in his eyes, leading me toward a smiling groom who looks at me like I’m his entire world. I thought there’d be flowers, vows exchanged, a moment that felt like a fairy tale.

But there was no dress. No flowers. No aisle. There was no bouquet, no bridesmaids, no tearful farewells.

Instead, I wore jeans and a light green sweater. Because we had a civil ceremony. And though it wasn’t the wedding I envisioned, this is so much more than that fantasy. His presence alone is more than I ever thought I could have.

I glance at him again, my heart swelling as the truth settles deep within me.

I know, without a doubt, I wouldn’t trade this reality for any dream wedding. Not for the grandest gown, the most extravagant bouquet, or the aisle lined with roses. Because this... this is what we fought for. Every painful moment, every tear, every battle that nearly tore us apart, led us here. And I wouldn’t change a single thing.

I touch the rings and shudder as I remember what happened last night. Because last night was war.

After leaving with Damian last night, everything spiraled into chaos. He brought us back to the mansion, where the paparazzi were already swarming, their cameras flashing.

Hal and his team had to push through, forming a shield around us as we made our way inside. The weight of their stares was suffocating, their words crass but Damian, with his hand gripping mine, anchored me. He was my strength.

But even their cutting remarks couldn’t compare to what came later.

My father.

He showed up an hour later, his expression colder than ice. In the past ten days when I was forced to live with him, I witnessed his disappointment, anger and even bitterness. But last night? Last night was different. When he saw me sitting beside Damian, his hand possessively draped over my knee, Dad’s eyes were full of disgust. As if I’d tainted myself just by choosing him.

That’s when I knew, he didn’t come to wish me well or to offer peace. No, he came to try and pull me back, one last time. His voice was hard, unyielding as he stared down at me. “This is your last chance to fix this, River. You’re making the biggest mistake of your life.”

I couldn’t speak. I just sat there, silent, my heart aching, knowing he wouldn’t understand, that nothing would change even if I tried. I was scared. I was trembling, couldn’t really meet dad’s eyes because I knew he was capable of dragging me back and locking me up.

But Damian’s thumb stroked my knee softly, grounding me, reminding me that I was safe. That I was doing the right thing by choosing him.

“He’s using you to get to me!” Dad’s voice had thundered in the room.

I jumped but Damian didn’t even flinch. His response was a soft, mocking drawl. “Pretty rich coming from the man who tried to sell his daughter off in a business deal.”

Dad’s face had twisted in rage at that. He lunged forward as if he wanted to hit Damian. But Hal was there, his solid frame standing between them before Dad could even get close.

I dropped my gaze, unable to look at him being manhandled and disrespected like that.

“You’re going to regret marrying him,” Dad spat, as he turned his fury on me.

“I love him,” I whispered.

Dad scoffed, his eyes narrowing as he stared at me like he didn’t even recognize me anymore. “And does he love you?” His words are sharp enough to cut. “Did you ask if it’s love that brought him to you, or was it my empire? You’re my sole heir, River. Don’t you think it’s a little too convenient?”

For a moment, I couldn’t breathe. It stung, even though I knew it wasn’t true. But that’s how Dad saw it—everything through the lens of business, of power. I wasn’t his daughter anymore. I was a pawn that he thought Damian had taken from him.

That’s when Damian stood, his stance radiating danger. “I think it’s time for you to leave, Mr. Gibson,” he said, his voice full of authority.

Dad’s face hardened. He turned toward me one last time. “If you marry him, you’re dead to me.”

I broke. The tears I’d been holding back fell, hot and fast.

I could barely breathe, my heart tearing apart at the finality of his tone. My throat burned as I forced myself to speak. “Don’t do this, Dad. Don’t make me choose. Please…”

His eyes flickered for the briefest of moments, and for a second, I thought I saw pain in them. But it was gone just as quickly. “You already have,” he said, turning away, his back rigid as he walked to the door and just like that, the man I once called my father walked out of my life.

That night, I cried myself to sleep. My heart felt like it was splitting apart, one half clinging to Damian, the other bleeding for the father I’d lost. But Damian’s surprise this morning lifted up my spirits. We were to marry today.

And now, here we are, driving back to the mansion. The civil ceremony is done, and I’m his wife. But the heaviness in my chest hasn’t left. I have no family, no friends, no one to share this moment with. There’s no one to offer congratulations, no one to celebrate with. But somehow, despite all of that, I don’t feel alone.

I steal another look at Damian, my husband. My family. Because that’s what he is now. All I have left.

As if sensing my gaze, Damian turns his head and our eyes meet. My heart lifts, the sadness momentarily forgotten, and I offer him a soft smile.

He doesn’t smile back.

It wouldn’t be the first time he didn’t, given Damian rarely smiles. But something about the coldness in his gaze makes my smile falter.

Is he still upset about the paparazzi? They were relentless outside the registrar’s office, hurling cruel accusations at us. Questions about how Damian and I supposedly carried on a ‘forbidden affair’ behind Edward’s back.

They were merciless. Disgust dripped from their voices when they asked me how it felt to be disowned, reduced to nothing because of my rebellious move. And worst of all, the insinuations that Damian was a gold-digger, that he’d seduced an heiress for power, for wealth.

The memory makes me wince.

I scoot closer, ignoring the way his body stiffens as I lift his heavy arm—the one holding the phone—and wedge myself between it and his chest. I need to feel him, need to hold him.

“I’m sorry,” I murmur into his chest, hoping he’ll feel how much I mean it. “I never wanted you to go through all that. It’s not fair.” My arms wrap around his waist, trying to pull him in, to offer some kind of comfort, but his body remains stiff, unmoving. I wait, expecting him to hug me back to give me some sort of reassurance, but nothing comes.

I pull back just enough to glance up and see his phone is no longer to his ear. He’s not even on a call anymore.

“What can I do?” I ask softly, my hand gently cupping his jaw. I lean in to nuzzle the familiar warmth of his neck, needing the connection, but before I can get too close, his hand comes up, firm yet gentle, pushing me back.

I blink, surprised by the gesture, my chest tightening.

His hand retracts, but I reach for it, holding on. When I feel his bare ring finger, my heart drops. He removed his wedding band.

“It was tight,” he says, pulling his hand free from mine. “I need to get it resized.”

“Oh, okay.” The absence of that ring feels more significant than it should. As if I belong to him, but he is still not entirely mine. As soon as the thought creeps in, I shake it off, reminding myself what he’d done for me. The rings, arranging the civil ceremony—it was all planned while I was trapped at my father’s, held against my will. If that’s not love, then what is? He couldn’t wait to make me his wife. He loves me, I remind myself. He wouldn’t have gone through all that if he didn’t.

I offer another smile, desperate to change the mood. “Are you hungry?” I ask, my voice lighter, almost hopeful. “I could make something for you. I’ve been learning, you know… I might even surprise you with—”

The car slows to a stop, the familiar sight of the mansion coming into view.

“Go inside. I need to go to the office. The PR team needs to be handled. Damage control.”

I blink, stunned by his tone. Damian had never been like this before. But then again, he’s never been accused of being a gold-digger in front of the entire world. My heart aches for him.

“I…” I hesitate, unsure of what to say. He’s already focused on his phone, his mind miles away from me.

“And pack your things in the meantime,” he adds, not even glancing my way.

I remember how last night, when we returned, I found everything waiting for me. Damian had thought of everything—a brand-new wardrobe, jewels, even cosmetics stocked in the vanity. The master bedroom redecorated, security doubled, new staff hired. I was stunned, seeing how much he’d done in the ten days I’d been gone. As if he was preparing for a life with me, securing everything while I was locked away by my father.

“Pack for what?”

“We’re leaving for Scotland tonight.”

Scotland. A foreign place, far from this mess. The thought of getting away, of escaping this chaos, brings a smile to my lips. A few days in a foreign land could be just what we need. It could help him relax. It could give us time. This could be our honeymoon.

When I begin to smile at the prospect, he adds, “We need to get away from this scandal,” he says, his voice still detached. “It’ll blow over, but we need time. I have a few properties there. We’ll return when it dies down.”

“That sounds perfect,” I say, clapping my hands attempting to lighten up the mood. “Do you go there a lot? I’ve never been to Scotland before.”

When he doesn’t answer, I go on, “Should I pack light? How long are we staying?”

Still, Damian says nothing. I smile again. “I won’t pester you with silly questions.” I reach for the door handle and step out, the cold air hitting me. I turn, ready to wave him goodbye, but before I can even raise my hand, the car speeds off, leaving me standing there.

◆◆◆

I survey the rolling hills of the Scottish countryside through the window of the car, the world outside blanketed in a delicate layer of frost that glistens under the muted winter sun. It’s a breathtaking view.

As we drive further into the heart of this serene expanse, the gentle curves of the road wind around low stone walls and quaint farmhouses that seem almost magical, their chimneys curling wisps of smoke into the chilly air. I take it all in, hoping to capture this moment forever, but my heart feels heavy with unease. My thoughts are stuck somewhere else.

Damian is sitting next to me. The silence between us is suffocating.

Since we boarded the private jet yesterday, Damian’s impenetrable silence has only deepened with each passing minute. I wanted to know where exactly we were staying, how the situation with the press was, and the most important thing, how he was doing. But I dared not ask any questions; his mood has been cold since we got married yesterday and it didn’t change a bit during the entirety of the flight, his attention was focused solely on the glowing screen of his laptop.

I didn’t see Damian until I boarded the jet. Hal was the one to pick me up. As I boarded, I found Damian hunched over his laptop, completely absorbed in his work, oblivious to my presence when I was standing right beside his chair.

I stood there for what felt like forever and had to move when the flight attendant gently urged me to take a seat.

I had hoped that once dinner was served, Damian would finally break free from his screen, that I might have a chance to talk to him. Yet, as we ate, he remained silent, my questions unanswered.

After dinner, he insisted I rest. When I hesitated to leave his side, he ordered the flight attendant to guide me away. My heart ached at his indifference but I clung to the hope that maybe some distance would be helpful.

I thought sleep would evade me, but it enveloped me and I was grateful. When I finally awoke, I returned to the main cabin, only to find him sleeping in the chair.

Tiptoeing, I went back, gathered the blanket from the bedroom and returned to drape it over him. But my gesture startled him awake, his body tensing. I watched in dismay as he shoved the blanket onto the empty seat beside him, lifting his laptop again.

The whole silent treatment made me so uneasy that I was reluctant to get off the jet. But Damian hurried me down and toward the waiting car with impatience.

What made his behavior unbearable was the painful realization that he hadn’t looked at me for more than two seconds since we got married yesterday.

Is he having second thoughts? Damian has always been the quiet type, but after months of being together, I know this silence is different. Even without words, I could usually feel his warmth, his care. Now, all I see in his eyes is a chilling glimmer. The absence of connection deepens my fears and insecurities.

This tension between us, this never-ending silence, I can’t take it anymore. Tentatively, I reach out and touch his arm, the coolness of his black shirt sleeve sending a shiver through me. “Damian…”

Turning his head, he looks at me blankly. His silky dark hair is a bit rumpled, and without thinking, I reach out to smooth it down, grateful when he doesn’t flinch away. But I crave more. My hand trails down to cradle his jaw. “I love you.” The words tumble out of me in a rush, hoping he could hear the sincerity in my voice. I am so frustrated of not being able to break through the wall he’s built around himself. If only he would let me in he would see, as long as we’re together, everything will be okay.

When he grabs my hand and lowers it, my heart plummets. I look at him, my eyes pleading for reassurance. “Do you regret marrying me?”

The silence stretches painfully, each passing second breaking my heart further. “No, I don’t,” he says, finally putting me out of my misery.

I exhale a long breath before throwing myself into his arms. “I’m so sorry I asked that. I was just afraid…” That you began to dislike me because of the bad press, my father and everything.

“I’m just pre-occupied with work,” he says and when I nod against his chest, he continues, “River, I need to make a phone call.”

I swiftly pull back, reddening. “Of course, sorry.” I scoot to the other side of the seat, smiling, yearning for him to return it or, at the very least, to see a glimmer of softness in his eyes. But I get nothing.

I refuse to wallow in my disappointment; instead, I content myself with staring at his profile.

He is so beautiful that I almost reach for my purse to snap a picture, but then realize Dad took it and never returned it.

When he finishes the call, I say, “I don’t have a phone.”

“You won’t be needing it anymore.”

For a heartbeat, his words sound ominous, sending a shiver down my spine. I shake the thought away, scolding myself for being so foolish. What is wrong with me? Just one day into our marriage, and I’m already having doubts about my husband’s intentions.

“We’re here.” His voice breaks through my thoughts, and I glance out of the window. My jaw drops. “You own a… castle?”

The awe in my voice feels justified as I take in the scene before me. The castle is magnificent, its vast stone walls rising majestically against the open sky. Turrets, adorned with intricate carvings soar above.

Set amidst rolling green lawns that seem to stretch endlessly, the estate is grand, with large windows. Gardens are meticulously kept, the kind you’d only see in luxury magazines, with fountains and statues adding to the sense of grandeur. Every inch of it screams wealth and royalty beyond imagination.

“I do.”

“But how? How did you manage to buy something so incredible?”

“I didn’t leave the previous owner much of a choice.”

I turn my head to look at him, my mouth falling open in shock. His words send a chill down my spine. Damian meets my startled gaze with an unsettling calm as if he’s simply stating a fact. “Let’s go.”

He steps out of the car, then clasping my hand, he helps me out.

Hal emerges from the passenger side, his demeanor all business. He immediately begins issuing commands to the men who traveled in the cars behind us.

We stand in the middle of nowhere, I last saw a town hours ago and the nearest village is also several miles away yet Hal’s behaving as if we’re in the middle of a warzone.

Damian begins leading me with his hand still clasping mine. Totally fascinated, my head keeps straining in every direction to take in the castle.

As we reach the entrance, an old man dressed in a classic black suit, crisp white shirt, and a bow tie steps forward. He looks impeccably sophisticated with neatly combed silver hair and a well-groomed mustache.

“Welcome back, sir,” he says, his Scottish accent strong.

“This is Archibald, my butler, and Morag, the housekeeper,” Damian introduces.

Beside Archibald stands the housekeeper, Morag in her late fifties with warm hazel eyes and a welcoming smile. Her gray hair is pulled back into a neat bun, and she’s dressed in a modest yet stylish navy dress adorned with an apron. “It’s a pleasure to see ye, sir,” she adds, her tone respectful as her gaze shifts to me. “And this must be Mrs. Montgomery. We’re delighted to welcome ye to the Valewood castle.”

“Thank you.” I manage to say while trying hard not to blush so much. I still can’t believe I’m Mrs. Montgomery.

Behind them, a line of maids and manservants stand in orderly rows. The youngest maid, her cheeks flushed with excitement, glances at me and gives a shy smile. I smile back.

They lead us inside, where the grand hall awaits. The space is breathtaking. The interior had been modernized but not entirely. The high ceilings are adorned with intricate work, while large windows bathe the area in natural light, illuminating the magnificent marble floors. A massive fireplace dominates one wall, framed by stunning tapestries. Antique furnishings are tastefully arranged.

“Get some rest. Morag will take you upstairs,” Damian commands, his tone leaving no room for argument.

Morag steps forward. “If ye would follow me, Mrs. Montgomery. Your room has been prepared, and I trust it will meet yer expectations.”

As she leads me away, I glance back at Damian, hoping for a glimpse of warmth in his expression. But his focus remains distant as he converses quietly with Archibald.

The stairs are a sight to behold—wide and sweeping, made entirely of gleaming white marble that glints under the light from the chandeliers above. The handrails are wrought iron, intricately designed, winding elegantly upward toward the second floor.

Morag guides me down a long passageway, her soft footsteps nearly silent against the thick carpeting. “This way, Mrs. Montgomery,” she says, her voice gentle.

At the end of the hall, we stop in front of a tall, carved door, the intricate patterns etched deep into the frame.

Morag opens it. “Yer room,” she says, stepping aside to allow me to enter.

I step inside, and a rush of awe washes over me. The bedroom is so big and beautiful. The marble theme continues with the floors, smooth and white while the polished mahogany furniture adds a touch of rich warmth to the space. In the center stands a massive four-poster bed, draped in deep, royal blue silk. It looks like something out of a dream.

Morag gestures to a side door. “The bathroom is through there.”

The bathroom is nothing short of a masterpiece. The highlight is the large soaking tub, positioned right by a window that offers a view of the vast grounds below. The shower is sleek and modern, with rainfall features, and the gold fixtures gleam under the soft lighting.

I thank Morag. She informs me about the dinner time before leaving. Then I allow myself to indulge in a long, luxurious bath, letting the warmth ease away the exhaustion of the day.

When I finally step out, wrapped in a towel, I notice my clothes have already been neatly unpacked and hung in the spacious wardrobe. But I had packed light so the full wardrobe takes me by surprise.

I open one of the drawers to find delicate new silk lingerie, which makes me flush. The realization that tonight is our first night together as husband and wife, makes me red all over.

Well, technically our first night was spent on the jet. But tonight, I get to be with him.

I move to the gowns Damian had somehow managed to arrange for me. My hands run over the delicate fabrics, feeling the smoothness of silk, the richness of velvet. I take a moment, fingers lingering on a soft champagne-colored gown. Perfect.

I’m going to surprise Damian. I am going to dress up for him for our dinner. Tonight, I’m going to dress up like the new bride that I am.

I pull the gown out and slip into it, its fabric cool against my skin, gliding down effortlessly. It hugs my body in all the right places.

Moving to the vanity, I carefully pick out jewelry. My fingers trace over a dainty golden chain, and I clasp it around my neck. Simple matching earrings follow.

I brush a light dusting of blush onto my cheeks and apply a nude gloss to my lips.

By the time I’m ready, the sky has darkened completely. My pulse quickens as I glance toward the door, hoping that Damian would be waiting for me downstairs. I smooth my hands over the gown, take one last look in the mirror, and head toward the door, excitement and nerves twining in my chest.

As I descend the grand staircase, the hall below is silent. My heart races with anticipation. Archibald greets me at the bottom of the stairs. “Mrs. Montgomery, I was just about to come up and inform ye that Mr. Montgomery won’t be joinin’ ye for dinner tonight.”

I stop in my tracks, the words hitting me harder than they should. “He’s... not?” I ask, my voice laced with disappointment. “Why?”

“He’s gone out.”

“Where did he go?” I ask weakly.

“I’m afraid I dinnae know, ma’am. He left earlier and... didnae say when he’d return.”

A dull ache forms in my chest as the excitement I’d felt moments ago drains away. I spent so much time getting ready, imagining what it would be like to share our first romantic dinner together as husband and wife, and now... he’s gone.

CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE

Present

I give a little cry as Damian hauls me out of the car unceremoniously. He doesn’t even bother closing the door behind us, his focus locked solely on dragging me inside the mansion.

“Damian, let go of me!” I snap, yanking my arm, but his grip on my wrist is like a vise, not letting up for a second.

“Not a chance,” he growls.

I dig my heels into the ground, trying to slow him down, but it’s like trying to stop a freight train. “I said, let me go!” My voice rises, furious. I shove at his bicep, my fingers curling into his shirt sleeve, but the muscles underneath don’t budge.

He doesn’t even acknowledge my struggle—just grips me tighter, moving with brutal efficiency. I thrash harder, swinging my arm back to hit him, but he catches it mid-air, his eyes flashing with dark amusement.

“Keep fighting me, River. See where it gets you.” His words are a warning, but I can hear the enjoyment in his tone. Bastard.

I try to plop down on the floor of our salon but he is faster, he grabs my body and maneuvers me in front of him then begins pushing me inside. I claw at his hands around me, twisting my body in his grasp, but he only grunts in response before I’m suddenly lifted off my feet, flung over his shoulder like a sack of flour. “Damian!” I scream, kicking my legs uselessly as the world spins upside down.

He marches with me hanging over him, utterly powerless.

Through the disorienting view, I spot Vicky and Hal, watching. My face burns with fury and embarrassment. Vicky’s face is red as she watches us. But Hal has no expression on his face. I glare at him, silently demanding his help.

“No one’s going to help you, angel,” Damian says coolly. “You’re mine.”

“Put me down, you psycho!” I hit him on his ass, but it only makes him chuckle, his pace quickening as he storms up the stairs toward the master bedroom.

He doesn’t stop until we are inside. Then I’m thrown onto the bed, my breath knocked out as Damian’s dark figure looms over me. I prop myself on my elbows to glare at him. He stares at me for a few beats before turning and walking away.

Relief hits me so hard my elbows give out, and I collapse onto the bed, my chest rising and falling with each ragged breath. Thank God, he’s leaving me alone.

I watch him reach for the door, his fingers curling around the handle. My heart stops when instead of leaving, he swings the door shut, the soft click of the lock echoing in the room with a dangerous finality.

Panic grips me. I scramble off the bed, but his voice slices through the silence.

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you.”

My body freezes for a heartbeat, but my defiance kicks in. I stand beside the bed, lifting my chin as if I’m not terrified of what comes next.

He arches an eyebrow. “Are you in the mood of a rematch?”

Heat floods my cheeks, the memory of last night flashing in my mind—me running through the mansion in nothing but a towel, with Damian chasing after me.

“No! I’m not. I just want to be away from you… W-what are you doing?”

With his piercing gaze locked on me, he reaches behind his head, gripping his sweater, and pulls it off in one smooth motion. He drops it to the floor. His bare chest gleams in the dim light of the room, every muscle taut as he watches me like a predator about to pounce.

“I said no, Damian!” My voice rises, as he kicks off his shoes, his hands already moving to the waistband of his jeans.

His response is maddeningly calm. “And I heard you.”

My eyes dart around the room, desperate for some kind of escape, but there’s nothing. No help, no way out.

“I am not your sex toy to use whenever you want!” I throw the words at him like daggers, hoping they’ll wound him, but he just smirks, that dark, infuriating smirk that makes my blood boil.

“You’re my wife,” he says, as if that one word is all the justification he needs. His gaze sweeps over me, heated and possessive, and I hate the way my body reacts, my skin tingling under his scrutiny.

“Wife? I never felt like your wife!”

He shrugs, his jeans unbuttoned as he steps closer, his movements deliberate. “Only proves I need to work harder at being a husband.”

“That’s not what I meant!” My eyes dart to the bathroom, and I take a step back, my pulse racing. “I want nothing to do with you. Absolutely nothing!”

“Prove it.”

It’s ironic how, once, I used to crave his attention, used to bend over backward just to get him to look at me. Now, I’d give anything to escape his gaze, to have him look away, to have him let me go.

When he prowls toward me, I bolt toward the bathroom. But Damian’s right there, his footsteps heavy behind me. I feel the air shift as he lunges for me, his hand catches the back of my jacket, yanking me to a stop. I twist out of the jacket, letting him have it before slipping past him and racing for the bedroom door.

My fingers fumble with the handle, yanking it open. I give a startled cry when his palm slams against the door above my head with a deafening thud, forcing it shut again.

I’m trembling whether from anger or fear, I can’t tell anymore but it fuels me. It gives me strength. “Either leave, or let me go!” I shout, turning to face him.

His gaze darkens as he steps closer. “No.”

“You can’t keep me here against my will!” My fists are clenched at my sides, nails digging into my palms as I fight to hold my ground.

He leans in, his breath hot against my ear. “Watch me.”

“I don’t want you, Damian!”

“And I told you to prove it.” His voice is dark, taunting, and before I can even react, his hand shoots out, gripping my wrist and yanking me toward him. His other arm wraps around my waist, pulling me against his bare chest, the heat of his skin burning through my thin clothes.

“Get your hands off me!” I struggle, pushing at his chest, but his grip tightens, his arms locking me in place. His mouth crashes down on mine, brutal and demanding, his lips forcing mine apart in a kiss that’s more about domination than anything else. It’s rough and consuming, and I hate myself for the way my body reacts, heat pooling low in my belly despite my every effort to resist.

His hands move over me, rough and possessive, one sliding down my back, the other tangling in my hair, yanking my head back to deepen the kiss. His teeth graze my lower lip, biting down just hard enough to send a shock of pain through me, making me gasp.

“You can fight me all you want,” he growls against my lips. “But you’re still mine.”

That’s when I snap. I lean forward and bite into his jaw—hard. It’s no playful nip. I want to hurt him. He grunts in response before releasing me. I’m disappointed when I see there’s no blood, just a faint red mark where my teeth sank in.

“You little hellcat.”

I glare at him, ready to lunge again, but before I can move, he’s already seized my wrists, wrenching them behind my back. His grip is brutal as he pulls me hard against him. “I thought I fucked the fight out of you last night and this morning. Guess I was wrong.”

My breath is ragged, fury blazing through me as I struggle against his iron hold. “You kicked me out of your office earlier,” I spit, trying to remind him of his own dismissal.

He secures my wrists in one hand, the other reaching up to brush a curl away from my face with chilling calm. “And that’s why you’re denying us our pleasure?”

“No!” I grit out. “I just don’t want to right now. Go ahead, kick me out of the bedroom too!”

Instead of leaving me alone like he did before, he crushes my breasts with his hair roughened chest. “Why would I kick you out when I plan on keeping you hostage right here?”

My eyes widen. I start thrashing again, yanking my wrists, trying to twist free, but he doesn’t budge. His strength only seems to grow with my struggle. Suddenly his gaze drift downward and stays there while I continue to wrestle.

After a few seconds, when he still continues to stare down, I’m forced to look down too. And I’m horrified to see the top of my shirt gaping open, my breasts looking like they might burst free at any moment.

He lifts his heavy-lidded, aroused gaze to lock with mine. Then slowly lowers his head to kiss me. I instinctively lift my knee, aiming for his groin, but he effortlessly avoids it, capturing the back of my knee instead and holding me open to grind his erection against me. The force sends shockwaves of desire coursing through my body.

“Is that how you want to play?” his voice low and dark. As if to punish me for my defiance, he reaches between us, his hand finding my breast. He squeezes it through the fabric of my shirt. Then with his thumb and forefinger he captures my already hardened nipple, twisting it cruelly, making me whimper.

I stare up at my husband. No, not my husband. This man is my lover. He’s never been a husband, just a man who knows how to bring me pleasure and take it just as easily. A man who shuts down the instant he’s satisfied, not caring about me or my feelings. Husbands don’t act like this.

He lowers his head, burying it in my throat, inhaling the scent of my skin like it’s the most intoxicating thing in the world.

“Let me go,” I mumble, closing my eyes. We both know I don’t just mean for this moment. I mean forever. Damian tenses, the muscles in his body tightening as he pulls back and releases my leg. I feel his eyes on me, studying me, as if trying to read the depths of my soul.

I wait for him to say something. Anything. But nothing comes.

The silence seems to go on and on until I can’t stand it anymore. I hesitantly peek at him through my lashes and find his jaw clenched tight.

“I can’t.”

“Why?” I ask quietly.

“I have my reasons,” he replies, then he hooks his fingers in the waistband of my pants and pulls me until I’m flush against him. “Now tell me, do you want it against the door or on the bed?”

“Neither!” I shoot back and push him away. But instead of retreating, he seizes me by the collar and rips my shirt open in one swift motion. The buttons scatter across the floor, and I gasp in shock, staring down at myself as the shirt hangs open, exposing my white lace bra. “How dare you?” I manage to sputter.

“Because I want you,” he declares, his eyes dark and hungry as he drinks in the sight of me. He devours me with his gaze, as if he’s seeing me for the first time. As if we hadn’t spent the entire night and this morning lost in each other’s arms.

I watch, dry-mouthed, as his eyes trace over my skin, lingering on the bite marks and the stubble rash sprinkled across my chest and abdomen, disappearing into the waistband of my pants.

Watching him watch me with his lips slightly parted, pupils dilated is intoxicating. Heat floods my veins as his dark gaze roams over every inch of my exposed skin.

When he lifts those dark eyes, goosebumps rise on my arms.

I swallow thickly as he eats up the small distance between us. One hand grips my waist while the other captures my breast, his fingers kneading my flesh with a possessiveness that sends tremors through my body. He keeps his gaze trained on me, noting everything—the quickening of my breath, my flushed skin, the way my lips part as a soft mewl escapes.

Pure satisfaction glimmers in his eyes, making me aware that I am losing again. I grit my teeth. And when he bends to kiss me, I retaliate by tilting my head back, a provocative challenge written all over my face. His eyes narrow as he leans closer. But I dodge him, tilting my head away just out of reach, savoring the power of the moment. When he tries to go for it again, I smugly turn my head to the side only to be shocked when he attaches his mouth to my neck, hot and hard, sucking and nibbling with a ferocity that makes me wince.

He’s punishing me for denying him, and it only fuels my defiance. Wrapping my arms around him, I dig my nails into his smooth back, scratching down, pressing harder in an attempt to draw blood. If I can leave marks, that would be even better.

He retaliates by grabbing a handful of my ass and squeezing hard until I know I’ll have bruises, a mark for a mark. “Jerk,” I hiss, digging my nails deeper, desperate to one-up him.

This time, instead of rising to the bait, he slides his hand down my bare abdomen and deftly unbuttons my pants.

“What are you doing?” I squirm, needing to escape, but it’s too late. He’s yanked my zipper down, and his hand slips beneath the waistband of my panties, burrowing deep until his fingertips brush against my clit through my slick folds. The sensation is so shocking, I cry out.

“Reminding you who you belong to,” he murmurs, his fingers moving slowly, back and forth, teasing, tormenting. “So, fighting makes my wife horny?”

“Shut up.” I snap, but my body is betraying me. I can feel the heat pooling low in my belly as I lean into him, gasping when he thrusts a thick finger deep inside.

“You’re desperate for this,” he says, the corner of his mouth curling a little.

I tense, pulling back. “You wish.”

Unfazed, he continues, “You hate that your body craves me. You fight me, resist me, all to soothe your conscience. Deep down, you know I’ll take what I want. That way, you get to enjoy me and still get to blame me.”

“That’s bullshit!”

“Is that so?” He presses a second finger into me, and I gasp, arching my back as pleasure floods through me. “But look at you, soaking wet and ready for me. You want this as much as I do.”

“You don’t get to decide what I want!”

“Oh, but I do.” He pinches my sensitive nipple between his fingers, the perfect mix of pleasure and pain, as his fingers work inside me, driving deeper, faster. “You want to act tough, but I can feel how your walls are clenching around me. You’re begging for it, angel.”

“Fuck you!”

“You will.” He presses his thumb against my clit. My inner muscles tighten, clinging to his rough fingers, just like he said, begging for it. I part my mouth to moan but keep it in.

He doesn’t like it. He leans in and captures my lower lip with his teeth, biting down just enough to elicit a whimper. Triumph dances in his eyes.

“Damian...” I trail off as his fingers curl and thrust inside me, hitting that spot that makes my body writhe. “Oh God…” I moan, my resolve slipping away as I chase that peak.

His hand that was pinching and tugging at my nipple wraps around my waist, anchoring me as his fingers pump in and out of me, faster, harder.

“Tell me you love it.”

I shake my head defiantly, but a whimper escapes when he rubs my clit with expert precision, his fingers gliding over my slick folds like they own the territory.

“River.”

Reluctantly, I look up at him, surrendering just a little.

“Tell me,” he growls.

“Fine! I love it!” I admit, my cheeks flushing as I feel my body surrendering to the pleasure he’s inflicting on me.

“Good girl,” he praises, and something primal ignites within me at the sound of those words. The pressure builds, coiling tight in my core, and I know I’m on the brink.

“I need more.”

“More? I thought you didn’t want me.” He slows his pace, drawing out the pleasure, and the frustration bubbles up inside me like molten lava.

“Damian!” I whine, my voice laced with impatience. “Don’t tease me!”

“Tease you?” He raises an eyebrow, feigning innocence as his fingers come to a halt. “But you seem to be enjoying the fight, angel.”

“I can’t take it anymore,” I whimper, my body aching for him, craving the release that’s just out of reach.

“Then beg for it,” he commands, his voice thick with dark satisfaction.

I glare at him, the heat of my arousal battling with my pride. “I won’t beg,” I say, but the quiver in my voice betrays me.

“Beg me, River,” he presses. “I want to hear you say it.”

“I hate you.” The tension between us crackles, and my body betrays my words, every nerve ending screaming for him.

“Last chance,” he warns, leaning in closer, his breath hot against my ear. “You want this? Show me how much.”

With a frustrated growl, I realize I’m out of options. My pride crumbles under the weight of my desire. “Damian, please! I need you. I need to feel you inside me.”

“Good girl,” he murmurs, satisfaction darkening his eyes as he thrusts his fingers deep inside me again, picking up speed.

“Fuck! Yes!” I cry out, the heat curling tighter in my belly, and I know I’m teetering on the edge once more.

“Let go, angel,” he urges, and the way he says it makes my heart race. “Come for me. Let me hear you scream my name.”

I throw my head back, surrendering to the waves of pleasure crashing over me. “Damian! Oh God, I’m—”

“Yes. That’s it.” His fingers move relentlessly. My body shatters around his digits, exploding as I scream his name, drowning in pleasure.

After I come down, breathing heavily, I open my eyes to find him studying me intently, a satisfied smile spreading across his face.

I lost, and that realization fills me with great shame and at the same time makes me livid.

His expression practically screams: I win, and that’s a bitter pill to swallow. I refuse to be defeated, not again.

With a bold move, I reach down and palm his hard cock over his jeans. “I want to suck your cock.”

For the first time ever, surprise flickers in Damian’s eyes. My filthy demand has caught him off guard. Obviously, it would because I never did this before. Seizing the moment, I spin us around, shoving him against the wall. His back thuds against it.

He watches me silently as I pull down the zipper with deliberate slowness. He lets me free his thick cock, and I can’t help but bite my lip at the sight.

I wrap both hands around his girth, feeling the heat radiate from him, and then, with slow seductive move, I shrug out of my shirt, letting it fall to the floor. Then I sink to my knees on the fabric.

Damian has always wielded sex like a weapon, using it to keep me under his thumb, exploiting my weakness for him. But now? Now it’s my turn. I want to wipe that smugness off his face and I’m halfway there already. I intend to make him lose control. I intend to win.

I squeeze him hard, my fingers tightening around his shaft. He doesn’t flinch; if anything, he grows harder, relishing the pressure.

Concealing my anger, I slide my hand down to the root then back up, hopefully applying the right pressure. This is uncharted territory, and I’m relying entirely on my instincts and Damian’s reactions.

I revel in the way his chest rises and falls. The way he stares down at me is doing something to me. Although I’m doing this to retaliate, I can’t help but bask in the new pleasure that I have found. To make Damian squirm. For me.

I can feel him pulse beneath my touch. He’s so hard.

Payback time.

I lean forward, pause for a second before flicking my tongue against the tip, savoring the salty taste of his precum pooling there. His breath hitches, and I smile at the sound.

I envelop him with my mouth, swirling my tongue around the head, drawing out another bead of precum.

I spend few minutes just sucking and licking the tip. Then I bob my head, taking him further down my throat. The burn of his thickness makes me gag.

“Fucking hell,” he hisses, fingers curling into fists at his sides. I can see the muscles in his jaw working as he fights to keep his composure. But I’m determined to make him lose that battle.

Every muscle in his body tenses. I can see his control slipping, piece by piece, under the assault of my mouth. I glance up, and the raw need in his eyes is a drug, pulling me deeper into my own desire.

He curses again, his head falling back against the wall, eyes squeezing shut as I pull away for a brief moment, letting my tongue swirl around the head of his cock, coaxing out another desperate sound from him.

Fuck, I wasn’t prepared for how hot Damian would look. Why didn’t I do this before? Because he always did everything his way, to maintain his control.

I do it again, teasing him, and the low, primal groan that escapes his lips sends a brutal ache through me, making my pussy clench hard. As if that wasn’t enough to undo me, Damian opens his eyes and gazes down, making me shiver.

Slowly, he gathers my curls in both hands, pulling them back into a firm grip like a makeshift ponytail, owning every inch of me. Without breaking eye contact, he guides my mouth back to his throbbing cock.

I take him in my mouth again and expect him to takeover. To set the pace. To get his control back. But he doesn’t. He simply holds my hair back and watches me as I pleasure him.

With one hand pumping his base, my other hand slides lower, fingers grazing against his balls, gently massaging them.

“Yes, angel. You’re doing so good,” he grunts.

I double the effort, the line effectively blurred between wanting to see him lose and wanting to pleasure him.

His taste, his feel, his scent is making me wetter. My need for him is increasing.

I pull back, letting him slip out of my mouth for just a moment, relishing the way he glistens with my saliva. I look up at him. “You like that?”

Before he can respond, I take him back in, my mouth hollowing out as I press forward, the tip hitting the back of my throat. I swallow around him, feeling him shudder at the sensation.

“Keep going,” he urges, voice gravelly.

I don’t need to be told twice. I quicken the pace, my mouth working him skillfully, picking it up quicker than I thought. I’m already mastering it. I love the way he throbs, how he surrenders a little more with each passing second.

“Fuck,” he mutters, the sound of his voice driving me wild. “You have no idea what you’re doing to me.”

I respond with a moan, pulling back just enough to catch my breath before diving back in, taking him deeper, sucking hard, the sound of my mouth gliding against him echoing in the otherwise quiet room. I feel him twitching, sense the way he’s on the brink, and I push harder, my tongue flicking against his sensitive spots as my hands work faster.

“Enough,” he grunts.

Out of breath, trembling, I glance up at my towering husband, his powerful frame makes me feel small, utterly owned. The sight of his tight muscles and labored breathing has me on the edge.

I can feel the heat radiating from him, so close, ready to come down my throat. I continue moving my mouth on him as my hands stroke his thighs, gripping the jeans that’s still around his knees.

“I need to be inside you,” he grinds out but I refuse to listen. I close my eyes and keep sucking, gagging a few times but don’t stop.

Abruptly, he shoves his hands under my arms and yanks me up. I can hardly process the shift as he pushes me against the wall, yanking off my trousers and panties like they’re nothing but an obstacle.

“I was winning,” I grumble then cry out in surprise when he cups my ass and lifts me off the ground.

“You’ve already won,” he says as he lowers me onto his hard cock. I wrap my legs and arms around him as he starts to fuck me.

His thrusts are hard, relentless, driving me into the wall with each powerful stroke. I can feel the pleasure coiling tight in my belly, building with every thrust, every movement sending shocks of ecstasy through me.

“God, yes,” I moan, lost in the sensation. He drives deeper, hitting all the right spots until I’m crying out, coming against the wall, my body trembling with the force of it.

But he’s not done. He pulls out, lowers me to the floor, ripping my bra off before forcing me onto all fours on the cold, hard ground. The chill against my heated skin only heightens my desire.

Soon he is kneeling behind me and plunging back into me, his hands gripping my hips as he fucks me hard from behind. I rock against him, both of us loud, voicing the pleasure we are drawing from each other. He grabs my hair, yanking it hard, my scalp stinging as his fist tightens. But I take it. I fucking want it.

The roughness, the urgency, it pushes me over the edge again, and I’m gasping, tears running down my face.

He pulls me up again, taking me to the bed, and I barely have time to catch my breath before he’s on me once more. This time, it’s slow, deep, as he fills me completely, taking me to heights once again.

Each thrust drives me wild until I’m screaming, and I’m coming apart, my whole body shaking.

After that, he quickens his pace, pounding into me hard and fast. He finally chases his own climax, his body tensing and then he’s coming inside me.

He buries his face in the crook of my neck, breathing hard. Then after a few minutes, he lifts his head. “Are you okay?”

I nod, wincing as he pulls out of me. Suddenly cold, I yank at the sheets from under me and settle inside. I wait for him to go take a shower and forget about me like he always does. He’s not the one to cuddle or pillow talk. Which is fine by me as I’m used to it.

As predicted, he turns and heads in the direction of the bathroom. But before entering, he stops suddenly and then without turning says, “For his sake, you’ll stay away from him.”

I frown. “Stay away from whom?”

He turns then, his eyes hard. “Matthew Lane.”

CHAPTER FORTY

Past

Rejected. That’s the only word that can describe what I’m feeling as I slowly wipe the last smudge of makeup from my face. My reflection stares back at me, stripped bare—not just of the look I spent hours preparing, but of every hope I had to make things better between us tonight.

I change into the new satin nightgown and sink down onto the edge of the bed, suddenly too tired. He said he didn’t regret marrying me. Then why is he behaving like this? Did my father’s disapproval, the world’s judgment really break him? The man I married was strong, powerful... but maybe even someone like Damian has limits.

Tears sting the back of my eyes, but I swallow them down. Crying won’t change anything. It won’t make him come back or explain why he’s been so distant since yesterday. It won’t make him look at me the way I crave—like I’m worth the sacrifices, like he didn’t make the biggest mistake of his life by marrying me.

I stand and walk toward the window, my legs heavy, every step takes more strength than I have left. The night outside is dark, the kind of dark that swallows everything whole, leaving nothing but cold emptiness. I press my hand to the glass, my heart aching with the cruel reality that he’s out there somewhere, and I’m stuck here, wondering what I did wrong.

I can’t even call him. I have no phone, no way to reach him, and the humiliation of asking someone downstairs is unbearable. Earlier, when Morag brought food, I refused. Not because I wasn’t hungry, but because my heart was too heavy to eat. She left with a pitying look. Going down there now would only add to my shame.

I’m alone. Completely and utterly alone in a foreign place, surrounded by strangers.

I dressed up for him tonight, wanting him to notice me, to feel the spark of something. I wanted to be the wife he’d be proud of—the wife he’d want to stay with. But now, it feels pathetic.

My chest clenches painfully. I bite down on my lip to stop the tears from spilling over. No. I can’t break down. I tell myself he might have something important to do. That’s why he left without telling me. He’s a busy man. He’s always been driven, working harder than anyone else to get where he is today.

He’s a man with responsibilities. I knew this when I married him, didn’t I? I can’t expect him to drop everything just because I’m here now.

I’ll wait. I’ll always wait for him. We’ll have dinner together when he returns.

Wrapping the robe around me, I sit by the door in a lounge chair, watching the minutes tick by.

The seconds stretch out, each one longer than the last, making me wonder if the clock’s even moving at all.

But as the clock creeps past two in the morning, I push to my feet, my legs stiff from sitting in one position for so long. My body aches, and I wince as I stretch.

I use the bathroom, brush my teeth and disrobe before slipping under the cool sheets of the four-poster bed. The bed feels too big, too empty. I curl up on my side, staring at the door, waiting... but he doesn’t come.

At some point, sleep overtakes me, exhaustion and jetlag winning out. But even in sleep, there’s no peace. I toss and turn, caught in restless dream where I’m wandering through empty halls, calling out his name, hearing nothing but the echo of my own voice.

Then suddenly, a warm hand settles on my shoulder. I mumble something but don’t open my eyes. I give a startled cry when I’m suddenly rolled onto my back and pinned beneath a heavy weight.

My eyes snap open, heart pounding. The darkness makes it hard to see but the smell of alcohol hits me. “W-what? Who are you?”

“Your husband.” There’s no mistaking that cold, rough tone, the one I’ve been aching to hear for hours. Damian. He’s finally back.

“Where were you?” I whisper, barely able to focus with him hovering over me like this. I can feel the hard line of his body pressed against me through the thin fabric of my nightgown.

His eyes burn into me, dark and unreadable in the dimness of the room. “Out,” he mutters, his tone low, almost dismissive. His hand shifts, sliding under the hem of my nightgown, his palm hot against the cool skin of my thigh.

I jump, arousal heating my skin. “With who?” I ask, my voice shaky, trying to concentrate while his touch begins to undo me.

“Hal.” He shifts, his breath hot against my skin as he answers, his lips brushing my neck, making me shiver.

“W-was it work?” My breath hitches when his fingers inch higher, and I can’t stop the way my body shudders in response once again.

He shakes his head, his hand sliding to my waist, gripping me just tight enough to make me catch my breath.

I squirm beneath him, trying to focus, but it’s impossible with the way he’s touching me. It’s the first time he is doing it so freely. In the past, he always had this restraint, never allowing us to move past kissing. But now, he is pinning me under him and is touching me with a familiarity as if we’ve done this countless of times before. “If not work, what was it about?”

He lifts his head, his hair tousled, his eyes dark but a bit less guarded than usual. “You.”

“Me?”

I reach up and frame his face in my hand. “What about me, Damian? Please talk to—” my breath catches when he turns his face and catches my finger between his lips, biting it gently. The action startles me so much, I gape at him with wide eyes.

“You’re drunk.” I think out loud.

He releases my finger then gives a lazy nod. “I was drinking.”

“With Hal?”

He nods again, burying his head back in my neck.

“Because of me?” When there’s no response, I rake my fingers through his silky hair. “Damian?”

Abruptly, he sits up, yanking me with him. “You talk too much.”

I barely have time to catch my breath before he’s yanking my nightgown up and over my head, tossing it behind him.

Gasping, I cross my arms over my naked breasts. But he catches my hands and parts them. “I’ve been burning for you, angel.”

Still clutching my wrists, he lowers me on my back, pinning them above my head. I shudder when his shirt grazes my hard nipples.

“I’ve waited an eternity to have you. Don’t you dare hide from me now.”

I melt. Just like that “Really?”

His response is to kiss me. Passionately and hungrily. His tongue sweeps inside me with so much demand, it steals my breath away. Releasing my wrists, he cups my jaw to hold me in place while he tilts his mouth to deepen the kiss.

Then he pulls back. His hands grip my thighs, pulling me open wider as he moves between my legs. His trouser clad thighs rubbing against my inner thighs while his hard-on nestles against my wet pussy.

“You weren’t part of my plan.”

I still. “Plan?”

He claims my mouth again. This time with an edge of resentment to his kiss. As if he is punishing me. His hands are moving all over, his movements eager, starved. And impatient.

I close my eyes and soak it all in. I have been waiting for this day. This moment when Damian would finally make me his. I dreamed about this night thousands of times, my mind creating thousand different fantasies about what it would be like to be with him.

I wasn’t a part of his plan. He probably means future plans. But I am glad that I am now. I wanted Damian and I have him now. I’ve lost many things to get here. I’ve did things, went against people I love to have him. And even though I know life won’t be easy, given his workaholic nature, I’ll make do. I’ll compromise because I have the love of my life in my arms. What more can a girl dream for?

When he thrusts his hips against my core, I gasp against his lips. Damian’s eyes brighten and he does it again, making me cry out. He loves it. I can see it in the way he runs his gaze over my face, taking in my smallest reactions to his actions. It is giving him a kick.

“So responsive. I’m going to enjoy you thoroughly.”

My mouth drops open. He runs a caressing finger along my parted lower lip. His eyes turn a little amused. “Don’t worry, angel. I’ll make sure you enjoy more than me.” He then pushes one finger inside my mouth. I stare up at his mesmerizing eyes, my lips automatically closing around his digit. “Even though you don’t deserve it.”

I halt. “Wha—” I choke when he presses deeper.

“You wanted me, didn’t you, River?” I just stare at him with wide, fearful eyes. “You’ve got me. Now you don’t get to regret it.”

My brows furrow. Why would I regret it? I want to ask. Why is he talking like this when he just admitted of waiting an eternity to have me? Damian doesn’t let me dwell on it as he withdraws his finger and delivers another hard and thorough kiss on my swollen lips.

From there, he doesn’t give me a single minute to think, his body shifting down my trembling one, his mouth on my breasts, his tongue flicking over my hardened nipples.

My strangled moans are echoing in the room, my fingers tangling in his hair as his mouth works over me, sucking, biting to send sparks of pleasure straight to my core.

I watch trembling as he presses my tits together and licks, sucks and nibbles on the rosy peaks, his stubble rubbing against my heated skin. My back arches, soft cries emanating from my lips as he continues his erotic assault.

He moves lower, trailing kisses down my stomach, and I’m panting.

“Damian…” I whisper, but he’s already between my legs, spreading them wide. The way he looks at me, his eyes filled with hunger, makes me feel so exposed that I try to close my legs, but he stops me, keeping them open.

“You’re mine,” he growls before his mouth is on me, his tongue licking a hot, wet stripe up my pussy. I cry out, my hips bucking, but he pins me down with his hands, holding me in place as he devours me. Every flick of his tongue, every suck on my clit sends me higher, closer to a blinding edge. I can’t believe what’s happening right now. I can’t believe the things he is doing to me. It feels… so dirty, so… good.

My heart is slamming against my breastbone so hard. I can’t hold back. My body clenches, trembling, as he drives me closer and closer to the brink. And when his finger slides inside me, curling just right, I shatter. The orgasm crashes over me, wave after wave of pleasure that leaves me gasping, trembling beneath him.

But he’s not done. He pushes off me and stands. He takes off his clothes in record speed. Then Damian moves over me, his body covering mine, and plunges into me with a force that makes me cry out in pain.

He curses then stills. My nails dig into his back. He’s fully inside me. And I’m in agony.

There’s a long silence as I get used to the feeling of fullness and tackle the pain. I could’ve used few encouraging words from him. But it’s just as well. As the pain subsides to the dull ache, I glance up at him and then nod.

When he shifts a little, I gasp, and he stops again, looking down. “Okay?”

I take a deep breath then nod. He then slowly withdraws. And then he pushes inside me. Slowly, inch by inch, stretching me, filling me in a way that feels both painful and unbearably good.

“Fuck, River…” his voice strained. “So fucking tight.”

I can barely breathe, overwhelmed by the feeling of him inside me, but the dull pain starts to fade, replaced by a deep, aching pleasure. He pulls out slowly, only to thrust back in, harder this time, and I moan, my body arching up instinctively to meet him.

He sets a steady rhythm, each thrust harder, faster, his hips slamming into mine as he fucks me. The sound of our bodies colliding fills the room, and I’m lost in the sensation, lost in him.

“One look at you…” His hand grips my hair, pulling my head back so I’m forced to look into his eyes as he takes me, his hips slamming into mine with a force that makes my body rock.

“And I had to have you,” he growls, his voice dark, possessive, sending shivers down my spine as he fucks me hard, his cock filling me over and over.

I cling to him, my hand fisting in his hair and the other wrapped around him as he takes me relentlessly, his pace unforgiving, and I can feel my release building again.

“Damian!” I gasp as he thrusts harder, his cock hitting deep inside me, pushing me closer and closer to the edge.

His lips brush my ear as he speaks. “Now you’re completely mine,” he murmurs, his words sending a shiver of heat through me as my orgasm crashes over me, my body convulsing beneath him.

He doesn’t stop, doesn’t give me a moment to catch my breath as he flips me over onto my stomach, his hands gripping my hips as he pulls me up onto all fours.

His cock slams into me again, and I can’t hold back the scream that rips from my throat, the pleasure and pain too much to bear. He’s relentless, his pace brutal, and I can feel the heat of his body against mine as he fucks me harder, his hand gripping my hair, pulling me back so I’m forced to take every inch of him.

“Damian!” I cry, my body shaking as he drives into me over and over.

He lets out a low growl, his hips slamming into mine one final time before I feel him come inside me, his cock pulsing as he fills me completely. I collapse onto the bed, my body spent, trembling beneath him, his weight pressing down on me as he leans over, his breath hot against my skin. “Now we both suffer.”

Without warning, he pulls out of me, making me whimper. Then just as abruptly, he springs off the bed, his movements sharp, angry.

“I need a shower.” His voice is flat, detached—like what just happened didn’t even matter.

The sheets are still tangled around me as I struggle to sit up.

My heart twists painfully as I watch his broad back disappear through the door. The sound of the bathroom door clicking shut feels final, as though our special moment we just shared meant nothing to him.

Humiliation burns in my chest. He just… left. My eyes sting, and I bite my lip to hold back the tears. I’m still here, exposed, vulnerable, while he washes away any trace of me.

The next day, Damian locked himself away in his study, leaving me to wander the massive, cold castle alone. I didn’t see him at all, didn’t hear a word from him. It was as if I’d vanished from his world the moment the sun rose.

Every night, though, he came to me. He fucked me in the darkness, took what he wanted without a word, without tenderness, then disappeared again before the morning light touched his side of the bed. It was a brutal routine, and I felt more like a ghost in his life than his wife.

We stayed in that castle for a week, an endless cycle of silent days and lust-filled, hollow nights. I kept hoping things would change, that he’d finally look at me, see me for more than just a body to use. But every morning I woke to find his side of the bed cold, my heart a little colder too.

By the time we returned to Los Angeles, something inside me had cracked. The bubble I’d built around us burst. I realized that Damian wasn’t just distant; he was deliberately keeping me at arm’s length. I was clueless before. I remember spending sleepless nights worrying over the reasons behind this sudden change in him. But never got the answer.

Over that year, I loved him with everything I had. I tried, God, how I tried. I thought if I gave him time, if I showed him enough devotion, he’d eventually see me, love me. I would wait by the door like a fool every time he left for one of his endless business trips, hoping he’d say something—anything—that would tell me he was starting to care. But he was barely home. Weeks would pass, and when he finally did return, it wasn’t for me. It was for those cold nights when he’d take me, rough and wordless, like I was something to be used, then discarded. I tried to make those moments count, tried to tell myself that at least he was with me, that at least I had a piece of him, even if it wasn’t love.

But the truth was, those nights only deepened the ache. He would leave again before the morning light, off to whatever business mattered more than I did. I would stand at the window, watching, waiting for him to come back, praying that maybe this time, he’d stay more than a week. That maybe, just maybe, he’d look at me like I was his wife and not just some burden he was forced to bear.

Each time he left, the silence he left behind swallowed me whole. I filled that silence with hope, with excuses for him, convincing myself that the next time would be different.

It never was.

My heart broke a little more every time he walked out that door. The love I poured into every look, every touch, every word—he took it and gave nothing back. And still, I stayed, still I tried to be the wife he wanted, even though he barely acknowledged I existed outside of those brief, brutal moments we shared in bed. I was always waiting. Waiting for him to come home, waiting for him to see me, waiting for the love I craved.

But now… now I know better. Damian will never love me. He never did. And the worst part is, I think he knew all along. Knew that no matter how hard I tried, he would never give me what I wanted because this was never about us. It was always about something else—some grudge, some hatred against my father that goes beyond business rivalry, something I can’t even begin to understand.

That’s how I ended up here, trapped in a loveless marriage with a man I once thought could love me back. A man who took everything I had to give and left me with nothing but the ache of knowing I was never enough for him. And that’s how Damian who was the love of my life became my ruthless husband.

CHAPTER FORTY-ONE

Present

I should run. I need to run. That’s the only thought in my head as I slowly lower myself into the steaming bath, wincing as the hot water kisses my sore, aching skin. Everything hurts. My thighs, my hips, my arms… even muscles I didn’t know I had are screaming. What the hell is wrong with Damian?

It’s been two weeks. Two freaking weeks of non-stop fucking. Fourteen days since he yanked me from the community center and drained every ounce of energy I had in me before growling his warning to stay away from Matt. That was just the start.

It has been fifteen days since he came back from Dubai, and yet he hasn’t left me alone for a second since. No conference calls. No business trips. No meetings. Nothing. Instead, the man has turned into a goddamn sex machine, holding me hostage in our bedroom, doing nothing but fucking my brains out. It feels like he’s cleared his entire schedule just to keep me in bed.

Every time I think I’ve had enough, that my body can’t possibly take more, he proves me wrong. The bedroom door hasn’t opened, except for him to grab food and bring it back. He only left the bed long enough for that, and then he slams it shut, locking us back into this twisted bubble where nothing but his cock and my surrender exist.

Something’s changed.

Damian has always been intense and demanding in bed, but this? This is insanity. He’s insatiable. I don’t know if it’s jealousy from seeing me talk to Matt, or if it’s just another sick power play of his, but whatever it is, it’s got to fucking stop.

I tried everything. When he passed out one afternoon, I thought I had my chance, but the second I reached for the door, he was on me—fucking me against it before I even had a chance to twist the knob. Every escape attempt ends in the same way: with him inside me, bending me to his will, over and over again.

I was so angry that on the eighth day, I snapped. I threw a figurine at him. He just caught it midair and gave me that cold, dangerous look. Then he dragged me over his knee and spanked me so hard my skin burned. When he was done, he flipped me over and fucked me so brutally, I couldn’t speak for hours, my throat raw from screaming. Every time I resisted, he’d punish me with more.

And then there was the bathroom incident. I thought locking myself in there would give me a few minutes of peace. A few minutes without his hands on me, without him making me feel like I belong to him in every possible way.

That psycho ripped the door clean off its hinges, tossed it aside like it was nothing. Once he found me, he didn’t say a word. He just lifted me up, set me on the bathroom countertop, spread my legs, and buried his face in my pussy. He kept me on edge for hours, bringing me to the brink of a release then pulling back every single time.

I was a mess, sobbing, begging, trying to hold onto any shred of sanity, but Damian didn’t stop until I was broken.

When he finally let me come, my body gave out, and I came so hard I squirted all over him. I was mortified, my body shaking with humiliation, but Damian? No, his eyes were dark with satisfaction, as if breaking me down fueled whatever depravity lurked inside him. He was soaked, but all he did was smirk, wiping his face with his hand before shoving his cock inside me again.

Damian has been using me, fucking me in every way imaginable for the past two weeks without so much as a break. I didn’t even get to go to the art fest I worked so hard for. Canceled everything, locked us in this room, and I haven’t left our bed since.

My legs feel like jelly. My thighs are bruised, sore from being spread open for him day and night. My arms ache from being pinned down, my back hurts from all the positions he forces me into, bending me however he wants. I’ve never been used, fucked, and pleasured so thoroughly in my life.

Day after day, night after night, he’s still at it—still hard, still demanding, as if his body is stuck in some never-ending loop of lust.

He should’ve gone back to work by now, should’ve moved on, but no. He’s still here.

The worst part is even after being exhausted 24/7 I still love it. I love how alive he makes me feel.

My body aches all over, but it only takes one look from him, one touch, and I’m ready again.

It’s maddening. My mind is blown. I’ve never experienced anything like this. He’s thirty-two, but it’s like he’s got the stamina of an eighteen-year-old, forever hard, forever horny.

This is unhealthy. We are toxic. I know I should try harder to stop all this. But the thing is, I can’t even resist him at this point. I’m completely powerless. Resisting only makes him hungrier. And my body responds to him before my brain has time to catch up. It’s like my legs part on instinct, my hands reach for him, and I’m lost in the heat of it all over again.

I just want him to leave on a business trip, for my body to get a damn break. My pussy feels battered, swollen because it’s been used beyond its limit.

I let out a long sigh as the heat of the bath soothes my aching muscles, the scent of lavender doing its best to calm me.

My eyes snap open at the sound of Damian’s heavy footsteps. He strides into the bathroom like he owns every inch of it and me. His bare chest is slick with a faint sheen of sweat, his black lounge pants riding low on his hips, drawing my eyes to the hard lines of his body.

“You’ve been in here too long.” His eyes are on mine but they drift slowly, over my wet skin.

I sink deeper into the tub, trying to shield myself from his piercing gaze. “So what?” I mumble, knowing damn well how this conversation’s going to end.

“So, you need to get out.” His heated gaze sweeps over me.

I tense, incredulous. “You can’t be serious, Damian! We just did it ten minutes ago!”

That smile—God, I hate it. It’s the one he wears when he’s about to rip the control right out from under me. “Thought you might want to come downstairs for lunch.”

I blink, surprised. Lunch? Downstairs? He hasn’t let me out of this room in two weeks. But just as quickly as he offers it, he turns away, walking toward the door. “But it’s fine if you don’t feel like it,” he throws over his shoulder casually.

“Wait!” I scramble to stand, water splashing onto the floor as I rush out of the tub. “I’m coming.”

When I see him heading for the towel rack instead of the door, it hits me—the jerk made me think he was leaving. He plucks the plush towel before holding it open for me. He’s watching me, eyes dark and intent as I walk toward him. Without a word, he wraps the towel around me, his hands moving slowly, reverently, as he dries my body. His touch is gentle, too gentle after the way he’s been rough with me earlier. I should feel grateful, but all I feel is wary.

This is what he’s been like lately. Fucks me until I’m shaking, then treats me like I’m something precious, something breakable. He draws me baths, massages the soreness from my legs, even dries me off like this. A year ago, I would’ve killed for this side of him. But now, it just makes me uneasy. The Damian I know doesn’t do soft.

He scoops me into his arms without a word, carrying me like I weigh nothing as he takes me out of the bathroom. We pass by the broken frame where the bathroom door used to be—his handy work from a few days ago.

As he steps into the walk-in closet, he sets me down. “Get dressed.”

“Finally.” I exhale a relieved breath. But before I can even take a step, his hand grips the back of my neck, pulling me into a kiss so rough it makes my knees buckle.

“Don’t make me change my mind,” he growls against my lips, his hand tightening for just a second before he lets me go. And then, he slaps my ass and walks out, leaving me breathless and shaking, my heart pounding in my chest.

◆◆◆

We ended up late for lunch because Damian took one look at me in that tight, knitted bodycon turtleneck dress and decided lunch could wait. Instead, he went down on me, devouring me like I was his last meal, and when he finally pulled back, instead of fucking me, he stripped me down and knelt over me, stroking himself off before he came all over my breasts. “See? I’m being considerate,” he had the audacity to say, like he deserved a medal for not fucking my sore pussy.

After that, he had made a mess, and he knew it, so we ended up in the shower again. He behaved, more or less, except for two heated make-out sessions that left me dizzy but no worse for wear.

Now, as he leads me down to the entertainment zone of the mansion, holding my hand like we’re some lovesick couple, I ask, “Where’s Vicky?”

“She’s gone.”

“Where?” I press, stepping into the movie theater, but he doesn’t answer. We take our seats, and I feel a knot forming in my stomach.

“Damian, where did she go?” I ask again, voice tight with suspicion.

He glances at me, completely unfazed. “I fired her.”

The words hit me like a punch, and I’m on my feet before I can even think. I storm out, refusing to stop when he calls my name.

In the hallway, I run into Hal. My anger flares up at the sight of him. “This was your doing, wasn’t it? You got her fired!”

“She was fired because she was incompetent.” Damian calls out from behind.

I whirl around and find him striding toward me. “The movie’s about to start,” he says, reaching for my hand, but I snatch it away.

“Incompetent?” I shout. “Well, you’re an incompetent husband, but I’m not firing you, am I?”

Hal wisely makes himself scarce, leaving us alone. “Is that why you’ve been playing nice all morning? Buttering me up with my favorite food, planning this stupid movie, all so I won’t lose my mind over you firing Vicky?”

“Yes,” he says with no shame, no remorse, just pure, unapologetic arrogance.

I gasp, his indifference knocking the breath out of me. “You hateful man! Bring her back. Right now!”

His eyes darken. “Don’t raise your voice at me.”

“Oh, I’ll do a lot more than raise my voice if you don’t bring her back!” I threaten, my hands shaking with how badly I want to slap him.

“Why do you want her back so badly?”

“Because she’s the only person in this entire house who gives a damn about me!” I snap, my voice breaking. “I’m serious, Damian. If you don’t bring her back, I’ll stop eating.”

“I can always hook you up to an IV.”

I step closer, my tone deadly. “You know damn well I’ll rip that thing out.”

His jaw tightens.

“Why did you fire her anyway? Was it because she left my side for a few minutes at the community center that day? Come on—”

“She didn’t tell me about Melissa.”

The blood drains from my face. “I-I told her not to…”

He leans in, his voice a low growl. “She answers to me. She should’ve reported any threat to my wife. She didn’t, so she’s unfit to be your bodyguard. She’s lucky I only fired her.”

I grab the front of his t-shirt, desperate to make him understand. “It wasn’t her fault, Damian! I wanted to tell you about Melissa myself. That’s why I came to your office that day, but you didn’t care. You were more interested in bending me over your desk than listening to a word I said!” My voice cracks with the frustration. “I was angry, so I left, and then you dragged me home, and we never got the chance to talk.”

He says nothing, his eyes unreadable.

“You barely left our bedroom. When would she have had the chance to talk to you?

“She could’ve told Hal.”

“And have him interrupt our sexathon? You made it clear no one was to disturb us!”

Damian’s silence only fuels my frustration. “She’s good at her job, Damian. She saved me that day. When Melissa dropped those drinks, Vicky was the one who tackled the tray before it could hit me.” My voice drops to a whisper. “She’s the only one who’s looked out for me.”

Still, nothing. His expression is a cold, unreadable mask.

I step back. “Who am I even pleading with?” My voice shakes. “When have you ever done anything I’ve asked for?” Shaking my head, I turn and run, tears burning my eyes as I head for the library.

I sit in silence, heartbroken. Except for Summer, Vicky was the only one who really cared for me. She understood me. Now, with her gone, I feel like Damian has pushed me back into the cold void of isolation.

An hour passes or maybe two, I don’t know. I’m just glad to be left alone.

As the sun sinks lower, casting long shadows across the room, a soft knock breaks the stillness. I don’t bother to turn; I’m too numb.

The door creaks open, and someone steps in, placing a tray of snacks on the table beside me.

“Take it away. I’m not hungry,” I say flatly.

But the figure doesn’t budge. My irritation spikes. “Didn’t you hear me? I said—” My protest fades as I finally look up.

It’s Vicky, standing there with her hands clasped behind her back, a warm smile spreading across her face.

In an instant, I’m on my feet, wrapping her in a tight embrace. She laughs softly, squeezing me tightly in return.

“Vicky! You’re back!”

She nods, a hint of pride in her eyes. “Mr. Montgomery personally called me and insisted I return.”

“Damian called you?” I blink, incredulous.

She nods again, grinning now. “Although it was rather abrupt and I received a long warning, I’m happy to be back. More than that, watching Hal’s face was priceless.”

We share a laugh. But then the laughter fades. “I’m really glad you’re back,” I admit, my voice earnest.

“I’m glad too. We missed you at the art festival,” she says, her expression softening.

“You went?” I ask, a twinge of regret twisting in my stomach.

“I did. It was fun, but it wasn’t the same without you. Everyone missed you,” she replies, her words tinged with sadness.

I sigh, wishing I could have been there. “I’m just relieved it all went well. Everyone worked so hard.”

“Yes,” Vicky agrees, her tone shifting. “I have something for you from Matt.”

“What is it?”

She pulls out a folded piece of paper from her pocket. She hands it to me, and I unfold it.

Hey,

It’s me. Matt. Well, I suck at writing letters. Don’t even remember the last time I wrote one but I wanted to start this letter by telling you that I miss you.

I miss you like crazy, River. The center feels empty without you. The art sessions lack their spark, and even Erin’s cookies taste a little less sweet without you to share them.

I can’t shake the feeling that something’s off since you stopped coming. I hope it’s not me that pushed you away. If I hurt you in any way or said something when we were in the storage room, I’m really sorry.

Please come back. Everyone misses you. Even the moody Anne asked about you.

When you left that day with your husband, I was so mad. After meeting him, I understand the sadness in your eyes now.

The asshole is intimidating, and even though I might probably lose, I would still fight him for you. Just say the word.

I promised to find out about your father, so I started looking into Melissa. That’s when I found out she’d been in a serious accident just over a week ago and was now in a coma. The news left me rattled.

What made it worse was what I saw at the hospital. She was completely alone—no family, no friends, not even her ex-husband, who couldn’t be bothered to show up.

The more I looked into her life, the darker the picture became. Her husband went bankrupt a few months back, and their marriage had been falling apart even before that. Then there was her father—he took his own life six months ago. No one knows why. Some blame the mountain of debts he couldn’t escape; others say he was tormented by loan sharks. The truth remains a mystery.

Her mother, Nadine Thompson, has turned her back on her entirely. She’s now working as a live-in housekeeper for a surgeon and refuses to acknowledge Melissa at all. Even when the hospital contacted her after the accident, she didn’t come.

Melissa was hit by a car near her apartment, and the authorities said the CCTV footage from the area was mysteriously wiped. I can’t shake the feeling that something isn’t right.

I’m still gathering information, but I’ll keep you updated through Vicky’s email.

And don’t worry about your father; I’m going to look into him next, and find out what’s happening.

Take care of yourself, River.

Love,

Matt.

I collapse back into the chair.

“River? What’s wrong? What does the letter say?” Vicky’s voice breaks through my haze of shock.

Too stunned to reply, I pass the letter to her. She reads quickly, her face shifting from confusion to disbelief. “Oh my god.”

“Yeah.” I whisper, the reality of it all crashing down around me.

“Her accident sounds like—”

“It was planned.” Dread pools deep in my stomach. The thought that Damian might have a hand in this chills me to the bone.

“I need to find him,” I murmur. I excuse myself, urgency driving me as I hunt for Damian.

William Thompson is gone. I still can’t wrap my head around the fact that he committed suicide. The man who always seemed so larger-than-life, so sure of himself and unshakable, chose to end it all. It doesn’t feel real. He was Dad’s best friend—I can’t imagine how broken he must be.

And Melissa… she’s lying in a coma. Then there’s Nadine. How can a mother turn her back on her own daughter like that? Abandon her in a time like this? It’s unthinkable.

I find him in his home office, seated at his desk, papers scattered around him. I stride in without knocking. He looks up.

“I needed to talk to you.”

He sets down the stack of papers and leans back in his chair. “I’m listening.”

“I-I wanted to thank you,” I begin, my voice faltering as I gather my thoughts. “About Vicky. I didn’t expect you to listen… let alone bring her back.” I confess, breath catching as he stands.

“Come here.”

I hesitate for a moment before walking around the desk to stand before him.

His fingers grip my chin, tilting my face up to meet his gaze. His thumb brushes over my bottom lip, the action so intimate, it leaves me breathless. “Are you happy?”

My mind blanks for a second. Happy? How do I even begin to answer that? This twisted, dangerous world I’m trapped in offers no room for happiness. But I think of Vicky, the only sliver of peace I’ve had in days. “Yes,” I whisper, because it’s the truth.

“Good,” he murmurs, tucking a loose curl behind my ear. “What else did you want to talk about?”

I hesitate, the truth lodged in my throat like a blade. I can’t ignore it any longer. “Melissa.”

His hand drops, his face unreadable. “What about her?”

“Did you get her fired?” I ask, attempting to get the truth out from him. “You know, after knowing what she did?”

Damian sinks back into his chair, pulling me onto his lap as if it’s the most natural thing in the world. My breath catches in my throat, the sensation of his body beneath mine both thrilling and terrifying.

His arm wraps around my waist, his hand resting possessively on my hip. “The club owner took care of it.”

I search his face, but there’s nothing. “So she’s... jobless?”

“For now,” he says, burying his face in the curve of my neck, kissing the sensitive skin with maddening slowness.

“Damian...” I try to pull away, but his lips trail lower. I call out his name again but he ignores me, tugging my dress off my shoulder. “Are you even listening to me?”

His mouth moves along my collarbone, lazy, unhurried. “Hmm,” is the only sound he makes, clearly enjoying my frustration.

My hands push against his chest, but it’s like pushing a wall. “Don’t you think it’s odd for a woman from her background to be a waitress.”

“I don’t think about irrelevant things.”

“But I do!” I snap, yanking his head back by the hair, forcing him to look at me. “Did you do something you shouldn’t have?” The question slips out, my stomach twisting in dread even before he answers.

“Why bother asking when you already know the answer?”

My breath catches in my throat, the realization hitting me like a blow. “You... caused her accident?” I choke out.

Damian’s smile fades, replaced by something harder. “She deserved it.”

I pull away and stagger back from him. “That’s a crime, Damian! She could have died!”

“She’s lucky she didn’t,” he replies, completely unaffected. “I don’t let anyone hurt what’s mine.”

My pulse quickens as panic rises. This isn’t protection; this is madness. “You… you have no right to ruin lives like that,” I whisper, backing away.

“I have every right. She hurt you, and she paid the price. End of story.”

“You committed a crime! You’re going to end up in—”

“In prison? Who would testify against me?” His voice is cool. “You?” The arrogance in his voice sends a shiver down my spine. I’m too stunned.

“I can’t believe this! You don’t feel any remorse at all.”

“Why should I?” He rises to his feet again. “She got what was coming to her.”

“All this over spilled drinks?” I ask, incredulously.

“No. This is about all the years of torment she put you through.”

I shouldn’t have told him about her bullying. I shouldn’t have shared anything.

I cover my mouth with trembling hands. Shaking my head, I look up at him. “Why now then? Why did you wait until now to avenge me.”

“Who said I waited?”

The satisfaction in his voice is chilling, and dread pools in my stomach. I can’t shake the feeling that her father’s suicide and her ex-husband’s bankruptcy are somehow linked to Damian.

As I start to retreat, he closes the distance, his grip seizing my chin with a possessive fierceness. “Why are you so shocked, angel? You’ve been surrounded by people who’d do anything to achieve their goals. Why shouldn’t your husband be the same?”

“If you’re talking about my father, you’re mistaken. Yes, he held me against my will. Yes, that’s a crime. But he had his reasons—good reasons.” I see his expression shift, and within a blink of an eye, his hand is closing around my throat—the same throat he had kissed moments before.

“Is that so?”

I gasp when he squeezes my throat. “Y-yes! He was protecting his d-daughter.”

“And I was protecting my wife.”

“But you had no right to do that to Melissa!”

“Do what? Turn her from a privileged heiress to a beggar? Or leave her terrified for her life?” His tone is cold, his satisfaction palpable.

“Stop!” I plead, gripping his wrist as the pressure increases, choking off my breath. I gasp as his fingers cut off my air. Just as my vision begins to blur, he releases me. I stagger back, coughing, my hands flying to my throat.

“There. Now you can hate me a little more,” he says, his voice cold.

I stare at him through unshed tears, still clutching my throat.

“You can justify your father’s actions all you want, angel. You’ve already made him out to be the hero, and me the villain.”

Grabbing me by the hair and pulling me close, his lips brush mine in a soft, almost tender kiss that leaves me trembling. “Didn’t I tell you that you don’t get to regret marrying me?”

Before I can respond, he steps back. “Get some rest. We’re leaving in a few hours.”

“L-leaving?”

“I have to leave for business tonight.”

“But why does that involve me?”

“Because, my dear wife, you’re coming with me.”

My eyes widen and he smiles coldly. “You see, I refuse to be an incompetent husband any longer.”

CHAPTER FORTY-TWO

I press my fingers into my aching temples, feeling the pressure beat beneath my skin like a relentless drum.

Everything’s a mess inside my head. Damian admitted he tried to have Melissa killed.

He didn’t even flinch when he said it, just admitted outright that he’d planned to kill her.

I knew he could be ruthless. I knew he wasn’t above manipulating the world to bend to his will, using his power like a blunt weapon to get what he wants, but hurting someone? Taking it that far? I never let myself believe he could be that heartless.

A shudder runs through me, and I can’t help but wonder how he sleeps at night. Then I remember—he hardly does. I’ve watched him doze off only to wake, hours later, as if the weight of his secrets won’t let him rest. He just powers through the days with nothing more than restless naps, as if he’s running from something even in his sleep.

But the most ridiculous part is that he actually compared himself to my father. Damian had the nerve to twist my father’s image into something unrecognizable. The thought makes my chest ache with a sickening disbelief and fury.

How could Damian even think that my father, who always acted with my best interests at heart, could be capable of doing something so monstrous? Dad might be overbearing, controlling even, but every act was coated with the bitter sweetness of love. He did what he did because he wanted to protect me, even if it meant hurting me. Damian is wrong—so wrong. Damian and my father are nothing alike.

My thoughts splinter when I feel the lightest brush of fingers against mine. My eyes snap open to see Damian’s hand gently nudging mine away, his fingertips settling against the spots that throb.

I freeze, my heart stuttering as he begins to massage my temples in a slow, almost tender motion.

What is he doing? I can’t read his expression in the shadows of the car. I don’t know what he is thinking, I just know it’s odd. My instincts take over and I jerk away. “I’m... I’m fine.”

The car window is my only escape, and I fix my gaze on the blurred scenery rushing past. I need to keep my distance—physically, emotionally, in every possible way but Damian doesn’t give me the chance.

His hand catches my elbow, and he pulls me back with a force that leaves me breathless. “What are you—” My protest dies on my lips as he guides my head to rest against the solid wall of his chest, his hand moving to cradle the back of my neck.

I tense when his fingers slide into my hair, massaging my scalp with a gentle pressure that almost undoes me, and it takes every ounce of willpower not to crumble completely.

I want to pull away but soon he finds the right spots and applies the right pressure. A shaky sigh slips from me, his touch breaking down the last of my resistance and without meaning to, I lean into him.

“Migraine?” His voice is low, softer than I expected, almost caring.

I nod, cheek pressed against him. I can’t bear to look at him, can’t bear to acknowledge the strange comfort he’s giving me. I should pull away but the thought of losing this brief moment of relief is too much to bear.

“Where are we going?” I ask, the question slipping out before I can catch it. I want to bite it back immediately.

Why am I doing this? Didn’t I learn from our last and only trip together? He ignored me then—barely said a word the whole way there and back, leaving me to twist in my own misery.

“Scotland,” he says, not breaking the rhythm of his fingers against my scalp.

My entire body goes rigid. Scotland. Again. It feels like some cruel cosmic joke, dredging up every awful memory I thought I’d buried. That castle—the cold, empty halls, the echo of my footsteps, and the endless days waiting for him to come to me, the heartache, the crushing weight of being invisible in the eyes of the one person I’d given everything to.

I was so naïve. I used to think if I just tried harder, he would change. That somehow, I’d be enough. But not this time.

Not this time. I’m not the naïve girl I once was. I’m not that foolish twenty-one-year-old virgin, blinded by the fantasy of love. That was a different girl who believed that love could conquer anything. That girl doesn’t exist anymore. I won’t be waiting by the window, won’t beg for scraps of his affection.

I don’t have any illusions left to cling to. I have nothing left to lose, no dreams to shatter. If Damian wants to return to the place where he first broke me, then fine. If he wants to ignore me, like he did back then, fine. If he wants to play this game of half-hearted affection and lust, that’s fine too. I’ll play along, but I won’t get burned.

He won’t get the satisfaction of seeing me beg or hope. Because I won’t make the same mistake twice.

Anyway, I’ll have Vicky with me this time, so I might actually enjoy my stay at the castle.

“Think of it as our second honeymoon,” he says, snapping me out of my thoughts.

I scoff, twisting in his arms to look at him. “A second honeymoon?” I say slowly, letting every word drip with mockery. “How can it be a second honeymoon when we never even had the first?”

Silence. He doesn’t respond, and for a moment, I think I’ve managed to silence him. I inch closer, my head pounding but my pride demanding I twist the knife. “What’s wrong?” I taunt. “Cat got your tongue, husband?”

A slow, wicked smile spreads across his face. “Why? Do you want it inside you, wife?”

Heat flares across my cheeks, and I jerk away from him, slamming back against the car door with a force that makes my headache throb.

He chuckles, the sound deep and infuriating. “I like it when you blush,” he says, and I hate the way warmth floods my skin even as I glare at him.

I press my forehead to the window, willing the cool glass, to help me ignore his gaze burning into my back.

Please, I beg silently, just go back to how things were. Ignore me. Let me disappear in the background like I always did. But it’s like he’s determined to strip me bare, to unravel every shield I’ve managed to build.

“Even now,” he whispers, leaning close enough that his breath grazes my ear, “you still blush for me. Why’s that, angel?”

My breath catches when his words turn vulgar, teasing me with how I look when I fall apart beneath him. I close my eyes, fury and embarrassment warring inside me as he goes on and on about my creamy skin and how much he loves marking it.

I press my forehead to the glass harder, wishing I could disappear. But he keeps whispering in my ear. His words get more obscene, describing in detail what he loves most doing to me, and I can’t take it anymore. “Where’s your phone?” I snap, cutting him off sharply.

He raises a brow, holding up the device like he’s enjoying every second of my unraveling.

“Then use it and leave me alone!”

His gaze narrows, the mockery fading from his face. “Is it the migraine?”

“Yes,” I lie, desperate to end this twisted game. The pounding in my head is nothing compared to the turmoil in my chest.

Damian’s gaze doesn’t waver, and then he does something that almost breaks me—he reaches out, tucking a stray curl behind my ear with a tenderness that feels out of place, his fingers lingering against my cheek. “Sorry,” he says softly.

My mouth falls open in shock, the word hanging heavy between us. Damian—apologizing? I don’t know what to say, don’t know how to handle this shift, but before I can think, he pulls me to him again, his arm wrapping around my shoulders. He brings my head back to his chest once more. I want to fight him and shout at him for constantly manhandling me but the steady beat of his heart against my ear calms me.

I close my eyes and sink into the warmth of him, the steady rise and fall of his breathing easing the pounding in my skull. The fabric of his shirt is soft against my cheek, carrying the scent I’ve come to associate with safety and danger all at once. I breathe him in, my fingers gripping the front of his shirt.

For a moment, I forget who he is—who I am. All I know is the comfort of his arms, the solidity of his chest beneath my cheek. I let myself be weak, just for this moment.

It hits me then that this might be the first time he’s touched me like this, without any sexual intention other than simple comfort.

And I have no idea what to do with that.

◆◆◆

My cheeks are burning, half from anger, half from sheer embarrassment. Instead of waking me like a normal person, Damian made the choice to carry me out of the car and onto the jet like I was some helpless child.

Every one of his men has their eyes on us, and I can’t do a single thing except cling to his neck.

I lean in close, my voice a harsh whisper against his ear, “I have a headache, Damian, not a broken leg.” But he doesn’t so much as glance my way. He just carries me up the jet stairs, completely unfazed by my protests. My anger surges when I spot the flight attendant’s barely-contained grin.

The moment Damian sets me down, I bolt for the back of the cabin, flinging myself into the seat opposite Vicky. I focus on her, desperate to ignore the heavy presence behind me.

Damian soon appears, holding out a glass of juice and aspirin.

I cross my arms, determined to ignore him, but he stands there like a silent wall.

Vicky, ever the peacemaker, takes them from him and gently nudges them my way. I sigh, accepting the offering because I desperately need it.

Vicky, sensing my mood, shifts gears and lifts a bulky backpack onto her lap. She begins to dig through it with purpose, pulling out a neck pillow, a paperback, and my phone with the AirPods.

“Vicky,” I say, half in awe, “what else do you have in that backpack of yours?”

She flashes a smile, and begins listing the contents, but I cut her off with a grin. “You’re so sweet! Thank God, there’s someone here who cares about me.” My words are barbed, and I cast a not-so-subtle glance over my shoulder at Damian. He’s deep in conversation with Hal, barely sparing me a glance.

“Um…” Vicky hesitates, biting her lip. “Mr. Montgomery asked me to pack all of this for you.”

My mouth falls open. “He did what?” Is she referring to my husband? That can’t be. Because the same man who once barked orders for me to pack my own things, who never even bothered to ask how I was back then is making so many efforts? This… doesn’t fit. It’s not him. The Damian I know wouldn’t bother.

As the jet ascends and the hours crawl by, he keeps surprising me. He’s not buried in his laptop like he usually is, nor is he pretending I’m invisible. Instead, his gaze is fixed on me, unsettlingly focused. When I refuse to eat, he doesn’t say a word—he just comes over and shoves a forkful of food into my mouth. I want to argue, but my headache is relentless, and I’m too drained to fight back.

It’s like I’m seeing a stranger—someone who’s strangely attentive, and... caring. I don’t recognize him, and I don’t know what to make of this. He’s not the man I remember, and I don’t know whether to be wary or furious.

A yawn slips past my lips and before I can even blink, Damian’s by my side. In an instant, he scoops me out of the seat.

“What are you doing?” I gasp, trying to wriggle free, but his grip is firm.

“You’re exhausted,” he says. “I’m putting you to bed.”

There’s no use arguing when he’s already carrying me toward the private bedroom at the back of the jet.

He lays me down with a gentleness that shatters my defenses, and I can’t help the sting of tears that burn behind my eyes. I want to lash out and demand why he’s doing this. Instead, my voice comes out small and raw. “You could’ve just asked one of the attendants to show me to the room.” Like you did in the past.

“Maybe I wanted a reason to hold you,” he murmurs, his thumb brushing the side of my cheek as if he’s daring me to believe him. But how can I believe him? This new softness feels wrong, misplaced, and I can’t bring myself to believe it.

Then I watch, unnerved as he sinks to his knees and calmly proceeds to slip off my shoes.

“You’re scaring me,” I whisper, the words slipping out before I can stop them.

His hands pause, fingers hovering over my ankle. “Because of Melissa?”

“Because of everything,” I choke out, pulling my legs to my chest.

His face hardens, a shadow passing over his features. “I won’t hurt you.”

“But you already did.” The room feels too small suddenly, and I can’t stand the way he’s looking at me—as if I matter. “Seriously, Damian, stop! You don’t have to do this.”

He stands. “Do what?”

“You’re acting like you care now. It’s not you. You don’t have to pretend.”

His expression doesn’t change, but I see the flicker of something in his eyes. “I’m not pretending.”

“Then what is this?” I demand. “What are you trying to prove? That you’re not the same cold, selfish man who made me believe in love, only to toss me aside like I’m garbage?” My voice breaks.

He stares at me, and I swallow back the thickness in my throat, turning my face away. I don’t want his pity, his empty words. I don’t want to be here in this situation where I can’t tell what’s real and what’s another lie.

“Don’t worry, Damian,” I say, my voice hollow and cold. “I’m not going to run this time. I’m not going to make things difficult for you. I’ll stay because I don’t have a choice—because you’ve made sure of that. But stop pretending you care. It doesn’t make it better. It just makes it worse.”

His face hardens, his jaw clenching tight. Without another word, he turns and leaves the room.

I tell myself I did the right thing, that I have to protect myself, that I can’t fall for this sudden act of compassion. I try to convince myself he deserves my scorn, that he deserves every cold word, every accusation. He’s the one who broke me, who turned my love into a weapon against me. But my heart doesn’t listen. It aches with a familiar longing, a desperate wish for something I’ll never have—a love that’s real, and a relationship that’s unbreakable.

“I don’t love him,” I whisper to the empty room. As the tears soak the pillow beneath me, I repeat the lie in my head, praying that one day, it might finally feel true.

Exhaustion claims me, and I fall asleep with his name tangled in my thoughts and the salt of my tears heavy on my tongue.

When I wake, my body feels lighter, the tension eased.

Breakfast is brought to me on a tray, and I savor it in bed, taking my time as if the world outside doesn’t exist. For a moment, everything feels soft and almost peaceful.

But that illusion doesn’t last. We touch down in Inverness, and I find myself facing reality once again. Damian is already there, ushering me from the jet to a sleek, waiting SUV. I move mechanically, going through the motions.

“How’s your headache?”

“Better,” I mutter, barely bothering to glance his way. My voice is flat, like I’m talking to a stranger instead of the man who once held my entire heart. I hesitate before asking the question I already dread the answer to. “Are we going to stay at Valewood Castle?”

“Yes.”

I sigh internally. Leave it to Damian to be heartless enough to take me back to the very place where he took my virginity and broke my heart all in one night.

His next words snap me from my thoughts. “There’s a surprise waiting for you there.”

“What is it? Another collection of designer clothes?” I ask sarcastically.

His brow furrows as if genuinely confused. “No. And if you wanted a new wardrobe, why didn’t you just tell me?”

I roll my eyes. “I don’t.” I turn back to the window. The lush landscape outside is stunning, and I take it in, grateful for the distraction. Last time I saw these hills, I didn’t have the luxury of admiring them. I was too busy drowning in the misery of being an unwanted bride.

I stiffen when his hand settles on my shoulder. I turn, frowning at the intensity in his gaze. “What?”

“Where did you just go?” His brow is creased.

“Nowhere,” I lie. “What did you want?”

He doesn’t answer right away, his gaze searching mine. “I asked you a question.”

“I wasn’t paying attention. What was it?”

His jaw tightens, and there’s a flash of something in his eyes—anger, maybe, or something darker. “I said, aren’t you curious about the surprise?”

I blink at him, my irritation flaring. “No, Damian. I’m not interested in surprises. I’m not interested in games.” I try to turn away, but suddenly he’s in my space, pressing me against the car door, his face inches from mine.

“What has happened to you?” he demands. His fingers dig into my shoulders painfully. “You’re so... distant. This isn’t you.”

I meet his gaze unflinchingly, refusing to back down. “Maybe I got tired and stopped caring.”

His grip tightens, his expression hardening. “You’ve changed,” he accuses, his tone edged with disbelief, like I broke some unspoken rule.

“Did you expect me to stay the same?” I snap back, my anger surging to the surface. “Did you expect me to be that naïve girl who thought you were worth every tear I shed? I was wrong, Damian. I don’t owe you anything—not my attention, not my love, not my devotion.”

His face goes stony, the mask slipping back into place. Without another word, he thrusts me away like he can’t bear to touch me.

He pulls out his phone, the gesture achingly familiar. He’s already retreating, retreating into the cold silence that once tore me apart.

I watch him, my heart constricting painfully. I should feel triumphant. I should feel like I’ve reclaimed a piece of myself. But all I feel is a hollow ache, the same emptiness that’s haunted me since we got married.

I stare at his rigid profile and feel a familiar pang in my chest. My heart protests as I turn away, longing and begging me to keep my eyes on him a moment longer. But I don’t listen.

I force myself to focus on the scenery passing by.

You have to toughen up, heart. We don’t have a happy ending with him.

CHAPTER FORTY-THREE

The moment we step through the heavy front doors of Valewood Castle, a wave of nostalgia hits me so hard that my breath catches.

And there they are—Morag and Archibald, standing at the entrance like they’ve been waiting all day. The moment I catch sight of Morag, my heart stirs with a familiar warmth. She breaks into a wide smile, her eyes crinkling with genuine happiness. I hurry over, and she wraps me in a tight, welcoming hug.

Her woolen apron smells faintly of lavender and old wood, the scent so familiar it almost makes my eyes sting.

“Oh, River, my dear,” she murmurs, her Scottish accent thick with emotion. “It’s so good to see ye again.”

“I missed you, Morag,” I whisper. She was my only real company during those seven lonely days when I felt completely abandoned.

I wanted to keep in touch with her but Damian didn’t allow it. By then I was so depressed, so done that I didn’t really press him for it.

“I’ve missed ye too, lass. We all did,” Morag says, stepping back to give me a look of motherly concern.

My eyes sting with tears, but I force them back with a shaky laugh. “Well, I’m back now. And I brought someone with me.” Morag’s eyes shift to Vicky, who stands behind me.

I wave Vicky forward. “Morag, this is Vicky. My bodyguard and a dear friend.”

“Well, ye must be a good one if ye’re lookin’ after our River,” she says warmly, reaching out and shakes Vicky’s hand.

A genuine smile tugging at Vicky’s lips. “She’s in safe hands,” she replies. “Pleasure to meet you, ma’am. River—Mrs. Montgomery—has told me a lot about you.”

Morag chuckles. “Call me Morag, love. We’re all friends here.”

I turn toward Archibald, who stands a little farther back. His stern expression softens the moment our eyes meet. I walk over and offer my hand. He clasps it gently between both of his large ones.

“Mrs. Montgomery,” he says, his tone formal, but there’s a warmth behind his words. “It’s good to see ye well.”

“It’s good to see you too, Archibald,” I reply softly.

Fiona, the young maid comes rushing to my side, greeting me with a big, infectious smile.

“I kept yer favorite tea blend stocked,” Morag tells me while Fiona proudly declares she already has my bedroom prepared.

Damian steps closer then. “River, you should—”

But I hold up a hand, my eyes snapping to his with a cool, distant look. “I know the way to the bedroom,” I cut him off, my voice steady. “You don’t need to order anyone to guide me.”

For a brief second, there’s a flash of something in Damian’s eyes, but he holds his silence, jaw tightening as I brush past him, Morag, Fiona and Vicky following suit.

In the bedroom, we all spent a few more minutes chatting.

Eventually, they leave me to settle in. I don’t waste any time and get into the bathroom, filling the tub with steaming water.

I sink into the hot water, letting it ease the tension in my muscles. The memories this place holds are still raw, but the warmth is soothing. I close my eyes and allow myself to relax, even if it’s only for a little while.

When I finally step out of the bath, I wrap myself in a plush towel. My hair is still damp. I rub it with another towel as I open the bathroom door.

Just as I exit, I find Damian entering the room in a robe, his hair still wet and tousled.

Our eyes lock, and for a heartbeat, the air thickens with unspoken tension. His gaze is dark, intense, and I can feel my pulse quicken.

He seems to take a moment to absorb the sight of me, too—damp, flushed and wrapped in a towel. “I used the guest bathroom,” he states finally, striding toward me.

I clutch the towel tighter around myself, maintaining my composure. “I see,” I reply, forcing my voice to remain cool.

He steps closer, but I hold my ground, my back straight. I refuse to let him have any power over me, even if he’s standing there, looking far too hot in that robe for my own good.

He stops just a few feet away and I find myself breathing hard. He just stands there and stares. I don’t back down either. I keep my gaze steady but at one point it starts getting awkward.

“Are you planning to stare all day?” I ask, lifting my chin defiantly, my voice sharper than I intended.

A hint of a smile curves his lips. “You stared first.”

I open my mouth to argue, but the words die in my throat. I know where this is headed. Our bickering has morphed into our twisted version of foreplay. And judging by the raw hunger in his eyes, I know exactly what’s on his mind. It’s been almost twenty-four hours since we last had sex, and the tension crackles between us.

As if he’s just read my mind, he advances, and instinctively, I backpedal. What the hell am I doing running? We both know we’ll end up in each other’s arms in ten seconds flat.

Maybe I love the way my heart races when he chases me. The same way chasing me turns him on. We are sick. But that knowledge doesn’t stop me from running.

I dart to the right and trip over my own feet, but he’s already there, an arm wrapping around my waist, yanking me against him. We stare into each other’s eyes for a few beats before he leans down and kisses me gently. My breath hitches when his lips trail down my throat, making me shiver.

Why do you do this to me, Damian? Just when I think I’m strong enough to resist, you touch me, and I’m yours all over again. Why does your warm, masculine scent drive me wild? Why does your citrusy aftershave make my head spin with need? Why does your touch reduce me to this molten mess?

He murmurs something roughly against my skin then scoops me in his arms. I watch him with hooded eyes as he carries me toward the four-poster bed—the same bed where I gave him my virginity.

He lays me down and leans back. I let my gaze trail over his chest, partially exposed as his robe gapes open.

It’s hard to breathe, even harder to resist the urge to explore his body. I can’t help myself; I reach up to touch him, but he catches me off guard, yanking my towel from my body. Then he sheds his robe.

My mouth goes dry as I take in his bare chest, drinking in the sight of his tanned skin and the dark curls that trace his powerful pecs.

A little dazed, I watch as he throws the covers over our naked bodies before arranging me onto my side and yanking me back against his hot, hard chest. A deep groan of satisfaction rumbles from him as he buries his face in my hair, trailing soft kisses along my neck.

Then… nothing.

I lie there, confusion swirling in my mind, brows furrowed as I wait. What’s happening? I gasp when he pulls me even closer, my back flush against him. “Go to sleep, angel.”

“Sleep?” I ask, incredulously. He wants me to sleep after… after that kiss that left me breathless and wanting? How am I supposed to close my eyes when I can feel the proof of his desire pressed against my back?

“I haven’t slept more than a couple of hours,” he admits, his breath warm against my skin. “I’ve told Archibald to wake us for a late lunch.”

This closeness—this rare moment of affection—sparks something deeper within me. I’ve seen the fierce and possessive side of him, had witnessed his dangerous temper but this gentle Damian is different, and it makes my heart flutter wildly in my chest.

I don’t know when I drift off, but when I wake, the room is drenched in shadows, and I’m sprawled on my back, the sheets tangled around me. I feel Damian shifting beside me and without warning,

I feel his tongue brushing over my nipple. A gasp escapes my lips, my body responding instantly.

He closes his lips around the peak, sucking with a hunger that makes me arch my back, my fingers tangling in his hair, urging him closer.

Each pull and tug sends shivers down my spine, my breath quickening as he feasts on me, moving from one nipple to the other.

He shifts lower, trailing fiery kisses down my abdomen, his lips leaving a searing path that makes my skin ache for more. I can feel the heat radiating off him, and I’m utterly captivated by the way he worships my body like I’m the only thing that matters in this moment.

“God, please,” I moan, and he seems to understand my silent plea. His mouth moves lower and I squirm beneath him. He takes his time, teasing and tormenting me. Then abruptly he stops, parts my legs and climbs between them.

Without a word, he grips my hips as he positions himself at my entrance. The moment he slides inside, a gasp tears from my lips, and pleasure hits me hard, burning through every inch of my body. He fills me completely, stretching me in the most intoxicating way, and I arch my back, desperate for more.

It’s hard and fast. And I don’t mind at all. It’s just the way I want. The bed creaks beneath us, but I’m lost in the haze of desire, his every movement pushing me closer to the edge.

Within minutes, we’re both unraveling, bodies tightening in a fierce, desperate climax. My nails rake down his back as he thrusts deep, a shudder tearing through me while he groans low and guttural, burying himself to the hilt. He collapses on me, our breath mingling.

As the room falls into silence, my stomach lets out a loud growl. I freeze, mortified. I feel Damian body shaking with silent laughter.

“Something funny?” I snap, my cheeks heating with embarrassment.

He shakes his head.

“You’re heavy,” I groan, partly lying because I’m mortified. He flips us so that I’m lying on top of him.

“I slept for four hours,” he murmurs, his thumb absentmindedly tracing circles on my back. There’s a hint of wonder in his voice.

“Yeah,” I say. Then, “Why can’t you ever sleep for more than a few hours?”

“Because some things don’t rest, even when I do.” He gently sets me to my side and gets up. “Archibald must have tried waking us,” Damian says, “but I guess we didn’t answer, so he let us be.” He walks to the bathroom. “Get dressed, angel. It’s almost dinner time.”

After Damian finishes, I slip into the bathroom, letting him have the room to get ready.

I take my time in the shower, and when I finally step out, the sight of the bedroom startles me.

The bed is freshly made, and lying across it is a lavender dress I don’t remember choosing. I spot a small note resting beside it. I pick it up, reading the words:

Wear this tonight.

There’s no name, but it doesn’t need one. Only Damian would leave a message like this. Short and arrogant.

Should I wear it? Or defy him, just to remind him I’m not so easily controlled? The thought is tempting, but I push it away. No need to be difficult for the sake of it.

Maybe—just this once—I can let things be simple. With a sigh, I glance back at the dress. My fingers brush over the soft fabric. Alright, Damian... tonight, I’ll play along.

I slip into the dress, feeling the silk glide over my skin, soft and cool. The fabric hugs my figure just right.

As I step up to the vanity, my eyes fall on the velvet box. I open it and find a necklace. Delicate yet unmistakably extravagant, the platinum chain adorned with a diamond solitaire pendant match the dress perfectly. I lift it carefully.

I fasten the necklace around my neck, watching the diamond glint as it rests against my skin. When I lift my eyes to the mirror, I catch myself smiling.

I shake my head to snap out of it and finish my makeup with a hint of blush, and a soft gloss.

I find matching heels so I quickly step into them and finally leave the room and make my way downstairs, my heels clicking softly on each step.

The sight that greets me at the bottom of the grand staircase takes my breath away. Damian, impeccably dressed in a tailored black suit that makes him look devastatingly handsome yet intimidating.

He waits, his gaze heating as I reach the last step. His eyes sweep over me, taking in the dress and the necklace he’d left for me, and his mouth curves into the slightest hint of a smile. “You look…”

“Beautiful?” I supply teasingly.

He shakes his head slowly, his gaze intense. “No,” he murmurs, his voice husky. “Mine.”

My breath catches, and for a moment, I can’t move. He used one word. Just one word, but the way he said it… it felt like a vow.

He offers me his arm. I take it, my heart pounding as he leads me toward the dining room.

The dining room feels transformed. The warm glow from the grand chandelier is making the room feel softer, intimate despite its size. At the far end of the polished mahogany table, two settings are laid out—silver cutlery, fine china, and crystal glasses that glint in the candlelight. The table itself, though spacious, is decorated with beautiful flower arrangements.

“You did all this?” I stare at him in wonder.

He meets my gaze, a bit awkward. “I had a team take care of it.”

I laugh softly, finding his unease oddly cute.

“I thought it would please you,” he says scowling.

“It did.” I squeeze his forearm. “Thank you.”

Damian pulls out the chair and I take my seat. He sits at the head of the table and I’m seated to his left.

“You’ve never done anything like this before.”

He used to take me on dates before marriage. We used to spend time with each other all the time but everything changed when we got married. This is the first time Damian has done something so nice for me.

Damian takes a moment, his expression contemplative. “I know,” he says slowly. “I want to change that.”

Why? The question is on the tip of my tongue, but I hesitate when a manservant glides in and uncorks a bottle of champagne with practiced ease before filling our glasses. Damian’s eyes are on me until we’re alone once more.

He raises his glass. “To us.”

His gaze is unnerving. I warily raise my glass too then take a swift gulp, barely tasting it, wishing for a sense of calm.

Damian’s still watching me as he leans forward to fill my glass again, barely pausing to sip from his own.

I lift my glass and take another sip, but before I can swallow, he says, “So, tell me about this Matt.”

The words catch me off guard, and I choke, my throat burning. I’m coughing as I feel him leaning forward. His hand is on my back, patting. “Just hearing his name gets such a reaction from my wife?”

Clearing my throat, I manage to meet his unyielding gaze. “It’s not what you think,” I say, swallowing past the burn. “I just... swallowed wrong.”

“Of course.” He leans back, his eyes never leaving mine as he sips from his glass. “So tell me about him.”

“He’s one of the volunteers at the community center,” I manage, forcing myself to keep my voice steady under his scrutiny.

There’s a pause, his silence almost colder than any words he could’ve spoken. “Just a volunteer?”

“And a friend,” I add, feeling the need to explain myself.

“A friend?” He says the word slowly, the softness in his tone somehow carrying more threat than any raised voice could.

I force myself to meet his eyes, letting him see my sincerity, or at least hoping he’ll recognize it. “Yes, Damian. A friend.”

He studies me with that same unsettling calm. “Nothing more, then?” His gaze examining, watching for any hint of deception.

I hold his stare, willing him to see the truth in my eyes. The absolute truth. “Nothing more.”

But instead of relief, his gaze hardens. “Then explain why the two of you seemed so... close when I came to get you that day.”

The disbelief makes my pitch higher than necessary. “Maybe because you’re seeing things that aren’t there!” I exhale, forcing myself to steady. “If you have doubts about my loyalty, then the joke’s on you. I’ve loved you more than anyone could ever love another person. You’ve ruined me for anyone else. So don’t try to make this something it isn’t.”

His eyes darken. “When I saw you with him,” he says with barely restrained anger. “The thought of him even looking at you made me want to kill him.”

I draw in a sharp breath. “So that’s what this is? The romantic dinner, the gifts, all this because of your jealousy?”

“No. All this because I realized I want to win my wife back.”

My stomach twists, torn between hope and bitterness. “Why, Damian?” My voice drops to a whisper. “Why try to win me back when you already have me exactly where you want me.”

His hand clenches around the champagne flute and with a shattering crack, it breaks in his grip. Blood pools around his knuckles, trickling down his wrist in rivulets. I leap out of my chair, grabbing my napkin and wrapping it tightly around his hand. “Damian, what the hell?”

“It’s not enough.” His voice breaks through my panic.

“What?”

“Having you beside me isn’t enough. Not anymore. I don’t want a wife who stays out of duty or fear. I want my River—the girl who looked at me like I was her whole world without fear or restraint. The one who looked at me and didn’t see darkness lurking underneath. The woman who gave herself to me, time and time again without question, without expecting anything in return. I want her back.”

“Even when you hate my father?” A tear slips down my cheek, but I don’t move to hide it.

“Even when I hate your father.” he says, not a trace of hesitation in his voice, meeting my gaze with brutal honesty.

I look away, the words from our first night together echoing painfully in my mind. “But I wasn’t part of your plan.”

“No,” he says. “You weren’t. But now you’re my present. And my future.”

“I need to get the first aid kit.” I turn to go, but he catches my wrist with his injured hand.

“I may be doing all this to win you back,” he says. “But understand this, I am never letting you go, River.”

His words leave me breathless, my pulse hammering beneath his grip. “I want you to choose me again, River. Can you try for me?”

My voice trembles as I respond, the one question that’s haunted me for so long slipping out. “Can you tell me why you hate my dad so much?”

He doesn’t answer. Instead, he lets go of my wrist, the silence answering where his words won’t. My heart sinks, tears welling up in my eyes. I turn, brushing a hand across my wet cheeks, leaving him with that wounded silence as I walk toward the kitchen to find a first-aid kit.

Damian is finally willing to give me what I’ve always wanted—a real relationship. But even as he reaches out, he’s still holding back, leaving me with just enough to stay… but never enough to truly belong. The old River might have accepted it, even jumped at the chance and clung to the hope of a new beginning.

But the new River knows she deserves more than this half-love built on jealousy and shadows and won’t settle for anything less than everything.

CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR

The morning is quiet, the cold seeping through the window glass as I pull on a pleated brown midi skirt and a beige turtleneck sweater.

Then I sit at my vanity and get ready for the day. As I finish brushing my curls, the bedroom door opens. I freeze, brush mid-air as Damian steps inside.

“Join me for breakfast?” He leans against the doorway, looking heartbreakingly handsome in a fitted black sweater that stretches across his broad shoulders and dark-wash jeans molding to his powerful thighs.

I blink, caught off guard. “What?”

In my defense, he’s never around in the mornings—always rushing off to work without so much as a glance, let alone sticking around long enough to invite me to share a meal. My hand lowers, brush falling to my lap as I study him.

He steps deeper into the room. I watch as he steps closer, looming over me. “Coming?”

“You don’t usually… You’re always…” My words trail off, my eyes dropping to the floor.

“I’m here now.” Gently, he lifts my chin, tipping my face up. There’s no smile—just determination in his gaze.

My heart flutters. “I… I could eat.”

A glimmer of satisfaction settles in his eyes, and before I can process, he bends, brushing his lips against mine, soft and gentle. When he pulls back, his thumb gently grazes my jaw.

He takes my hand, threading his fingers through mine as he guides me to my feet and pulls me out of the room behind him. Thank God there aren’t any mirrors in the hallway, because I’m sure I’m sporting a silly grin on my face and I don’t wish to see it.

After breakfast, Damian rises and extends his bandaged hand toward me. I hesitate, standing up without taking it, and his jaw tightens as if he thinks I’ve rejected him. But before he can pull away, I step forward and take his uninjured hand, slipping my fingers around his.

The tension in his face disappears in an instant. He squeezes my hand, then, without another word, leads me toward the left wing.

“Remember the surprise I mentioned?”

I nod shyly. After last night’s dinner, I’d expected Damian to retreat back to his usual, reserved self. But he didn’t. He didn’t let me keep my distance in our bed, either. The rest of the evening may have passed in tense silence, but the moment we were alone in the bedroom, he reached for me, and I went to him without hesitation.

I still don’t know what tomorrow holds for us or why he despises my father. But last night, I came to understand one thing with absolute certainty: Damian wants me. He cares in his own twisted way. I saw it in his eyes and felt it in every touch. And that has changed something in me. Knowing he truly wants me in his life, that he called me his present and future, has affected me deeply. I may not settle for the bare minimum, but for now, I’ve let myself enjoy what we have in the present.

“Close your eyes,” he says as we stop before a closed door.

“Why?”

He arches an eyebrow—a silent but clear demand to do as I’m told.

I can’t resist teasing him. “Don’t tell me you have a playroom too.”

A laugh slips out as his expression twists in confusion.

“A what?”

“Nothing,” I say, stifling another laugh as I close my eyes.

I hear the door creak open, feel his hand guiding me forward, and then he stops.

“Open.”

As I blink open my eyes, the first thing that hits me is the light—brilliant, streaming through the tall, arched windows.

My heart skips at the sight as I take in the space around me.

In one corner, I spot a sturdy pottery wheel, surrounded by neatly stacked bags of clay in different colors. Just beyond that, a workbench sprawls out, lined with an array of sculpting tools. Wooden modeling tools, metal scrapers, and carving knives—all neatly arranged.

A cozy nook catches my eye, featuring a big, inviting chair and a low table. I can picture myself holed up in here.

He gave me my very own art studio.

I turn to him, my throat tight with emotion. “You… did this for me?”

“Even though this entire place is yours, I wanted you to have a sanctuary—somewhere you can escape and feel completely at home.”

“A sanctuary…”

“And I’m having one built back at the mansion too.”

“Why?”

He steps closer, gently cupping my face in his hands. “Because I’m determined to make you happy, no matter what it takes.”

I clasp his wrists, gently tracing his skin with my fingers. “You know what else would make me happy?”

“What’s that?”

“If you spend the entire day here with me,” I tease, knowing full well that it’s not really possible. But honestly, I’m content with just this moment.

“Done,” he says, catching me off guard.

“I’m not talking about christening this place with sex, just so you know,” I warn, narrowing my eyes.

“I know. But I wouldn’t mind that option either.”

I raise an eyebrow. “When I say spending time here, I mean me giving you a lesson of pottery.”

“And I said done.”

I study him with narrowed eyes for a beat. “All right then, husband. Get ready to roll up your sleeves and get dirty.”

He arches an eyebrow, and heat floods my cheeks. “You know what I mean—”

He just hooks his arm around my waist and pulls me closer. “I’m all yours, wife.”

◆◆◆

“Like this?” he murmurs, his hands brushing against mine as he mimics my movements on the clay, but his fingers linger a moment too long, sending shivers down my spine.

I should’ve known. Damian paid no attention to my instructions for the last twenty minutes, his focus glued more to me than to the clay. Judging by every ‘accidental’ touch, every brush of his fingers over mine—it’s clear he’s more interested in teasing than learning.

I’ve scolded him half-heartedly, but truth be told, his little touches are getting to me far more than I’d like to admit. Pottery is my passion, and I haven’t touched it in over a year, I should be lost in it but my sole focus is on my husband.

“Sort of,” I reply, my voice sounding unsteady even to me. “You’re supposed to put some muscle into it, not just… poke it.”

“Poke it? I’m doing exactly what you’re showing me.”

Shaking my head, I step behind him, slide my arms around him and guide his hands back to the clay. “Here, let me show you how it’s really done.”

“Feel the texture. It’s all about pressure and balance.” I lean in close, letting my breath skim the side of his neck as I press his hands into the clay, guiding his fingers in the steady, kneading motion.

He tenses, his shoulders stiffening, and I bite back a smile. I can practically feel his resolve slipping. Two can play this game. He’s been driving me crazy with his teasing; now it’s my turn.

My fingers trail slowly over his hands, savoring each reaction—every quiet shift, every quick breath.

“Just like that,” I whisper, my voice barely a breath in his ear, holding him close enough to catch each little reaction.

“Now let’s move to the wheel,” I say, taking pity on him. I explain about how it works as I guide him over to the pottery wheel. There’s a spark of excitement as I settle onto the stool, pressing my palms firmly into the spinning clay. “Watch closely.” I glance up only to find his eyes locked on me with an intensity that sends warmth rushing to my cheeks.

“It’s all about patience,” I explain, my voice a little shaky now. “Here, you try it.” I move to stand, but he steps in behind me, sliding his arms around me, just as I did moments ago.

His hands cover mine, his fingers threading through mine against the clay, his chest pressed against my back.

He’s so close that I can feel every breath he takes, every shift, every quiet inhale. It’s impossible to focus, but I don’t pull away.

I shift slightly. My heart races, and I take a breath to steady myself, feeling an ache that has nothing to do with pottery.

We work together on the wheel, our movements synchronized as the clay takes shape beneath our hands. Suddenly, he leans in, his lips grazing the edge of my ear. “You really love this, don’t you?”

I nod, my heart pounding. I can’t help sneaking a glance at him, admiring how he’s focused now, intent on learning—doing it all just to spend the day with me.

He’s here for business, yet he hasn’t left my side once. And I love him for it, love the way he’s immersing himself in this moment, just for me.

His gaze meets mine, and my breath catches.

“Like this?” he murmurs, his hands moving in perfect sync with mine.

“Mm-hmm,” I manage, and the faintest smile tugs at his lips, his eyes slipping down to my mouth.

Suddenly, he leans in, brushing his lips against the corner of my mouth. “This is surprisingly enjoyable.”

I flush, torn between wanting to scold him and the thrill dancing through me. “Damian!”

“What? I’m following your lead,” he replies, his voice a low hum that vibrates against me. I’m berating him for not focusing, yet I can’t look away from his arms. His sweater sleeves are rolled up to his elbows, showing off the thick veins running along his forearms. My eyes slide to his hands. Those big, warm, calloused hands. I bite my lip as I remember what those hands did to me last night.

Just when I’m reprimanding myself internally for lusting over his hands, he leans in again and presses his lips against my cheek in a quick, tender kiss.

“Hey!” I sputter, flushing. But he simply chuckles, peppering my cheek, jaw and temple with more kisses. I turn, ready to scold him, but his carefree grin freezes me in place.

I forget to breathe, and for a second, I think my heart stopped. Then suddenly, it starts beating fast.

The man I’ve loved so fiercely, so desperately, is finally letting me see him like this—happy, unguarded, and completely real.

My chest hurts the longer I stare at him.

I could spend forever watching him like this, and it still wouldn’t be enough. I’d give everything I have, every piece of myself, just to see him smile like that for a second longer.

Suddenly brimming with love, I lean forward and kiss his jaw. That fast, Damian’s grin fades, his eyes darkening. I press another kiss, this time at the corner of his mouth. Then his cheekbone. Then over his jaw again.

I clear my throat, my cheeks hot. “We should… probably get back to…”

“How about one more kiss before we get back to pottery?”

I bite my lip, seriously tempted.

“Just one little kiss, angel.”

“Just one,” I whisper.

“Just one,” he agrees, leaning down. His lips brush against mine, tentative at first, as if testing the waters. But the moment they touch, the world around us fades away.

His kiss deepens, and I lose myself in the moment. My smeared fingers curl around his sweater, pulling him closer. He wraps his arms around me, pulling me against him.

That’s how we end up christening the studio.

The clay, the wheel, the room—all forgotten as we get lost in our own little world. The clay smears across our clothes and bodies, marking us, painting us. But we don’t care. We’re tangled together, surrendering to the fiery passion.

True to his word, he spends the entire day with me. After making love on the floor, we eventually return to the wheel, resuming his lesson, our laughter filling the room.

At some point, it dawns on me that I can’t remember the last time I felt this light, this…whole.

Being here, with him, feels like a memory I’ve been waiting to relive.

For the first time in what feels like forever, I look at the man I love, and it doesn’t hurt.

CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE

I stare at him through my sunglasses as he drives the convertible with the top down, his black hair ruffling in the breeze and glinting in the sunlight.

He’s focused on the road, his sunglasses hiding those intense eyes. He’s wearing the blue shirt I picked out, a rare change from his usual black. He looks… softer. Stunning. Like something out of a dream. And so gorgeous like a movie star. I could stare at him forever and still not get enough.

As if sensing my gaze, he turns his head toward me, and a slow, lazy smile stretches across his lips that sinks deep into my chest.

His smiles aren’t the cold, calculating or arrogant kind like before. They’re gentle, easy, and utterly real. They’re absolutely beautiful, and every time he smiles at me, it feels like the world disappears and all I can see is him.

This version of Damian, the one I never thought I’d get to see, has completely taken over my heart. How could he not, after the two blissful weeks we spent in Scotland?

He’d barely left my side, only slipping away for a few hours to work. When he did, Morag would spoil me and Vicky as if we were her own. She made us feel at home.

When it was finally time to leave, even Vicky had teared up, hugging Morag fiercely.

When we boarded the jet, Damian had surprised me, telling me we weren’t going home just yet. Instead, he took me to London. We spent an entire week there. During the days, he was often away, handling work that kept him occupied. But at night, he’d sweep me off to the most beautiful places in the city. It felt like we were dating.

It felt like he was giving me pieces of the world, one night at a time.

From London, we flew straight here to New Zealand. When I asked why we weren’t going home yet, he just looked at me and said he used to come home only because I was there and now that I was with him, there was no reason to go back. That’s when I really understood just how hard Damian works.

His businesses span across the globe, yet he doesn’t delegate all his duties away. He personally oversees every operation, traveling constantly and working tirelessly to ensure everything runs smoothly. It’s like he carries the weight of his entire empire on his shoulders, all to protect what he’s built.

And now he’s sharing that part of himself with me, making me feel included in a world I’d only ever glimpsed from afar.

The month went by traveling around the world with him. And in this period, Damian and I have grown closer than ever, and honestly, it’s all because of him. He’s been so present, so attentive. He’s been putting in real effort, doing everything he can to make me happy.

I’ll admit, when we first left Scotland, I had my doubts. I thought the honeymoon phase had ended, that we were returning to reality. I kept waiting to see him slip back to that distant, ruthless man. But then he surprised me, whisking me off to London, then here to New Zealand, as if he was determined to show me just how much he cared.

And the way he’s treated me, it feels like he’s making up for every tear I shed because of him, showering me with the kind of attention I once craved but was too afraid to hope for.

I’d promised myself I won’t look back, won’t dwell on the past, and for once, I’m actually living in the moment. Here, now, with him.

Living in the present has made me happier than ever. I don’t feel like an empty vessel anymore, a body Damian used in the dark. I don’t feel hollow or lonely. Gone are the sleepless nights and the nightmares. With him, I’ve started to live and laugh again. We’re a real couple now, sharing meals, napping together, living the kind of life I thought was only for other people.

I feel complete, as if all the broken pieces of my heart have mended.

And yet, there’s a dangerous side to this happiness. I’ve started dreaming again, dreaming that this might last. I’m daring to hope that this life we’re building, moment by moment, is something real and permanent.

And, most dangerous of all, I’ve started to see things through his eyes. I’m starting to wonder if there’s more to the past than I realized. Maybe Damian’s hatred for my father isn’t without cause. Maybe, just maybe, he has his reasons. And while I don’t know what those are, I’m beginning to understand that even though Damian might have started this marriage as a means to settle a score, but lately, it feels like he cares enough to make this work. I can feel it in the way he looks at me, the way he holds me close and his efforts to change for me.

Still, some things remain unsaid. There are still some walls he hasn’t let down. For instance, we haven’t talked about my father or even approached the subject. I’d be lying if I said I didn’t want to know the truth. But neither of us has dared to bring it up. And I am relieved. Maybe that makes me a coward, but I don’t want to shatter what we have. I don’t want to risk a single precious second of this happiness.

Deep down, I know this can’t last forever. One day, the dream will fade, and we’ll have to wake up. But for now, I’m holding on as tightly as I can, savoring every second as if it’s my last. It feels like we’re living only for each other, ignoring everything else.

Maybe it’s because we both know this peace is only temporary, that we’ve pressed pause on our problems, we’re clinging to each moment, filling every second with memories that are ours alone. Because we know, somehow, that it won’t be ours forever.

I reach out, letting my fingers brush along his jaw, the faint stubble tickling my skin. He shifts his head, catching my fingers with his lips in a soft kiss. A tiny gesture, yet my heart stumbles over itself.

Damian feels less like my husband and more like my lover now. The thought makes me giggle.

He catches my laugh with a curious glance. “What’s so funny?”

“Nothing,” I say, trying to contain my amusement. “Where are we going?”

A faint smile curves his lips. “It’s a surprise.”

Of course. Damian and his surprises. In our week in Auckland, he’s gone above and beyond. Each day, he had a surprise waiting for me: a dinner at an exclusive rooftop restaurant, a private art gallery tour and he even planned an aquarium date. I’ve seen nearly everything this city has to offer. What else could he possibly have up his sleeve?

As we wind down a picturesque road, the car suddenly jolts, sputtering before it slows to a stop. Damian frowns as he pulls over. “Just a second,” he murmurs, taking the sunglasses off and slipping out of his seat.

I climb out too as he pops the hood, a look of concentration on his face. I bite my lip as he rolls his shirt sleeves and examines the engine.

There’s seriously something wrong with me. Everything he does turns me on. But I have to admit, there’s something primal about the way he’s standing there, looking rugged and focused.

“Is there anything you can’t do?” I tease. “Who knew my billionaire husband was also a mechanic?”

A flicker of a smile crosses his face, then fades as he says, “My father was a mechanic.”

His words surprise me, and I frown slightly. “Your father...?”

He doesn’t look up. “My biological father,” he clarifies, his tone flat.

“Oh…” The silence hangs between us as I take in his words, and for a moment, I’m reminded of just how little I know about his past—about his birth parents, his roots. He’s always been so guarded, and I haven’t dared to ask because earlier, he barely spoke to me, and now I don’t want to push him into sharing something he’s not ready to.

“Anthony Sabatino was one of a kind. Never had any formal education, but he didn’t need it. He taught himself everything he knew, and he was damn good at it. Best in the business, everyone said.”

I’m stunned, not just by his words, but by the way he’s letting me in, opening up when I never expected him to. There’s a vulnerability in his voice, something I haven’t heard before, and it shakes me to the core.

“He sounds like an incredibly talented man.” My voice is soft.

“He was.”

“What happened?”

His expression changes in an instant. “His talent became the cause of his death,” he says, his voice hard and clipped.

My breath catches. “Was there an accident? Did something—”

Damian slams the hood shut abruptly; his expression unreadable as he slips back into the driver’s seat.

Wordlessly, I open the passenger door and slide into my seat. His expression is hard as he stares straight ahead, his walls firmly back in place.

But as we drive, my mind keeps drifting back to what he said about his father, Anthony Sabatino. My gut can sense that something is horribly wrong. And Damian’s sudden change in demeanor has only solidified that feeling, leaving me unsettled and desperate for answers.

◆◆◆

The air grows cooler as we arrive at a secluded spot, miles away from the city and in the middle of nowhere.

So this was his surprise, I think internally as Damian parks the car in a small clearing. The distant glow of Auckland’s city lights twinkles like stars fallen to Earth.

Damian planned a stargazing outing. Just like I did back then. My heart melts but I can still feel the tension between us from earlier.

I feel awkward, standing to the side because Damian doesn’t let me help, unloading the baskets and blanket all on his own. He wraps me up in a dark hoodie he pulls out of the backpack.

“Thanks,” I tell him softly. He responds by pressing his lips against my forehead.

The view is breathtaking; the sky sprawls above us, studded with countless stars, yet all I can focus on is the silence between us. I glance sideways at him as we settle onto the blanket he spreads out.

Even physically here, Damian is miles away.

I draw a deep breath and decide to take a leap. “So,” I begin, trying to break the ice, “you come to New Zealand often, right?”

When a few seconds stretch into silence, I start to wonder if he’s going to say anything at all. But then, his voice breaks through, “Yes. I have two companies here. One I started three years ago, and the other I took over about six months ago.”

“You must’ve visited this place so many times.”

“This is actually my first time,” he says, shocking me.

“Why?” I ask, unable to hide my surprise.

“Why what?” he replies, brow furrowing.

“I mean, why haven’t you ever come here before?”

“Why would I?” His frown deepens, as if the notion of stargazing here baffles him.

“I mean, you love stargazing and come here on business trips often.”

“Exactly. Business trips.”

“Then why did you decide to come now?”

“Because I finally have a reason,” he says, glancing at me. His words seep into my heart, making it pound faster. I’m speechless.

“River, when I go on these business trips, all I do is work, eat, and sleep for a few hours before diving back in. I compress months’ worth of work into just a week or two.”

“Why?” I ask, genuine concern threading through my voice. It must be exhausting, shouldering such a burden alone.

“I do that so I can come home. To you. As soon as I can.”

“For sex?” My voice is weak.

“I have a high libido.” He agrees bluntly.

“But you can get sex anywhere,” I blurt before thinking.

“True,” he replies, cutting me to the bone. “But I don’t want anyone else.” His voice drops, turning dead serious. “You brought this up last time, and it seems you still have doubts. Pay attention because I won’t repeat myself. I never cheated on you. Not once have I so much as looked at another woman since you ran after me at the Four Seasons two years ago.”

I sit there, too stunned to say anything.

“And about cheating, It’s not just out of respect for you or your feelings. I find adultery distasteful and beneath me. If I wanted someone else, I’d be man enough to tell you and walk away. But that’s highly unlikely because I only want you. Anyway, I would never betray you or insult our marriage like that.”

My heart flutters at his words, a rush of relief washing over me. “Then why did you treat me like I was invisible the whole year we were married?”

“Because I thought doing so would ease my guilt.” He looks away.

“Guilt?”

He stares at the dark sky. “I felt fucking guilty for wanting you all the time. Being on business trips helped me maintain the illusion that I didn’t marry you. Not having you in front of me makes it easier to pretend you don’t exist.”

“What?” I am shaken by his confession.

“I wasn’t supposed to marry you, River.” He delivers another blow without even sparing me a glance. “I was never meant to marry the daughter of the man who ruined my life. But you... you were so innocent, so giving and loving like an angel. I got greedy. I became selfish. I took you even when I shouldn’t have. That’s why I said you weren’t in my plan.”

“Will you ever tell me what my father did to you?” I ask desperately.

“You would never believe me.”

Try me, I want to say but he turns his head, capturing my lips.

He kissed me, not out of desire, but to soften the sting of his words, masking his lack of trust in me.

For some reason, Damian thinks I’d never believe him which only makes my stomach sink lower.

Dad… what did you do?

CHAPTER FORTY-SIX

“How does it feel to be back?” Vicky asks, settling on the plush sofa across from me in the mansion’s sprawling sitting area. It’s surreal, finally being home after two months of constant travel.

I take a deep breath, my gaze drifting over the familiar contours of the room. “It feels…” I pause, struggling to find words. “I don’t know,” I admit, giving her a soft, helpless smile. And it’s true—I can’t quite grasp everything that’s been building up inside me.

Right after our stargazing night, Damian and I had to drop everything and fly to Greece for an urgent business crisis. A minor issue spiraled out of control. A single conference call with his executives would’ve saved days of fallout, but Damian had switched off his phone when we were out that day and there were consequences.

The two weeks that followed in Greece were hectic. Damian was practically living in his office. He was occupied with meetings and obligations that seemed to swallow all his time.

We already had this weird tension between us since the night he admitted feeling guilty for wanting and marrying me. With him always busy, we barely had a chance to talk.

Even though we hadn’t talked or worked things out, I kept my thoughts in check and refused to let myself overthink or worry too much. I didn’t let my mind run wild with the doubts I knew were lurking, waiting for the right moment to pounce. Instead, I clung to the part where he said that he never cheated on me and he never would. And that he wants only me, respects and values my feelings and our marriage.

Once Damian was finally free, he decided to extend our stay for another week so we could explore Athens together. It felt like his way of giving us a chance to work things out, and somehow, that week mended everything between us.

“Aren’t you happy?”

I blink, then nod, feeling a small smile tugging at my lips. “I am,” I say, and it feels entirely true. I am happy.

Damian may not trust me with his secrets yet, but over the past two months, he’s shown me that he wants me. Really wants me in his life. He had his reasons for staying distant all this time, and while he hasn’t shared them, I’m willing to wait. I’m willing to wait for the day he trusts me enough to open up. These months have rekindled a spark of hope in me, and now, I’m ready to fight for us.

She watches me carefully, a glint of warmth in her gaze. “I don’t know much about your marriage,” she says. “When I was first hired, you were… different. Sad, maybe. There was this heaviness around you, like you were carrying the weight of the world alone.” She hesitates, then adds, “Honestly, I thought Mr. Montgomery didn’t care for you, not the way he should. But watching you both for the past two months… it’s changed my mind.”

“And mine,” I agree, more to myself than her. I no longer have doubts—not in the way I used to.

Vicky grins, breaking the serious moment. “As for me,” she declares with a playful lilt, “I’m in love with Paris.”

The change in topic pulls a laugh from me, and I shake my head. Paris—my favorite city, my dream destination. Damian had whisked me there after Athens just because he could.

A few months ago, I was there on the run, convinced he’d never find me, never understand why I left. Now, I can hardly think about the streets of Paris without picturing him beside me.

“How did you even find my rings after I tossed them in the trash at the airport?” I’d asked him one evening as we walked along the Seine.

“Your rings had trackers.”

“What?” I stopped, holding up my hand, examining the rings as if I could see the tiny devices hidden inside.

“Relax, those rings are new.”

When I looked at him, still confused, he added, “Do you really think I’d let my wife wear rings she threw in the trash?”

“But those were worth—”

“Millions, yes.” His fingers brushed against my cheek, his touch achingly gentle. “Which is nothing compared to you. I had them retrieved so I could have them remade exactly the same.”

I touched the huge diamond and the band, amazed. “So… these don’t have trackers?”

“No.”

I was just starting to smile when he added, “But it’s in the necklace.”

I gasped, my hand flying to my throat.

“And in those studs,” he continued, laughing at the horror in my eyes. He wrapped his arm around me, pulling me close as we resumed our walk.

He never did clarify if he was joking, and knowing Damian, I doubt he was.

When I joked about putting a tracker in his wedding band, he just smiled and said, “Sure. I’ll get it done.”

I forgot all about it until he mentioned it again two days ago, telling me it was done, shocking me.

I turn back to Vicky, smiling. “Can you believe we were gone for nearly two months?”

She shakes her head. “Thanks to you and Mr. Montgomery, even I got to travel around the world,” she says, her voice brimming with gratitude. “I never dreamed I’d see any of those places—Scotland, London, New Zealand, Greece and Paris… It was like living in a dream.”

I smile. “It all feels like a dream, doesn’t it?” Then it falters when I ask, “Anything from Matt?”

Vicky’s smile fades, the light in her eyes dimming. She shakes her head slowly, and my heart sinks. Matt has gone AWOL.

During the second week in Scotland, we had received an email from him on Vicky’s phone. It was short, almost clinical, delivering the news that Melissa was recovering. I had felt a rush of relief at the thought of her waking up, but something about Matt’s tone unsettled me. It was devoid of his usual warmth and affection. I couldn’t shake the feeling that something was wrong.

I had confronted Damian about it that night, needing to voice my unease. “When I said Matt was just a friend, I meant it.” I watched as he lowered his eyebrows.

“You won’t harm Matt because of your stupid jealousy.” The statement came out of me as a question when he remained silent.

“Believe it or not, I’m not a psychopath who hurts people for fun.” He met my gaze coolly. “I only do it when they deserve it.” He was pissed. It was clear but he kept his tone even. “I never bothered with him because he wasn’t worth my time. But bringing him up now is only making things worse for him.”

That made me shut up. I swallowed hard. I trusted Damian; he was always blunt and upfront. If he’d done anything, he would’ve owned it completely. So if he wasn’t behind Matt’s sudden change in tone, who was?

Matt had stopped emailing entirely after that single, cold message, leaving us worried.

“Contact the community center.”

Vicky nods, rising from the seat, phone already in hand. I watch her as she converses with someone on the other end.

After a few minutes, she hangs up, a glimmer of hope returning to her expression. “It was Laura.”

“Firstly, she asked me to convey her gratitude for the generous donation Mr. Montgomery made.”

My eyes widen in surprise. “I didn’t know.” The revelation fills me with warmth. He always did good without seeking recognition. I can’t help but admire that about him—the way he gives without hesitation, making the world a better place in his own subtle way.

“When I asked about Matt, Laura said he went to London a month ago.”

Concern knots my stomach once more. “Oh. I hope he is okay.”

“I’m sure he is. I requested his London office number since his personal one isn’t working. She promised she’d send it to me by the end of the day,” Vicky says, and I nod.

My phone buzzes with an incoming call, and I leap to my feet. “It’s Summer!” I announce, a grin lighting up my face as I dash toward the library.

“Well, well, Ms. Supermodel! Seems like you’ve finally got some time for me.”

Her answering laugh bursts through the phone, melting my heart. Summer, my sweet, hyperactive, ever the sunshine Summer, has finally arrived. The past two months have been a turning point for both of us.

While Damian and I have been enjoying this new phase of our marriage, Summer has been soaring high in her career.

Just thinking about her being scouted by Hannah Cooper, one of the Creative Directors of one of the biggest advertising agencies in Los Angeles, fills me with pride.

She’s become a rising star in the modeling world, and she deserves every bit of the success that’s come her way. I remember the day she sent me a picture of her face shining brightly on a gigantic LED screen in the KIM Advertising building. My heart swelled with joy for her—she’s worked so hard, and now she’s finally getting the recognition she deserves.

“Guess what?” she bursts out, her excitement palpable through the phone.

“What?”

“I’m getting married!”

“What?” I gasp. Summer laughs, a bright, joyful sound that can lift anyone’s mood.

“I wanted to tell you about us, but things were so hectic, and we couldn’t talk much because of the time difference!”

“Yes…” I reply, a wave of regret washing over me. I wish I had been there to experience all her incredible moments with her. “So, who’s the lucky guy that has captured my best friend’s heart?”

“You’d never guess,” she giggles, and a smile spreads across my face.

“Don’t keep me waiting! Come on, tell me!”

“You know the apartment you let me stay—”

“Rented you mean.” I cut her off. She always makes it like I did her a huge favor when that’s not the case.

“Yes, rented!”

I can picture her rolling her eyes.

“What about it? Does it need any repair—”

“No! Everything is fine.”

“Then what is it?”

“Remember the grumpy neighbor?”

“Yeah, that reclusive guy who stood up for you against my husband? Is he still giving you a hard time about the loud music again? If he is, just let me know. I can handle it—”

Her laugh rings out, cutting me off. “Actually, that’s the guy.”

“I don’t follow…”

“River! He’s the one I’m marrying!”

“What?” I shout, shock coursing through me. “You’re marrying your ruthless neighbor?” My jaw drops in disbelief. “But you always complained about him! I thought you hated him!”

“I thought I hated him too,” she admits softly.

“Does he love you?” I ask seriously.

“Yes.” she breathes, and a smile unfurls across my face.

“And you obviously love him,” I tease, and she laughs again.

“Obviously! Even Goldie loves Archer.”

“Congratulations. I’m so incredibly happy for you, Summer.”

“Words aren’t enough. You’re coming to my engagement party this weekend.” Before I can say anything, she adds, “But wait, can you make it? I totally forgot about your husband. Is he going to cause any trouble?”

“No, he won’t.” I answer with confidence.

“Are you sure? Because I wouldn’t hesitate to go toe-to-toe with him if he tries anything. He was lucky I was drunk that night and couldn’t see his face because of those ridiculous party goggles. Otherwise, I would have haunted him like a vengeful spirit until he finally came to his senses and treated you right.”

I can’t help but laugh at the image she paints. “Don’t worry, he’s a changed man now.” I assure her. “But if he steps out of line, I might just let you haunt him after all!”

“Does that mean you’re coming?” she asks, her voice full of hope.

“Yes.” I smile even though she can’t see it.

Then suddenly, her tone turns serious. “Are you doing okay, though? We haven’t spoken much in the last few months, and I want to make sure everything’s okay there. Do you need any help, River?”

I love her. Seriously. She is a true friend. I love how she respects my boundaries but still checks in on me. One day, I’ll tell her everything about me and my marriage. “I’m happy, Summer. After a really long time.”

There’s a brief pause before she exhales audibly. “You have no idea how relieved I am to hear this.”

“Can I… bring my husband with me?” I have to ask this because the last time Archer and Damian were together, they were at each other’s throat.

“You can,” she says with a hint of amusement. “Just hope he behaves this time. Archer’s been extra grumpy and fiercely protective of me.”

“You have to admit it would be fun to watch them duel.” I say, surprising her.

“Ohmygod, yes! That would be priceless!”

After a few more minutes of chatting, we wrap things up, and I rush to find Vicky, eager to share the news. When I tell her, her eyes sparkle with delight.

“Come on, let’s go!” I urge, striding confidently toward the door. “We’re going for a drive.”

“Where to?” she asks, hurrying to keep up with me.

“I’m going to do something I always wanted to do.”

“And what’s that?”

“Surprise my husband at work!”

CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN

Damian

Karma. It’s what everyone loves to preach when they’re too weak to get justice on their own. They clutch it like a lifeline, a sick comfort that lets them sleep at night, convinced that someone or something will make things right for them.

But Karma? It’s just a fantasy, a comforting lie wrapped in empty promises.

I’ve seen how this world works. It rewards the ruthless, the ones who can lie with a smile and snatch with a gentle hand. I’ve watched as monsters in suits stroll down red carpets, praised and loved, while good people are buried six feet under, all because they dared to hope, dared to be kind.

If Karma were real, there wouldn’t be so many graves lined with broken hearts and shattered dreams. If Karma were real, I’d have never been dragged through hell by the very people who preach justice, who stand on stages and talk about integrity with blood on their hands.

The good don’t get rewarded in this world. They’re used. Chewed up. Spit out. I was one of them, once. I had faith in that kind of justice, that kind of naive belief that, eventually, the scales would tip, that the suffering would end, that people like me wouldn’t have to bleed just to survive. But all I ever got was more scars, deeper wounds. And all I saw was the corrupt rise higher, unscathed, untouched by any so-called retribution.

So I let go of that childish idea of Karma, tossed it aside like all the other fairytales I’d been fed. Because Karma isn’t some mystical force waiting to set things right. Karma is whoever’s left standing when the dust settles, the one who’s strong enough to wield it, to carve it into the bones of those who deserve it. And now? Now, that’s me.

I don’t sit around waiting for the universe to punish those who’ve wronged me. No, I’ve become their reckoning, the darkness they can’t hide from, the consequence they thought would never come. I am what they should have feared from the beginning. I’m here to tip the scales myself, to show them what justice really looks like when it’s stripped of all its hollow virtues. And when I’m done, they’ll finally understand what it’s like to pay. Because the universe doesn’t keep score. I do.

They wanted a villain, so here I am. The one they thought was too broken, too defeated to rise again. But I’ve risen from the ashes they left me in, forged in the flames of every betrayal, every scar they left behind. And I won’t stop until every single one of them has felt what I had—until they look into my eyes and see that I am their Karma, the nightmare they never saw coming.

A sea of flashing cameras, booming voices, and eager reporters flood the steps as soon as I come out of the court.

Hal and his team create a wall of solid muscle around me, moving with purpose, shoving reporters aside, no hesitation, no mercy as they guide me through with ruthless efficiency.

Cameras continue to flash, their words loud and desperate, trying to get a reaction. My sunglasses shield the hard, steely gaze beneath as I stride forward.

“How does it feel to finally achieve your goal?” A voice cuts through, dripping with an almost worshipful reverence, like they’re addressing a God.

“How does it feel to take something that’s been built for decades and just crush it under your boot?” A reporter sneers.

Amazing. It feels fucking amazing.

“Is it true that bribing senators and other influential figures was part of your strategy to win this lawsuit?” Another pipes up, daring me to react.

The words don’t matter. They never do. My expression doesn’t waver, the years of brutal self-control woven into every inch of me. It’s second nature now, this ironclad mask I wear. I’ve spent a lifetime honing it, conditioning myself to be unshakeable, to show no weakness, no sign of what’s boiling inside me.

The flashes continue along with their questions, but they don’t touch me. Nothing ever does. I’ve fought for too long, bled for too much, to let anyone—least of all these vultures—see any crack in my armor.

“Is this some sort of a revenge move?” Someone asks.

Revenge? I shake my head internally. They call this revenge?

The world loves a simple story, a black-and-white explanation for what’s really a storm of darkness.

The truth? This is payback, yes, but nothing in comparison to what I have originally planned. The man I just crushed thought he could destroy me. Thought his power, his money, could bury me in the dirt.

That was one of his colossal mistakes. He underestimated me. He thought he can defeat me. He’s the one who’s been defeated and destroyed. His empire is nothing but rubble now, the ashes of his greed scattered across the winds.

The guy I just obliterated is a parasite. A man who never played fair, who used every trick in the book to climb to the top, and used innocent people as his stepping stone. I just made him feel what it feels like to be someone else’s stepping stone.

I took his empire. Every last inch of it. Every asset, every account, every piece of his legacy. He’s broke now, stripped of everything he thought was his.

He thought he could challenge me, that he could drain his last few pennies in some misguided lawsuit against an ‘hostile takeover.’ Every move I made to reach this moment was legal, meticulously so. The win? Predetermined. A mere technicality, really.

This is not revenge like I said. What I’ve got planned for him is far worse than that. This is about more than just a lawsuit. This is about rewriting history, about giving him his Karma, something he’s been dodging his entire life.

The protesters are scattered along the sidewalk, their faces twisted with anger. The protestors are the former employees of the man whose empire I took over.

They’ve lost their jobs because of me. I see their scornful eyes follow my every step as I move toward the waiting car, their voices rising, a chorus of accusations thrown at my back. “Greedy bastard!” one of them yells, “You ruined everything!” The words are like bullets. But I keep moving, impassive.

Just as I’m about to climb into the car, a woman steps forward. Her voice bitter and full of accusation. “I hope you know you’re going to hell for this!”

I just stare at her, my gaze empty. “I’ve lived there all my life.”

Her eyes widen. I slide into the car, the door slamming shut behind me.

Hal’s already in the front seat, a look of frustration on his face. He curses under his breath. “I’m sorry, sir. It’s my fault. I misjudged the timeline. Moving and recruiting all the former employees to the new branch is taking longer than I planned. You shouldn’t have had to deal with the fallout.”

“Get it done by the end of the week.”

He nods grimly and faces forward. The car pulls away, and I let my eyes drift to the scene outside the window.

The angry protesters glare in my direction, but then something catches my eye. A man, dressed in a worn flannel shirt and faded jeans, stands near the edge of the crowd. The man’s face is rough, haggard, the lines carved deep from years of struggle. His eyes meet mine, filled with helplessness.

For a heartbeat, time stops.

And then, the world shifts.

His face distorts. And in its place, a face I know too well—a face that haunts my every thought—forms.

My father’s.

I wrench my eyes off the haunting reminder.

My hand reaches for my sunglasses, pulling them off hastily. The sharp throb behind my eyelids is almost unbearable.

The car speeds away, the protesters and that man now distant figures in the side-view mirror.

Leaning my head back against the headrest, I close my eyes.

“No, no… No!” Mamma’s voice is almost unrecognizable, ripping through the house as she stares at the officer in the doorway. Her hand flies to her mouth, eyes wide with horror, her whole body shaking.

I step back, my heart hammering in my chest as I watch her turn and run for the bedroom, one hand on her swollen belly.

“Ma’am! Mrs. Sabatino!” The officers call after her, moving past me, but all I can do is stand there. I feel sick—like something’s crawling in my stomach, twisting everything up.

I want to run to Papà’s garage, to find him and bring him home. Only he could calm Mamma when she got upset, only he knew how to make everything okay.

But Papà told me not to.

“Damian, listen to me,” he’d said just two days ago, crouching down until we were eye-to-eye. “You are eight years old now. That means you are the man of the house when I’m not here. Do you know what that means, figlio mio?”

I’d nodded, even though I didn’t really understand. I wanted to be strong for him, to make him proud. Papà travels a lot for work, and he always worries when he’s away from home. I want him to rely on me. “It means I have to take care of Mamma and… and my sister.” My gaze had drifted to her belly.

He’d smiled, warm but serious, a hand resting on my shoulder. “That’s right, son. You have a sorellina on the way. And Mamma—” His voice softened as he glanced toward her, then back at me. “She needs you, especially now. She needs you close by, watching over her and your sister. It’s what a man does, Damian.”

“But… I want to go with you, Papà. I can help. I can hold the tools and learn, like last time.” I’d tugged at his shirt, looking up at him with hope and stubbornness.

Papà laughed softly, ruffling my hair. “Ah, mio figlio… I’d take you every day if I could. You know that. But sometimes, men have to make hard choices. Sometimes, we have to stay where we’re needed most, not where we want to be.”

I’d frowned, trying to make sense of it. “But… can’t I do both? Can’t I take care of Mamma and still come with you?”

He shook his head. “No, Damian. Right now, Mamma and your sister are more important than anything else. You’re the one who has to look after them while I’m away. Can you do that for me?”

Nodding grimly, I say, “Yes, Papà. I can stay with Mamma and the baby.”

He’d pulled me into a tight hug then, his voice quiet in my ear. “That’s my boy.”

The officer’s frantic voice brings me back, snapping me to the awful present.

All I can think about is Papà’s words. He trusted me to take care of Mamma. He told me it was my job, that Mamma and the baby need me.

I straighten my back, setting my shoulders like I’d seen Papà do, and step forward, glaring up at the officers as they bang on the door.

“Please don’t shout. You’ll scare Mamma. And if Mamma’s scared, it’ll scare my sister too.”

One of the officers kneels down. “Why don’t you wait outside, son?”

I shake my head, clenching my fists. “I can’t leave. She needs me.”

The cries from the bedroom have gone quiet, and a sick feeling sinks into my stomach when one officer begins slamming his shoulder against the door.

My chest rises and falls rapidly as I watch everything with chills running down my spine.

I hear the splintering of wood as he shoves again, harder this time. The door’s frame cracks under the pressure, and I can feel the force of it vibrate through me.

Everything goes dead silent. The world feels like it’s paused, the only sound a dull ringing in my ears as they shove their way inside.

One of them lunges at me, his hand reaching for my arm, but I’m already slipping away. My breath is ragged, sharp gasps, but there’s no sound, no noise. I barely feel the air around me as I slip past him, running into the room.

That’s when I see Mamma.

Hanging from the ceiling, her head tilted to one side, her blank eyes locked on mine.

“Sir!” Hal’s voice breaks through the haze as my eyes snap open.

I grunt, my neck stiff from the awkward position, and force myself to sit up straighter.

“What is it?” My voice comes out gruff.

“You were muttering in your sleep...” Hal starts, but when he catches the cold edge in my eyes, he quickly changes the topic. “We’re here.”

I don’t need to look outside to know. I get out of the car, jaw clenched tight as I stride toward my sleek thirty-seven-story office building.

No one is supposed to see me that way. I’ve worked my whole life to ensure no one ever does. But Hal saw it. And that’s something I’ll never let myself forget.

The legal team that followed us catches up as I move across the spacious lobby, their footsteps urgent.

One of the men catches up to me. “Sir, I know we finalized everything, but… if I may, I still think it’s a mistake to recruit the former employees. The decision of bringing them on could damage the company—”

I stop dead in my tracks, and the sound of footsteps halts behind me.

My gaze is sharp as I turn my head, meeting Hal’s eyes.

Hal’s posture straightens, his hand already gripping the man’s shoulder with an iron grip.

I turn and begin walking again. But just before I reach the elevator, I hear Hal’s voice, firm and cold. “You’re fired.”

I don’t need to look back to know the man is frozen in place, his face ashen.

“Fired?” the man stammers. “But—”

Hal cuts him off. “Don’t speak unless spoken to. As a form of compensation, you’ll receive double what you’re owed, but you need to leave. Now.”

I understood the lawyer’s logic, his concern was valid. But what he doesn’t know is that I never put profit before innocent people’s livelihood. I had no intention of leaving those employees without jobs. I could’ve reassured them, could’ve promised them new roles within the company before the layoffs were even announced. But I needed them to believe they were discarded. I needed them angry, protesting on the streets.

I wanted the takeover to be as public as possible. Their protests, their outrage, had pushed this case into international headlines. And that was exactly the outcome I wanted.

I wanted everyone in the world to know about my victory.

As I step into the elevator, I turn and lock eyes with my assistant, watching him hesitate just as he’s about to board. He freezes mid-step, unsure of what he should do. Hal, striding in our direction, notices this and quickly reaches out, grabbing my assistant’s bicep to stop him. His grip is firm, pulling him back before he can step inside. Hal looks at me with a silent question, asking if I want him to stay outside with the rest of them. I give a small nod, and without another word, I press the button to close the doors.

Once the doors close, I reach for my tie and yank at it, loosening it before I start unbuttoning the top two buttons. My hands tremble like they always do after my nightmares. However, this was new as I never had one in the day.

Taking a deep breath, I tell myself, I did it. I finally did what I’ve waited twenty-four long, hellish years to do. For the first time in all those years, I can almost breathe without hurting again.

But I know this isn’t the end. I’m still far from my goal, but this victory has pushed me several steps closer.

Even so, it can’t bring my family back. Nothing can. And that truth claws at me, tearing away at whatever humanity I have left. But that’s fine. I’ve already buried that part of me.

They took everything from me, and I will make each and every one of them pay. Slowly. Brutally. Piece by piece, I’ll watch their worlds burn—watch them burn—until they’re nothing but charred ruins. No escape. No mercy. Every last one of them will suffer in ways they can’t even begin to imagine.

I was weak then—helpless. Just a child, lost and discarded, an orphan tossed between foster homes. But not anymore. Not anymore.

The softness I once had in me, the love, the care died with my family and the remnants was beaten out of me, stripped away until all I knew was cold fury. Loathing. Hatred. And an insatiable thirst for vengeance that burns hotter with every breath.

Time has changed now. But not by a miracle. I worked hard for it. And now, I hold the world in the palm of my hand. Every single one of them—the ones who destroyed my family, or stood idly by as it happened—will pay. No one escapes. Not a single soul will be spared. I’m halfway through it already.

Years of discipline, of honing my mind and body, have turned me into a sophisticated man. But no amount of training can erase the animal inside me, the one who thrives on watching them squirm. The man I’ve become might wear a tailored suit and speak in controlled tones, but deep down, there’s a savage beast who takes pleasure in the fear I instill, in the way their sweat stains their skin when they realize they’re powerless.

The elevator dings. I step out, already plotting my next move, the cold thrill of revenge buzzing under my skin like an electric current.

The game has only just begun.

◆◆◆

I’m on edge, wired, since I returned from court. I can’t tell if it’s finally hitting me that I’ve taken over their empire—or if it’s the nightmare I had earlier that’s digging into my mind, making my skin crawl. Either way, something’s off, and I can feel the control slipping—and that is unacceptable.

I don’t lose control. Ever. I’ve built my entire existence on dominance—on power. I’m the one who commands, the one who decides. My every move, every step, every breath is calculated. People bend to my will, and I make them bend without a second thought. I never let anything slip. But right now, this feeling crawling under my skin, gnawing at my insides, is a reminder that I’m human—vulnerable in a way I can’t allow.

I’ve been barking orders all day, the words coming out like clockwork, but they don’t satisfy me the way they should. I’ve been drowning in coffee, pacing the length of my office, trying to fight the growing pressure in my chest. There’s sweat on my forehead, and it disgusts me. I don’t sweat. I’m not weak. But today, everything is closing in on me, and I can’t fucking shake it. The air feels thick. The silence in the room feels too loud. I can’t breathe, can’t focus.

I glance at my watch. It feels like the hands are stuck, frozen in place, waiting for me to lose patience. My fingers twitch, desperate to make the seconds move faster. But they don’t.

I reach for the phone, dialing the London branch with ruthless precision, trying to latch onto something, anything, that will distract me. I need to regain control. Now.

It doesn’t help. For the first time in my life, focusing on work doesn’t help me calm down. I unbutton the third button in haste, barely listening to the person on the other end.

I’m barely hanging on, fighting the rising panic clawing at the back of my mind, when the door to my office opens. I turn, ready to snap. But then I see her.

River.

She stands in the doorway like some kind of dream I’ve been craving without even knowing. Her pale green eyes lock onto mine—those eyes, so fucking soft, making it impossible to look away.

She looks like she’s been brought into my world from a different one—porcelain skin, flawless and creamy, a soft, pink mouth that hints at sweetness, and loose, glossy curls falling around her face like some angelic crown.

And when she smiles, something inside me snaps.

Without another thought, I abort the call and stride toward her, desperation building inside me. I need her, need to feel her, need to drown out the chaos in my mind. My steps are fast, like I’m running out of time, like I won’t survive unless I touch her.

I reach her in a matter of seconds, bending low, lifting her into my arms. She gasps, but I don’t give her a chance to react. I pull her against me, crushing her to my chest like I’m afraid she’ll disappear if I don’t hold on tight enough.

I bury my face in the crook of her neck, inhaling deeply. Her scent—sweet, warm, comforting—hits me like a bullet in the chest. I breathe her in like I’m drowning. I don’t care that I’m shaking a little, that I’m feeling things I can’t explain. I just need this. I need her.

Her hands find my shoulders, and I feel her touch like a brand against my skin. My pulse quickens, but it’s different now—calmer. Softer. Like she’s taming the beast in me, making the anger and desperation subside.

I can already feel the change in me, my breath slowing, steadier now as I feel her heartbeat in sync with mine. Every tension from the day evaporates with her in my arms.

Her mere presence pulls me from the edge, and I can breathe again.

The storm in me isn’t gone. It’ll never be. But with her in my arms, I can survive it.

“Surprise…” she whispers, her voice sweet and light, a sound that slides straight to the center of me, cutting through every bit of hardness left from today.

I smile against her skin, something that has somehow become natural with her. She doesn’t realize she’s the only one who can coax that out of me. Before her, I didn’t even have a reason to smile.

I glance over at the floor to ceiling glass wall, catching our reflection. Her small frame dangling from my neck, feet lifted clean off the ground, dwarfed by the sheer size of me. I’m holding her so tightly it must hurt, but she doesn’t flinch, just molds into me like she belongs there. She does.

“I shouldn’t have come back to work.” My voice is gruff, hating that I even let her out of my sight today.

I feel her laugh, her shoulders shaking against me, her joy melting away the last traces of my grim mood.

Reluctantly, I ease her back down, letting her slip from my hold. But her hands linger on me as she looks up, those green eyes so trusting, so warm, like she’s waiting to hear anything I have to say.

She doesn’t know how close I am to grabbing her again, to saying to hell with everything else.

“I don’t blame you,” she says softly, her voice carrying that gentle understanding. “I know I can’t keep you chained to me forever.”

“Maybe I want to be chained,” I grumble. Her laughter spills out like music, and I can’t help but be drawn to the way her features light up. Her smile is radiant, her green eyes shimmering with a kindness I still can’t believe is meant for me.

She tilts her head, looking up at me with flushed cheeks. “I always wanted to do this… surprise you at work.”

My hand reaches up on instinct, tucking a stray curl behind her ear, my fingers lingering against her heated skin. “Then why didn’t you?”

Her expression shifts as she looks down. “Because I didn’t think I was allowed to do that.”

Allowed. Like she’s anything less than a queen.

She doesn’t get it. Doesn’t know that no one on this damn earth deserves her, least of all me. Not after everything I’ve put her through. When we married, I was so wrapped up in my own bitterness and distrust that I lashed out at the one person who had nothing to do with any of it. She was innocent, the only light in a world full of shadows, and I spent that whole year doing everything I could to dim it. I’ll never forgive myself for that.

Her smile was a rare thing back then, hidden under the weight of everything I’d thrown at her. I’d see the hope fade from her eyes when I came home late, silent, distant. I could see her struggling to understand why the man she’d married was treating her as if she were the enemy.

She took every harsh word, every cold look, absorbing my anger without ever fighting back. It’s only now that I finally see her for what she truly is—a piece of heaven I somehow stumbled into, someone far too good for the life I brought her into.

Hurting her was the worst mistake of my life. She’s the only person in this twisted world who’s never wronged me, who doesn’t deserve an ounce of the darkness I carry. And now, I finally understand that. She wasn’t part of the betrayal, wasn’t part of the deception that hardened me. She was an innocent bystander, caught in the crossfire of my own damn grudges and need for control. She deserved happiness, freedom, anything but the pain I threw her way.

But I’m a selfish bastard, because even now, I want her to be happy with me. Not without me, not moving on to some other life, no matter how much better that might be for her.

I can’t imagine a world where I’d let her go. I want to be the one who makes her smile, the one who gives her every bit of joy she’s ever missed.

These past few months have felt like a second chance, something I know I don’t deserve, but I’ve taken hold of it like a man starved.

You don’t get a woman like River twice in a lifetime, and I’m done making the same mistakes. I know her worth now, and if it takes my whole damn life to mend every scar I left, then that’s exactly what I’ll do.

“Um… I was thinking maybe we could grab lunch together?” she says, her voice a little unsure. “But if you’re busy—”

I don’t let her finish, locking eyes with her. “No, I’m not busy. Not when it’s you asking.”

The way her face lights up pulls something deep inside me. Her smile is like the sun breaking through, and I can’t help smiling back.

Instead of going out, she decides on takeout, insisting she’d rather stay here with me alone than a public place. So we end up on the office sofa, sharing a quiet meal, laughing softly, both of us wrapped up in this moment of peace.

Afterward, I catch her biting her lip, her eyes flicking toward me with that familiar, thoughtful look—the one that tells me she’s trying to work up the nerve to say something, something that’s been sitting on her mind for a while.

I tilt my head. “What’s going on?” I ask, a hint of amusement in my voice. “You’ve got that look. And here I thought I was special enough to get surprised by my wife without any hidden motives.”

Her face falls a little, and she immediately snuggles up to my side, worried. “No, that’s not—”

I cut her off with a soft kiss to her lips. “I’m just teasing, angel,” I murmur, brushing a strand of hair from her face. “Even if you had something to ask, it wouldn’t change a thing. What’s mine will always be yours.”

Her breath catches, her lips parting, and I can’t stop myself. I lean in, capturing her mouth again with a slow, purposeful kiss. When I pull back, my voice is low, husky. “Now, tell me, what was it you wanted?”

Her cheeks flush a deeper shade, and she whispers, “You.”

I rise to my feet instantly, pulling her up with me, a sense of urgency building. I start tugging her toward the door.

“What are you doing?” she gasps, stumbling a bit as I lead her.

“I want you too, angel.”

She stammers, her voice catching. “B-but I didn’t mean it like that…” Her blush deepens, and I can’t help but smile, loving the way she reacts.

I pause just long enough to press a kiss to her flushed cheek. “Liar.”

“O-okay, well… I did want you, but it’s not exactly what I meant earlier.”

I raise an eyebrow. “Then what is it?” I ask, wanting her to get to the point so we can get home sooner.

She bites her lip nervously. “I was hoping you’d come with me to my friend’s engagement party this weekend.”

I frown. “Vicky’s getting married? Hal didn’t say anything.”

She laughs, shaking her head. “Not Vicky… wait, why would Hal tell you anything about Vicky’s love life?”

I smile, leaning down to brush a kiss across her brow. “You’re truly naïve, angel.”

Her frown deepens. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Nothing,” I say, pulling her closer again. “So if it’s not Vicky, then who’s getting married? That guy from the community center?” My voice hardens and she notices.

She shakes her head quickly, eyes wide. “No, it’s not him! It’s Summer—she’s engaged!”

The name makes everything inside me go still.

Summer.

No. It’s not possible. There’s no way it’s the same person; the world isn’t that small.

I should’ve asked Hal to look into this… Summer, but with everything going on, it slipped my mind. Still, I don’t believe in coincidences.

“So, she invited me?” I ask, wrapping an arm around her waist and beginning to lead her toward the door again.

River giggles. “Something like that.”

She tells me Summer’s getting engaged to the neighbor—the one who had the audacity to clash with me on New Year’s Eve.

“They’d be thrilled if you brought me along,” I deadpan, making her laugh.

“Does that mean you’re not coming?” she teases, but there’s a note of genuine curiosity in her eyes.

I pull her closer. “There’s no way in hell I’m leaving you alone with them.”

Her smile dies. “Do you still think I’d run?”

“No. I just don’t like sharing you with anyone.” I tighten my arm around her.

She rolls her eyes, the tension melting away as she relaxes into my arms. “I can’t believe you’re actually jealous of Summer. She’s a woman, for god’s sake.”

“Her dog isn’t.”

That makes her laugh again and watching her fills me with a fierce satisfaction.

With a final kiss to her hair, I murmur, “Let’s go home, angel.”

As she rests her head against my chest, a soft sigh leaving her lips, I know one thing beyond any doubt—I’ll never let her go.

CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT

River

“Stop it!” I laugh, swatting Damian’s hand away as he fumbles with the button of his crisp white shirt for what feels like the tenth time.

His expression is all irritation, brows furrowed, jaw set in that uncompromising way of his. He is really sulking! It’s adorable—if Damian Montgomery could ever look adorable.

His eyes narrow as he regards me with an almost betrayed look. “I still can’t believe you talked me into wearing this,” he mutters, a hint of resignation in his voice as he glares at the light beige blazer draped over his broad shoulders.

I suppress a smile. “You wore blue during our trip, remember? And you didn’t seem to mind then.”

“Yes, well…” He huffs, clearly searching for an excuse. “That was only for you. I don’t exactly go around wearing light colors for everyone else to see. They make me look—”

“Gorgeous?” I tease, flashing him a grin as I step in closer, adjusting the lapel of his blazer before running my hand down the soft fabric, savoring the contrast between his usual dark, brooding look and this lighter, refreshing tone. He really does look gorgeous, and I can’t help but feel a surge of pride knowing I’m the reason he’s dressed this way.

“Funny,” he grumbles.

I smirk up at him, raising my eyebrows. “You’re lucky I didn’t choose the red blazer.”

He looks horrified, and I burst into laughter, unable to help myself. Even Hal, who’s usually as stone-faced as Damian, raises his eyebrows in surprise, trying to hide his laugh behind a cough as he adjusts his suit jacket.

I lock eyes with Vicky from across the foyer, and she gives me an enthusiastic thumbs-up, glancing between my beige dress and Damian’s matching blazer.

I feel a rush of excitement, not just because Damian looks breathtaking but because tonight feels different, lighter, more normal. Like a real night out.

I’m heading toward the main door when I feel Damian’s hand close around my arm, gently steering me back. “We’ll be leaving through the back,” he murmurs, glancing toward the entryway.

I blink up at him, puzzled. “Why?”

He lets out a tense sigh. “There’s a swarm of paparazzi out front.”

“Paparazzi?” My brows lift in shock. “Why would they be here?”

“They’re fishing for a headline after my latest takeover,” he says, his tone edged with irritation. “They want something that’ll make the front page. We’d be better off avoiding them.”

I frown slightly as he gently steers me down a corridor that leads to the back exit. “Must be a high-profile takeover if they’re camping out on our doorstep,” I mumble, casting him a sideways look.

He doesn’t glance at me as he says, “It is. But right now, it doesn’t matter. All that matters is getting you to your friend’s party on time.”

“Right.” I smile, feeling a rush of excitement. I’m about to see my best friend in what feels like forever, to let loose a bit—and with Damian by my side, no less.

As Hal drives, Vicky sits in the passenger seat, focused ahead. Damian’s earlier comment about them crosses my mind, and curiosity gets the better of me. I lean forward. “Vicky, you’re going to love meeting Summer and her friends. She’s a big deal in the modelling world, you know? And her friends coming tonight are all tall, ridiculously good-looking models. I bet you’ll hit it off with a few of them.”

The reaction is immediate. Hal’s gaze cuts to Vicky, sharp and intense, as if daring her to respond, and I watch in shock as she glances over at him, cheeks going pink. Vicky, blushing because of Hal? My jaw literally drops.

Before I can process the new dynamic unfolding right in front of me, Damian’s hand slides around the nape of my neck, pulling me back toward him. His eyes narrow, but there’s a spark of amusement hidden in their depths. “You’re trouble, you know that?” His voice is low, a hint of a growl, clearly recognizing that I’ve just kicked up a storm between our two bodyguards.

“But…”

Damian doesn’t let me finish the thought. He dips his head and brushes a swift, chaste kiss over my lips, cutting me off in that familiar possessive way of his. “Leave it alone, angel. Let them figure it out,” he says in my ear.

I press my lips together, still trying to wrap my head around the idea. Opposites really do attract, don’t they? First Summer and Archer—who hated each other somehow ended up getting engaged, and now this? Vicky and Hal… I shake my head, smiling. Maybe they’re not so impossible, after all.

The grand entrance of the banquet hall is alive with elegant lighting and colorful décor that perfectly suits Summer’s vibrant style.

I practically bounce with excitement, clutching an enormous bouquet of blush pink roses in my hands. The sheer size of it is probably a little much, but if there’s ever a time to go overboard, it’s for Summer’s engagement.

Behind me, Damian and Hal each carry a huge, gift-laden basket, the lavish ribbons and glittering wrap spilling over the sides. Damian levels me a sidelong glance, clearly not thrilled about his temporary role as a gift-bearer. But he doesn’t say a word as he follows behind me, his frame looking as commanding as ever despite the armful of presents.

To my side, Vicky carries a smaller bouquet, something she picked out herself. She lifts it with a small smile, giving me a quick nod as we grin at each other.

Inside, the hall glows beneath a soft chandelier light, and I feel a giddy warmth bubbling up in me as I scan the crowd.

As soon as I spot Summer across the room, a warm rush of happiness fills me. She looks absolutely stunning, glowing in a floor-length gown of shimmering silver. Her dark long hair falls over her shoulders in soft, loose waves. I can’t wait to rush over to her.

I quickly turn to Damian and Hal. “Could you two put the gifts on the table with the others?” I ask, motioning toward the ornate gift table set up along one side of the hall.

Damian gives me a small sigh but doesn’t object. “Fine. You go on,” he says as he heads off with Hal.

Vicky and I exchange a grin before making our way to Summer. As soon as she sees us, her face lights up, and she lets out a delighted squeal, rushing forward to hug me. Her arms wrap around me tightly, and I return the hug just as fiercely.

“River!” she chirps, pulling back with that beaming smile of hers.

“You look stunning, Summer! Truly,” I gush, handing her the bouquet.

She laughs, eyes sparkling. “Oh, stop! You’re making me blush,” she says, then glances at Vicky with genuine warmth. “And this must be Vicky!” Summer pulls her into a quick hug too, surprising Vicky, who looks almost flustered for a second before she smiles, touched by Summer’s friendly greeting.

Setting the bouquets on a nearby table, she turns toward the tall man standing beside her, looking like he’d walked straight off the cover of a magazine.

Archer, her fiancé, is handsome in that captivating way—strong jawline, and a charming smile that seems custom-made to melt hearts. His dark hair is swept to the side in an effortless style, and he’s dressed in a fitted black suit that looks great on him.

“River, Vicky, meet Archer,” Summer introduces, her eyes shining with pride and love.

Archer smiles, offering his hand to both of us with a warm, easygoing charm. “I’ve heard so much about you. Thank you for coming.”

“Congratulations!” I beam at them.

“Thank you,” he says, glancing at Summer as if he can’t believe his luck. The two of them look so perfect together, and I can’t help but feel a flutter of happiness for her.

We chat for a few minutes, then Summer calls the photographer over to take our pictures. We laugh and pose and enjoy ourselves.

That’s when I catch Damian walking up beside me. Finally! I loop my arm around his and turn toward the happy couple, grinning. “Summer, you never got to properly meet my husband. This is—”

“Damian?” she whispers, barely audible, her voice carrying an emotion so profound it garners attention from people surrounding us.

Confusion stirs within me, and I smile at her questioningly. “Yes… Damian. How do you know his name?”

Tears begin to gather in her eyes, and her entire frame shudders as though the ground beneath her feet has just been ripped away.

My gaze flicks to Damian, expecting him to be just as confused but what I find on his face chills me.

His expression, so often steely and unreadable, is now disturbingly solemn. His jaw tightens, the warmth I know in his face eclipsed by a guarded tension, as if every muscle in his body is fighting to remain composed. His hand hangs still at his side, fingers curled into a tight fist.

I glance back at Summer, and she’s visibly struggling, one hand pressed against her mouth as though she’s physically holding back her emotions.

Archer, frowning at Damian furiously, immediately steadies her with a protective arm around her shoulders, pulling her closer, though her gaze remains transfixed on Damian.

A tear slips free, and she lets it fall, ruining her makeup.

“Baby, what’s wrong?” Archer asks, his voice full of worry, glancing from her to Damian, then back again. But she doesn’t respond, stunned as if she’s just seen a ghost.

“What’s going on?” I ask, my voice shaking with tension, unsure of what to make of all this. My heart sinking with every second as I watch my best friend and my husband stare at each other.

Damian finally opens his mouth, voice rough. “Summer…”

But before he can get another word out, a fist collides with his jaw out of nowhere, snapping his head to the side. A man in a leather jacket with intense, blue eyes flashing with fury comes into view.

“Raleigh!” Summer cries, trying to reach him, but Raleigh’s eyes are locked on Damian, blazing with anger.

Hal lunges forward, ready to give it back but Damian holds out a hand, stopping him. For some reason that pisses off Raleigh more, with his fist clenched, he steps forward for another swing.

“Stop!” I yell, rushing forward without thinking. Shoving him back with all the force I can muster, I shout, “How dare you lay a hand on my husband!”

Damian grabs me with an arm over my chest from behind to pull me back but I dig my heels in, ready to bash this man’s head if need be.

Raleigh’s face tightens, but before he can respond, a woman steps between us, her posture defensive. She’s striking, with chin-length hair and stormy gray eyes that cut through me as she invades my personal space. “Don’t touch my husband,” she says coldly, her gaze like steel as it meets mine.

“Hannah, please!” Summer’s voice reaches us but no one reacts.

“Your husband?” I echo, incredulous. “Your husband thinks he can just attack mine?” I match her glare, my voice hard.

Her lips pull into a humorless smile. “Your husband looks more than capable of defending himself.”

“So does yours!”

“Fuck this shit.” Raleigh spits out, spinning on his heel and storming off, leaving a stunned silence in his wake.

“Who the hell are you?” Hannah glares at my husband.

“Damian,” Summer whispers.

Hannah’s eyes widen as shock washes over her. It’s as if the name clicks in her mind and understanding dawns on her in an instant. She stares at him in disbelief for a second. She looks ready to say something, but holds back, her jaw tight and she too, turns and runs after her husband.

“Can someone please tell me what the hell is going on here?” I snap, pulling away from Damian, my chest tight. I turn to Summer. “What is this, Summer? You invited us here, only to have my husband attacked like this? You know I love you but I won’t tolerate this kind of disrespect—”

Damian’s hands close over my shoulders, pulling me close. “It’s okay,” he says quietly.

I watch him in disbelief. His lip is busted, a bruise already darkening on his chin, and he’s standing there telling me it’s okay? This isn’t my Damian. The man who hits back twice as hard, who never hesitates to defend himself is silent, taking the punch from a stranger without even flinching, without retaliating. It’s not like him at all.

“No, it’s not okay! He had no right—”

“Yes, he did.”

I stare at him, trying to understand. “What? Why would you say that?”

“Because…” Summer steps forward, her eyes shimmering with unshed tears. “Raleigh, Damian, and I… we have history.”

“I don’t understand…” I whisper, confusion seizing me, but there’s a tightening in my chest that tells me this is more than I’m prepared to hear.

She hesitates, glances at Damian before saying. “River… Damian is our foster brother.”

CHAPTER FORTY-NINE

Age Twelve

Damian

The mower’s engine rattles through my hands, each vibration numbingly familiar as it climbs up my arms. It’s the same sound I’ve gotten used to every day this summer.

I move in a steady rhythm, the sound pounding in my ears like an old, heavy heartbeat. Every line I cut into the grass is dead straight, each pass precise.

Even though it’s hard work, I am addicted to it because it helps shut off the world—to let the machine drown out the memories, the screams that still echo in the back of my mind.

My face is set, eyes fixed downward, shoulders squared against the sun that bakes my already darker skin.

The heat bears down, blistering, but I keep going. There’s nothing else I can do. If I stop, I might start thinking about it again.

My stomach growls, a hollow reminder that I haven’t eaten today, but it doesn’t matter. Eating would mean staying at the Samsons’ longer, and every minute there makes my skin crawl. I’d rather be here, mowing this yard, pushing through the sweat stinging my eyes and the aching dryness in my throat. It’s better than sitting around under the Samsons’ watchful, judgmental gazes or dodging their fists when they’re in one of their moods.

I can handle the beatings but their words… the rough words they spit out about my family… I can’t handle it. They treat me like I owe them for existing. And maybe I do. They feed me, after all. They make sure I’ve got a roof over my head, no matter how cold or cracked it is.

I’d give anything to leave that place. To leave behind the way they act all nice and smiley when some officials stop by. It’s all just a mask; underneath, they’re monsters.

I don’t know who this new kid is, the one they’re getting today, but all I know is he’s one more person they’ll torture. It makes me sick. I shake my head to concentrate on the present.

I keep my pace steady, letting the mindless task eat away the hours. I know the drill—trim every corner, keep the edges neat. Anything less will bring complaints and a few dollars less in pay. And I can’t afford that. I need that every bit of money to scrape by until I’ve got enough saved to make my way out of this town and leave the whole mess behind.

After an hour, I finally kill the mower. The yard is neat, the grass all level and even. I move to the driveway next, grabbing the hose and starting to wash away the dirt and grime.

I feel the aching fatigue setting in, the dull throb in my arms and shoulders. I swallow, the roughness in my throat nearly painful now as I trudge toward the house.

I barely make it to the porch before the screen door flies open, and there she is—Mrs. Marcel, her arms crossed, lips pressed tight.

I straighten up a bit, bracing myself.

“Thought I told you to stay outside,” she snaps. Her eyes rake over me as if I’m something unpleasant she found stuck under her shoe. She glances over the yard with a frown. “Are you done already?”

She’s in her sixties, maybe, with gray hair and a sour look that never leaves her face and a voice as sharp as nails.

“Yes, it’s done,” I say, my voice flat. I step back as she approaches, careful not to get too close, my hands shoved in my pockets.

I watch as she marches down the steps, taking her sweet time to inspect every inch of grass. She bends down to look at the edges, muttering something I can’t hear, just loud enough that I know she’s looking for any excuse to knock my pay down. Next, she examines her driveway.

I just stand there, silent, waiting, the sun beating down on me, sweat trickling down my back.

After what feels like forever, she turns back to me, her expression still sour and reaches into her purse, pulling out a few crumpled bills. She shoves them at me. “Here,” she says, her voice clipped. “Next time, try not to miss the edges. I’m not paying for half a job, you hear me?”

I nod and take them without meeting her eyes. It’s just a few dollars, barely enough for a meal, but I don’t say anything. I stuff the money in my pocket, my throat so dry I can’t swallow.

“Thank you,” I mumble, even though I know she couldn’t care less.

She looks at me with this half-sneer, like she’s just itching to say something else, but for some reason, she doesn’t. Just turns back toward the house.

When I first took this job, a few guys from the neighborhood warned me about the old lady—said she was racist. But I didn’t have the luxury of being picky. She was the only one without anyone else willing to work for her, so I took it.

I watch her go, fighting with myself. My mouth’s like a desert and my throat feels like sandpaper and the idea of pedaling all the way back to the Samsons’ in this heat without so much as a sip of water is intolerable. But asking her for anything feels like scraping up what little pride I’ve got left.

But my throat is burning, and the hunger clawing at my stomach isn’t helping the dizziness creeping in at the edges of my vision.

Still, I clear my throat. “Um, Mrs. Marcel?”

She stops, slowly turning around, her face screwed up like she’s already sick of me. “What? You need something else?”

I force myself to look at her, even though everything in me is screaming not to. “Could I maybe get a glass of water?” My voice sounds small, weaker than I’d like.

She stares at me, eyebrows raised, her lips pulling into a thin, scornful line. “You want water? I don’t recall including refreshments in the pay.”

“I… I just need a little.” I can feel the heat pooling in my face from embarrassment, sweat running down my temples.

She sighs, loudly, rolling her eyes. “Oh, for heaven’s sake. Fine. Wait here. And don’t go tracking dirt on my porch.”

I nod and move several steps back. With the sleeve of my already damp t-shirt, I wipe my face while I wait.

She’s gone for a while and I feel dizzy. My legs are begging me to sit on the step but I don’t.

After what feels like forever, she finally returns, holding a small half-empty bottle of water. The water is barely enough to wet my throat, but right now, it’s like gold.

She tosses it to me. “There. Don’t drink it all at once. And make sure to finish the job properly next time.”

I nod, unscrewing the cap as I mumble, “Yes, ma’am.” The water’s lukewarm, and there’s hardly any of it, but as it slides down my throat, it’s like the best thing I’ve ever tasted. I take a few tiny sips, forcing myself to save half for later, then screw the cap back on and shove the bottle in my backpack.

“Thank you, Mrs. Marcel,” I manage, even though she’s already turned and disappeared inside.

I head over to my bike, which is leaning against the side of the house. It’s old, the seat’s torn, and the handlebars are worn smooth from use. But it’s all I’ve got to get me anywhere. Swinging a leg over, I start pedaling, feeling every sore muscle.

The road stretches out in front of me, the sun still beating down, hot as ever.

Halfway down the block, I see a pregnant woman. She’s got grocery bags hanging off both arms, heavy enough that her shoulders are sagging. She’s struggling with every step, her face pinched.

Without thinking, my hands tighten around the handlebars of the bike. I skid to a stop, dropping my bike to the curb. I walk toward her, unsure if I should speak or if it’s right for me to ask. But the words come out anyway.

“Excuse me, ma’am,” I start. “Do you, uh…need some help with those?”

She stops in her tracks and turns, her eyebrows lifting, and glances down at the bags, then at me. I must look like a mess—sweaty, tired. She hesitates, almost like she’s about to refuse, but I speak up before she can.

“Really, I can carry them. It’s no problem,” I say, keeping my voice polite. I stand there, waiting.

After a moment, she sighs, her eyes soften. “Well… if you’re sure. They’re just… a little heavy today.”

I nod, not saying anything more, and gently take the bags from her. They’re heavy, the handles biting into my hands and my muscles protest but I ignore it and start walking alongside her, adjusting my grip so they won’t slip.

For a while, we walk in silence, and she watches me with a curious look.

“I’m a little surprised,” she says, her tone kind. “You don’t see kids offering help like this so often.”

I shrug, keeping my eyes ahead. “You looked like you needed it. That’s all.”

She smiles. “Well, thank you,” she says softly. “It means a lot, really.”

I don’t know what to say, so I just nod and keep walking.

When we finally reach her house, she turns to me, a warm smile on her face. “You’re a kind boy,” she says. She reaches into her bag, pulling out a few bills. “Here,” she says, holding them out.

I shake my head, hands buried in my pockets. “No, I don’t need that. I’m just glad to help.”

She lets out a gentle laugh, pressing the money toward me. “I know, but you didn’t have to help me with all those heavy bags. Please, take it. Get yourself something, okay?”

For a second, I just stare at her hand, feeling a lump in my throat. Finally, I reach out and take the bills. “Thank you.”

She smiles, warm and gentle, and it’s almost like my mom is right there with me.

“You take care, okay?” she says, her voice soft, motherly.

I nod once, barely meeting her gaze. “Thanks. You, too,” I mumble, turning back to my bike. I bite the inside of my cheek to keep my face blank.

I swing a leg over my bike and push off down the street.

As soon as I’m out of sight, I throw myself into pedaling, pushing so hard my legs scream in protest with every shove. The wind bites against my face, merciless as I ride. It stings my eyes, and I grit my teeth, pushing faster, welcoming the sharpness. My vision blurs, and I tell myself it’s just the wind tearing up my eyes.

I push myself harder than I should, my calves burning, my lungs aching, but I can’t stop. I pedal faster, and faster, until the tears fall in streaks down my face.

I pedal harder even though I’m not moving forward from that day four years ago. I go faster even though I know I’ll never outrun the past.

◆◆◆

I make a stop before heading back to the Samsons’ house, dragging out each second as much as I can before stepping into that place again.

When I finally make my way to the yard, I spot Caleb and his pack of friends huddled together by the porch. Caleb, a year older than me with a smirk, spots me and strolls over, his friends close behind.

“Well, if it isn’t our little money-maker,” he smiles.

I clench my jaw but keep my hands at my sides, ignoring him. I move to pass him, but he steps in front of me, blocking my way. “Come on, Damian,” he taunts, reaching forward to pat my pocket. “Let’s see how much you earned today.”

His dad is out on the front steps, lounging with a beer, and I know better than to push back. I just stand there, looking past Caleb, feeling my hands curl into fists at my sides as he digs into my pocket and pulls out the crumpled bills I’d just worked for.

Caleb waves them around, his grin widening as he turns to his friends. “Look at this, boys. Damian’s got himself a little bonus. Too bad he doesn’t know how to share.” He pockets the money with a mocking laugh, and they all file back to their game.

I don’t say a word. I won’t give them the satisfaction. With a tight breath, I drag my feet through the door, the familiar smell of dust and stale air hitting me right away. It’s the same as it’s been for two years now.

I push past the hallway, hearing the muffled sounds of Caleb and his friends yelling outside.

I check the bedrooms, kitchen—empty. The bathroom—no sign of her.

I make my way through the house, my boots thudding against the worn floorboards. It’s quiet, almost too quiet. I pass the door to the backyard, and for a moment, I think I hear something. A soft voice, hushed.

I stop in my tracks, listening for a second. It’s coming from outside.

I pull the door open just a crack, careful not to make too much noise. And there she is. Summer. Sitting on the grass, her heterochromia eyes glittering in the light, her messy brown hair falling into her bruised face.

She’s not alone, though. There’s a small kid beside her. A boy, maybe her age, no more than seven or eight. He’s got his head down, his body slouched as if he’s trying to make himself disappear. His clothes are a little too big, and his hands are clasped tightly in his lap.

His fear is thick, palpable. It reminds me of how I was placed in a home after...

I watch them for a second, not wanting to interrupt. But then Summer looks up and sees me standing there. Her face lights up like I’m the only person in the world. “Damian!” she calls, her voice high-pitched.

I keep my expression flat as I walk toward her, but something tightens in my chest when she grins like that.

In my own fucked up way, I came to care for her because she reminds me of the baby sister I never got to meet, the one who never got the chance to take a breath, to live.

I stop in front of her, watching as she looks up at me with those two-toned eyes of hers. I reach into my pocket and pull out something and let them drop into her lap without a word.

My eyes soften as I watch her face break into a surprised grin as she lifts the candies and colorful hairclips. Her eyes go wide, and she beams up at me. “Thank you, Damian!”

I just grunt, turning to leave, but something makes me stop. I glance back at the boy sitting beside her, his head still down, shoulders hunched. I notice the faint bruises along his cheek and jaw, marks I know all too well, and I let out a low breath.

He hasn’t moved much. He hasn’t said a word this whole time, his hands nervously twisting together in his lap.

I don’t know if it’s because of me or because of Summer, but it’s the same kind of fear that I’ve seen too many times in my life. The kind that stays with you, burns itself into your bones.

I reach into my pocket and pull out a granola bar, dropping it onto the grass in front of him. I’d bought it earlier as a backup for tomorrow in case I got dizzy from working all day on an empty stomach.

He flinches, his eyes darting up to me, and I see the fear flash across his face before he shrinks back, like he’s bracing for a hit. My chest constricts at that, but I don’t let it show.

Summer nudges him, and he lifts his head slowly, his blue eyes wide and unsure.

I’m about to turn and leave when Summer speaks up. “Don’t be scared, Raleigh!” She reassures him. “Damian’s my friend, and now he’s yours too!” She looks up at me expectantly. “Right, Damian?”

Raleigh, the boy, finally looks up at me, his eyes wide with uncertainty. I don’t offer him a smile, but I try to soften my expression, hoping he’ll see that there’s no reason to be afraid of me.

I grunt, the words coming out rougher than I intended, “Stay away from Caleb. He’s trouble.” I pause, my jaw tight as I remember how they treat other foster kids here. “His dad—” I stop, finding the right words. “Just stay out of the living room in the afternoons. If his dad’s home, don’t make any noise. He’s… not someone you want to be around.”

I hear Summer’s voice, light and cheerful, trying to make the moment less heavy. “Damian’s always looking out for us. Right, Damian?”

I remain silent but glance at Raleigh again, my eyes hardening. I can’t stand to see that look in his eyes—the one where he’s waiting for the worst.

“Take care of yourself, all right?” I say, my voice low, almost like a warning. “And don’t let Caleb get to you.”

Summer grins up at me, her face lighting up like I’ve just given her the world. “Thanks, Damian.” I feel something inside me twist. Not for the first time, I wish I could give her more. Protect her from them. But I can’t.

Two days later, I head out toward the shed, just planning to rummage around for scraps—anything I can use to keep my bike’s handles from falling apart. But before I even reach the door, I hear it. Caleb’s voice, laced with that familiar sneer, slithering out through the cracks. There’s a dark, smug satisfaction in his tone that makes my heart sink.

I push the door open just a crack, just enough to see Summer and Raleigh pressed up against the wall, eyes wide as Caleb and his two friends tower over them.

Raleigh’s lip is bleeding, a thin red line trailing down his chin, and his eyes are filled with unshed tears. Summer’s frozen, her mismatched eyes wide, her small hands clutching the hem of her shirt in a death grip.

“Gonna cry, freak?” Caleb’s voice is full of a sick, gleeful taunt, his hand pushing Raleigh’s shoulder just enough to make him stumble.

Summer whispers something too quiet for me to hear, and Caleb’s face twists in irritation. He leans down, grabbing her chin, fingers digging in roughly, making her wince as he lifts her face to his. “What was that? Speak up, weirdo.”

Raleigh tries to pull her away, but Caleb’s friend shoves him back, and nudging him in the ribs hard enough to make him gasp, his small body crumpling inward.

“Not so tough, huh?” Caleb jeers.

My jaw clenches, fingers curling tight around the rough wood of the shed door. I’ve learned to turn the other way when Caleb pulls his stunts. I’ve learned not to react, not to fight back when he takes the money I’ve earned or pushes me around. But this…this is different.

Before I even realize, I’ve moved, throwing open the door, I stride toward them. Caleb’s head jerks up, surprise flickering across his face before it melts into irritation.

“Oh, look,” he sneers, letting go of Summer’s face. “The tough guy’s here.”

I don’t stop walking, closing the distance between us until I’m standing right in front of him.

Summer’s gaze flicks up, her eyes wide and hopeful in a way that cuts straight through me.

“Leave them alone.”

Caleb’s smirk fades, and for a second, he looks uncertain. Then he recovers, his face hardening as he steps up, jabbing a finger into my chest. “Or what? You gonna stop me, loser?”

I don’t respond. I simply grab his wrist, twisting it hard enough that he yelps, his face breaks into a look of panic. His friends gape, frozen, not used to seeing anyone stand up to Caleb.

“Get off me!” Caleb snarls, trying to pull his arm free, but I hold firm, a fierce calm settling over me. I can feel his bones shifting under my grip.

I don’t care that this is going to land me in trouble. I don’t care if this makes my life a hundred times harder. I can’t stand here and let him get away with tormenting two kids who don’t have a chance against him. He wants to throw his weight around? Fine. Let’s see how he likes it when someone turns the tables.

Caleb’s mouth opens and closes, his gaze darting to his friends, as if asking for their help. The other two boys exchange uneasy glances, starting to back away.

“You don’t get to hurt them.” I twist his wrist some more. “Am I clear?”

He whimpers, then nods faintly.

“Say it,” I say with a dangerously soft tone. “Say that you understand.”

His face twists, and he finally mutters, “Fine. Whatever, I understand.”

I release his wrist, watching as he stumbles back, cradling his arm and glaring at me. “You’re gonna regret this,” he spits before he turns and stalks off, his friends trailing after him, shooting me nervous glances over their shoulders.

The moment they’re gone, I feel my hands unclench, the tension draining out of me. I glance over at Raleigh and Summer, who are both staring at me with wide, awestruck eyes.

“You okay?” I ask, my voice softer now.

Raleigh nods, swallowing hard, and Summer blinks up at me with awe. A wobbly smile breaking on her face. “Thank you, Damian.”

A few days later, I find Caleb at it again. He and his friends have Raleigh pinned down, half-dragging him toward the small inflatable pool, his screams and struggling doing nothing to deter them. His arms flail, his small fists connecting weakly with one of Caleb’s buddies, but the older boys just laugh, mocking his desperate attempts to break free.

“Why are you even fighting, Raleigh?” Caleb sneers, shoving Raleigh’s head closer to the water, his intention to drown him clear. “Your mama didn’t want you, so she abandoned you and then the last family dumped you like garbage. I’m doing you a favor!”

He tries to twist away, but Caleb just pushes his head even closer to the water.

“Leave him alone!” Summer screams between sobs. She is surrounded by two other boys. One of them grabs her shoulder, pulling her close enough that she stumbles, her eyes darting around for any escape. She hugs her small body tighter, trying to back away, but they move with her, not letting her go. “Aw, come on, don’t be shy,” one of the boys leers, smirking as he leans in close. “What, you don’t like us?”

“Look at her, she’s terrified,” another chimes in, chuckling. “Guess she misses her mommy to come and hold her hand.”

A dark fury builds inside me, coiling tight, hot and vicious, spreading through every muscle. The kind of rage that blurs everything but the need to make them pay. My fists itch to crush, to shatter something, anything.

I stride forward, my steps purposeful, the pounding of my heart in sync with the thunder in my chest.

I won’t let this go. Not this time. They’ve crossed the line, and I’m done holding back.

The boys harassing Summer spot me first. These boys are new. Not the one I scared off last time. I move toward Caleb first as he’s shoving Raleigh’s head in the water. But one of them blocks my path. “I don’t think so,” he says, shoving me back.

I move fast, slamming my fist into his gut, making him double over with a grunt. I don’t wait, swinging again and knocking him to the ground. The other move in, and a fist connects with my face, splitting my lip, the metallic taste of blood filling my mouth.

I wipe the blood away with the back of my hand, eyes locked onto the bastard who hit me. I can feel the anger rising and I let it consume me.

As he winds up to punch me again, I’m already ready. I slap his fist aside with a swift motion, and before he can react, I bring my forehead crashing into his face. The sickening crack of bone hitting bone reverberates through me, and his eyes go wide with shock.

He stumbles back, dazed, but I’m not finished. My fist flies next, a brutal, unforgiving blow that connects with his jaw in a sharp, satisfying crunch. His legs give out as he crumples on the ground.

Caleb shoves Raleigh aside, eyes wide, ready to sprint as I stride in his direction.

I grab the collar of Caleb’s shirt, yanking him forward so hard the fabric digs into his neck. His breath hitches, eyes wide with surprise.

“What did I tell you, hmm?”

Before he can answer, my fist connects with his stomach, hard, knocking the wind out of him. He doubles over, gasping for air, but I don’t give him a second to recover. I shove him upright and deliver another blow to his ribs, just under his arm—where the bruises won’t show. I make sure each punch lands where it won’t leave visible marks.

He stumbles back, eyes watering but I’m already, throwing another punch, this one harder, faster. He crashes into the dirt, groaning, but I don’t stop.

I straddle him, gripping his collar, lifting his head just to slam it back down against the ground.

When his eyes become unfocused, I reckon he’s close to passing out. I jerk his collar again, to get his attention. “If I ever see you near Summer or Raleigh again, if you so much as look at them wrong…” I let the threat hang in the air, my voice cold and dangerous.

I shove him away and push to my feet.

My breath comes out in heavy, angry bursts. His friends have already bolted, running off like the cowards they are while Caleb fights to sit up.

I ignore him, turning away and kneeling beside Raleigh and Summer, my heart hammering in my chest as the adrenaline starts to ebb. They’re both shaken—Raleigh’s face pale. Summer is trembling.

“Are you both alright?” I ask, as I reach out to gently check them over. My hands move over them. I know the damage isn’t bad, but their fear, that’s what cuts the deepest.

I hear Caleb’s footsteps as he finally pushes to his feet before running.

Raleigh’s lip trembles. “Y-yeah,” he stammers, his eyes flicking nervously back to where Caleb had been. “You—you saved us, Damian.”

I can’t help the way my chest tightens at that. Saved them? I wasn’t saving anyone. I was just doing what needed to be done.

I reach up and swipe the dirt from his damp cheek.

I shift my attention to her and move to check her arms. She winces as I touch her wrist, but there’s nothing serious. Just scratches. I let out a breath of relief.

“They won’t hurt you again,” I vow. I won’t let them. I won’t let anyone hurt them again.

They nod, the trust in their faces unmistakable, and my stomach twists. I don’t deserve it. But there they are, looking at me like I’m the one who can keep them safe. It’s a heavy feeling, one that I don’t know how to handle.

I stand up, my hand brushing against my mouth where I can still taste blood from where that asshole landed a hit.

They don’t say much as I lead them back inside. Raleigh clings to my side, just a little closer than usual, and Summer’s small hand slips into mine.

It’s understandable that they need me close right now. But what I didn’t expect was what came next. As we sit down, Raleigh and Summer settle beside me, their gazes fixed on me.

For the first time since I’ve met them, there’s a shift. It’s subtle, but it’s there. Their eyes aren’t just looking at me anymore. They’re looking up to me.

I avert my gaze and set to work. I go to the kitchen and make them sandwiches. They follow me. I feel their eyes the entire time.

“Damian?” Summer asks, breaking the silence with that quiet, hopeful voice.

“Hmm?” I don’t turn as I get two plates out.

“Thank you,” she whispers. “For everything.”

I don’t know how to respond to that, so I just nod.

Even after polishing off the sandwiches, they don’t leave my side. When I move to the bedroom, they follow me there as well.

And as I sit there with Raleigh leaning against me and Summer at my side, I realize something. They look at me the way no one else ever has in a really long time. With trust. With adoration. Like I’m the one who will keep them safe.

Two weeks go by but they keep following me around. “Damian, do you need help with that?” Raleigh asks, standing awkwardly near the kitchen table where I’m already preparing my breakfast.

I stare at him with one eye, the other swollen shut from Caleb’s dad’s beatings two days ago. I limp toward the fridge.

“No. You should go outside and play.”

Summer appears in the doorway, her small hands wrapped tightly around her worn stuffed animal, her eyes wide with concern. “Damian, you need to rest.”

I grunt in response, pulling open a drawer to grab a knife. I know they’re worried. Hell, they’re always worried. Ever since Caleb lied to his parents, claiming I stole money from him, his dad’s been beating the hell out of me every other day. I knew this was coming. It was only a matter of time. Caleb is too proud to admit getting beaten up by me so he framed me this way instead.

But the worst part isn’t even the bruises. I can handle the pain. But what I despise is that Caleb’s father hits me in front of Summer and Raleigh.

The way they are forced to watch, their faces pale, eyes wide with worry hurts more than any punch. They’re convinced this is all happening because of them, and no matter what I say, I can’t get it through their heads that they’re not to blame.

I eat in silence, can’t help but feel awkward as they hover the entire time.

After I’m done, I wash the plate and head toward the door. When I hear footsteps behind me, I whirl around. “Stop following me around,” I snap, the words harsher than I intended.

Summer flinches, her lower lip trembling, but she doesn’t back down. “We just wanted to be with you.”

I exhale heavily. I don’t know why I’m doing this.

“Fine,” I mutter. “You can come with me.”

“Yes!” they both say in unison, rushing toward me and hugging me.

I let them. Let them follow me, let them help me in mundane things. Because with them, it doesn’t feel as empty, as lonely anymore. And I can’t figure out if that’s a good thing or not.

Few months later…

It’s my Papà’s birthday, and all I want is to be alone. That’s why I didn’t go wash cars or mow lawns today—I just need to spend this day by myself, away from everyone and everything.

It’s early, and I doubt Raleigh or Summer are even awake. Still, I tiptoe quietly toward the door.

“Where are we going?” Summer’s voice comes from behind, making me jump out of my skin.

I don’t answer right away, just pull my hoodie tighter around myself and try to calm my breathing.

She tugs on my sleeve, looking up at me with those big eyes of hers. “Damian, are we going to the park again?”

I glance down at her, my gaze sharp. “We are not going anywhere. I am.”

“But we’re best friends!” Raleigh pipes up, grinning like an idiot as he joins us.

“Some other time, guys.” I turn to leave, but they call my name in unison.

I face them, eyes narrowing. “Keep it down!”

“Please, Damian!” Summer whisper-shouts.

I am about to refuse her plea and Raleigh catches on, his shoulders slumping in an overly defeated gesture. “It’s fine,” he mutters, tugging Summer away with a heavy, exaggerated sigh.

They’re putting on a show, and I’m not buying a second of it. The second I turn my back, they’ll be right behind me.

Now that they caught me leaving, I can’t just leave them behind. They’d only sneak out and follow me anyway—just like they did a month ago.

“Fine,” I relent. Instantly, the act drops. Both of them burst into grins, rushing toward me with barely contained excitement.

I fix them both with a stern look. “But stay close. No wandering off. Understand?”

They both nod eagerly.

I told myself I wanted to be alone today, that I needed the silence to feel close to Papà, especially on his birthday. Every year, I spend the day alone. But now, with Raleigh and Summer tagging along, chatting away and stumbling over rocks like little kids, their energy fills the empty void. I won’t say it out loud, not to them, not even to myself, but I feel an unusual sense of comfort. They distract me just enough, reminding me that even on a day meant for mourning, life has a way of reaching in with small, irritating, but strangely welcoming reminders that I’m not completely alone.

And just like that… a year passes.

I’d gotten used to the routine. The occasional odd job, the hours spent doing things that were supposed to fill the hole inside me. But nothing could replace what I had found here. In Raleigh and Summer.

They were the closest thing I had to family, and I had grown protective of them. A year of watching them grow, watching them lean on me when things got hard. Watching Raleigh try to become a man in his own way, even at just nine. Watching Summer’s passion for colors and the way she finds joy in the simplest things.

But then came the day when I was adopted. At thirteen. I could hardly wrap my head around it. I’d seen enough of the system to know how rare it was for older kids like me to get adopted. We were the ones left behind, passed over for the newborns.

Saying goodbye to Summer and Raleigh was hard. Harder than I thought. For some reason, I had simply thought we would always stay together. Even in this shithole. The idea of running away was long forgotten because of them. But this… this was something else. I was being adopted. And though for my future, it was the best thing, I wasn’t thrilled.

I grabbed Raleigh’s shoulder as he stood, watching me. I could see the way he was trying to hold himself together. The way he always tried to be strong, even though he was a kid.

“Raleigh…” I said, my voice coming out rougher. “Listen to me.”

I remembered Papà’s words.

“You are a man, now, Raleigh. Do you know what that means?”

He looked up, his eyes uncertain. “No.”

“It means you’ve got responsibilities. You’re the one who’s gotta look after Summer from now on. You’ve got to be there for her, no matter what happens. You two stick together, always. It won’t be easy, but you’re the one she’ll need. You’re her big brother. That’s your job—protect her, always.”

He swallowed thickly, his hands shaking as he nodded, but after a beat he flung himself into my arms. “Don’t go!” he sobbed. “We need you. I need you. I can’t do this without you. You’re all I’ve ever known. Please… don’t leave us, Damian.”

I hesitated before wrapping my arm around him, not knowing what to say.

“Don’t cry, Raleigh,” I muttered gruffly. “You’re the man now. You gotta keep it together.”

He pulled back just enough to look at me, tears streaking his face. “I—I don’t want you to leave, Damian. You’re the only one who’s ever cared for us.”

Swallowing hard, I stepped back abruptly.

His small face scrunched up in pain. The pressure in my chest increased.

I turned my attention to Summer.

She was standing just a few feet away, her eyes red and chin wobbling. Her hands were clasped tightly in front of her chest, her whole body trembling.

She was always full of life—bouncing around, laughing, making everyone around her smile. But right now, that light in her eyes was dimming, and I could see it in her body language. She wasn’t holding it together.

I walked over to her slowly.

Her lower lip trembled as she bit back a sob. “Why… why does everyone I love always leave me, Damian?” Her voice cracked as the tears started to fall. “First my mom… and now you…”

Her words hit me hard. My throat tightened.

“I have to,” I say quietly.

She shook her head again, crying harder now. “But why, Damian? Why do you have to go?”

She wrapped her arms around my waist, her tears soaking through my t-shirt. I remained motionless. I wasn’t good at this—never had been. I cared for her, but I didn’t know how to show it.

She pulled back slightly, looking up at me with wide, tear-filled eyes. “Will you come back for us? Or... or write to us?”

I didn’t answer right away. I could feel the tension in my chest, the lump in my throat, as I tried to find the right words, but it was hard. But I find myself agreeing. “I will.”

She nodded then, trying to smile through her pain. She sniffled, wiping her eyes, but her tears didn’t stop. She pulled me into a tight hug again, holding me like she was never going to let go.

“Damian,” she whimpered against me. “Don’t forget us.”

I shut my eyes for a second, reining in my emotions. There was nothing I could say that would make this easier.

I wanted to say something, anything, to make her feel better, but the words didn’t come. All I could do was stand there, my hands hovering awkwardly by my sides, torn between wanting to console her and not knowing how.

Raleigh came running, crashing into my side. My arms started to curl around them, but just as I was about to pull them in, Mrs. Samson’s voice cut through the air. “Damian!”

I pulled away abruptly and shouldered my backpack.

The sleek black car pulled up and I didn’t look back as I made my way toward it, my legs feeling like lead.

I slid inside. Then I finally allowed myself to glance out the window at their direction. And there they were. The two of them, standing still for a moment. But the moment they saw my eyes on them, they started running. Their small, desperate legs pumping with all their might, trying to reach me, trying to stop me from leaving.

As the car began to speed, I turned back to watch them through the rear windshield. And what I saw shattered my heart, their hands were stretched out in vain as they ran after the car. their figures growing smaller and smaller with each passing second, until they disappeared completely from view.

I promised I’d come back. I meant it. But life… life was never kind enough to allow me that happiness.

I failed them, just like I always fail the ones I love.

CHAPTER FIFTY

Summer

I exhale, the air leaving me in a shaky rush, my throat raw and tight from voicing out the memories I’d buried so deeply. It feels like I’ve scraped open an old wound, one I thought had scarred over long ago.

Across from me, River slumps into a chair, her expression stricken, her hands trembling as she presses them to her mouth, taking in the weight of the past I’ve just placed in her lap.

Archer pulls a chair close to me, gently pressing down on my shoulders as he guides me to sit. My legs give in, grateful, and he hands me a glass of chilled wine. I grasp it as if it’s a lifeline, gulping down the cold liquid, hoping it might dull the sting coating my throat.

After a few swallows, I set the glass down, my gaze shifting back to him. Damian.

He’s right there. In front of my eyes. At my engagement party. And yet, in all these years, he never showed up, never once came back or reached out. Fate really has a twisted way of weaving paths back together. In this vast world, of all people, he is my best friend’s husband.

This man, who once filled the hollow corners of my childhood, who was my shelter, my savior is now… a stranger. He stands by River, his face as unreadable as ever, that same shadowed intensity in his gaze, but now colder, more distant.

The pang in my chest sharpens as I think of all the years that passed without a single word from him. It was as if we’d been cast aside, left to survive without the one person I thought would always come back for us.

But Damian vanished as if he never existed in our lives. And now here he is… Standing right in front of me, yet somehow, he feels like he’s a world away.

Even back then, he wasn’t the typical boy; he had the intensity that made him seem far older than his twelve years. But now, after over twenty years, that intense edge has grown into something far more lethal.

And tonight, I discovered he is River’s husband. Never in my wildest dreams did I imagine Damian to be River’s husband. I can’t believe we met on the New Year’s Eve and still couldn’t recognize each other.

The ache spreads through me, tightening my chest. I realize now how foolish I was, carrying the fragments of those memories, thinking they still meant something. They did to us. They shaped us, carved us into who we are today.

But to Damian?

He forgot about us even when he said he wouldn’t. Even when I begged him not to.

I choke back my tears, swallowing the lump that threatens to suffocate me. “We waited and waited for him, every single day, hoping that Damian would walk through that door or at least send us some sign that he hadn’t forgotten about us. But there were no letters. No Damian. Just this endless, aching silence.” I pause, fighting the tremor in my voice. “And with him gone… Caleb’s cruelty returned, only, it was much worse. Every ounce of rage and bitterness he’d saved up over the year, he unleashed on us. Damian wasn’t there to protect us anymore, and Caleb made sure to take advantage of it.”

River’s hands cover mine on the table. Her gaze filled with an ache that mirrors my own. “God, Summer... I’m so sorry,” she whispers. Her soft voice breaks. “No one deserves to go through that, least of all you. I can’t believe you survived so much pain.”

I give her a sad, faint smile. “Having Raleigh with me was the only thing that kept me going. He took the worst of it—he always did. Whenever Caleb’s torture got ugly, Raleigh would throw himself between us and that cost him.” My eyes drift over to Damian, wincing at the sight of his swollen lip, then back to River. I remember the way she leapt between them, her bravery shining as she tried to shield her husband. She’s got that same fire, that fierce protectiveness Damian once had for us. “Raleigh was furious when he saw Damian today,” I say softly. “Please, don’t hold it against him.”

River shakes her head frantically, her eyes softening with understanding while Damian’s gaze is fixed somewhere in the distance, hands buried deep in his pockets, his jaw clenched hard.

“Damian,” I say, fighting back the tide of anger and heartbreak rising inside me. “Raleigh didn’t lash out at you because of what happened after you were adopted. We never blamed you for what that monster and his family did to us.” My voice cracks. “The reason he lost control, the reason I broke down on my special day, is because seeing you tore open old wounds. You broke our hearts, Damian. You promised to stay in touch, but you didn’t. You left and never looked back. You never… we loved you!” I break down, burying my face against Archer, sobbing as the dam bursts open. His arms wrap around me instantly.

The memories, every ugly, jagged one, rush back and tear through me like shattered glass.

Archer doesn’t speak, just lifts me up, settling into the chair before laying me across his lap, pulling me close. He holds me while I let it all out, his hand moving gently over my back. He smooths his hand over my head and his soothing touch helps me find my breath again.

“It’s better if I call Raleigh,” Archer says, cradling the back of my head. “You guys need to work this out privately, not in front of an audience.”

“Thank—” River starts but Archer interrupts.

“No need to thank me,” Archer says. “I’m doing this for Summer. And only for Summer.”

A few minutes pass before Archer gently lifts me and helps me back into the chair reluctantly. “I need to speak with my parents. They look worried.”

I try to rise, desperate to follow him, but before I can move, Archer’s hand is on my shoulder, pressing me back into the chair. His gaze is sharp. “Stay,” he orders, his voice low.

River steps in immediately, asking him to go while she stays with me. Archer watches us, hesitating for a beat before he finally pulls himself away.

She presses some appetizers into my hand, encouraging me to eat something to regain my strength. Then she replaces the wine glass with a chilled glass of water.

I nibble on them obediently. Archer, meanwhile, strides purposefully across the room. I watch as he speaks quietly to his parents. Then, he approaches a few acquaintances, likely asking them to pass along the news that the party is being cut short.

When he returns, his expression softens again upon seeing me, the familiar warmth in his eyes calming the storm still churning in my heart.

“I’m taking her to the green room. You guys can talk there,” Archer announces.

Before I can get to my feet, Archer sweeps me into his arms, holding me against his chest as he leaves the hall.

My head rests against his broad shoulder as we make our way down the hallway.

As I look up, I see the worry lines creasing his brow. Reaching up, I gently press my fingertips between his dark eyebrows, trying to smooth away his frown. “I ruined our special day,” I whisper.

Archer’s eyes soften as he looks down at me. “You’re in my arms, wearing my ring. To me, that sounds like a damn special day.”

I smile weakly. “You know what I mean. I made a scene… everyone saw. Even your parents—”

“I don’t give a damn about what anyone thinks,” he says. “What matters is that the woman I love, the one who means everything to me, broke down in front of me, and I couldn’t do a damn thing to stop it.” His grip on me tightens, his anger barely contained. “What matters is finding that motherfucker, Caleb. I’ll put every resource I have into tracking him down, and when I do, he’s going to regret—”

I press my lips to his, cutting off the angry edge in his voice. “I love you,” I murmur against his mouth.

His arms tighten around me, his gaze holding mine. “I love you more, Summer. Now let’s get you to the green room.”

I nod, letting my eyes close as Archer carries me. His arms are my safe haven, each step of his bringing me closer to peace. The weight of old wounds, the hurt that had been buried for so long, begins to lift.

I can feel the comfort of his love seeping into me, healing parts of me that had been broken open tonight.

I am the luckiest woman in the world.

◆◆◆

I never imagined this moment would be so… suffocating. All the words I thought I had prepared—the questions, the demands for answers, the emotions I’ve been sitting on for years—they’re all gone. I’m blank.

Damian hasn’t spoken. He’s barely even looked at us since he entered the room and took a seat on the couch opposite me. Raleigh’s standing by the small window, his body tense, his fists clenched at his sides. I can feel the anger radiating off him in waves.

Raleigh finally strode into the room just few minutes ago. His phone was switched off and Archer had to contact Hannah to get through to him. I knew Raleigh wouldn’t ignore Archer. His loyalty to Archer was ironclad, a respect too deep to refuse.

“Raleigh…” I begin softly. “Please, come and sit down.”

He finally turns to face us, his expression hardened. His jacket’s gone, and his crumpled white T-shirt clings to him, tousled hair hinting he took a long ride on his Harley. He looks like he’s ready to walk right back out.

“Why?” he snaps, his voice edged with bitterness. “Why the hell should I sit down? So we can catch up, after twenty fucking years of silence? Yeah, that sounds real great.”

I start to speak, but he cuts me off, raising a hand. “You can coddle him all you want, Summer. Don’t think for a second I’m gonna do the same.” His voice is rough. “The only reason I’m standing here is because Archer called, told me what went down with you earlier. And goddamn it, Summer, this man doesn’t deserve your tears.”

“Raleigh, please—”

“What’s the point of all this when he doesn’t give a damn about any of us? Just look at him.” He gestures toward Damian, who sits there, completely detached, one leg draped over his knee. But even in that calm posture, the muscle in his jaw ticks—Raleigh’s words are definitely affecting him. “He still doesn’t give a shit.”

“You’re wrong.”

Raleigh scoffs, turning, and shaking his head as if he can’t believe I’m still defending him.

I push to my feet. “You really think anyone—me, you, or anyone in this world—could’ve forced him to be here, listening to you insult him like this? The only reason he’s here, taking all of this shit, the only reason he let you hit him, is because he cares.”

He faces me again. “All right, fine. Let’s say he cares. So what? Where was that care when he turned his back on us? He’s a fucking billionaire, Summer. He could’ve easily tracked us. This guy’s richer than God, and to top it all off, he was right here, living his life, and we had no clue.”

I wince as Raleigh lets out a cold, humorless laugh. “Maybe you should tell him how we spent months thinking he was dead—or worse. Go ahead, tell him how we nearly destroyed ourselves with that thought. I’m sure it’ll do wonders for his ego.”

Damian remains silent, his lack of response like a brick wall. Cold. Impenetrable. I don’t know if we can ever get past it.

Raleigh curses loudly. “This is fucking pointless.” He turns, marching toward the door.

“I stayed away for your own good.” Damian says flatly.

Raleigh freezes because Damian finally spoke.

I take a few hurried steps forward, my pulse quickening. “What do you mean?” I ask, struggling to understand. When there’s more silence, I ask again, “You think… you think it was better to just leave us to think you were dead? For us to suffer in silence, to believe you didn’t care?”

Damian’s eyes finally flick up to mine, but there’s nothing there. No softness, no warmth. Just blankness. “I stayed away because it was the only way to keep you safe. If I had come back, if I had reached out to you two, you would’ve been dragged into the war I was fighting. I couldn’t let that happen. I couldn’t risk it.”

It’s not the answer I was expecting, but there’s a cold finality to it that makes my blood run cold. “What war? What could possibly have been so important that you couldn’t even send us a letter? Why didn’t you trust us enough to at least tell us what was going on?”

Damian’s gaze hardens, eyes darkening with something cold and dangerous. “My family was torn apart because of someone’s greed,” he says. “I started looking into it the day I was adopted, using whatever I could—starting with the internet. That’s when I realized what I was really up against. We’re talking about people who will stop at nothing to keep their dirty secrets hidden. People who’ll cross any line. And if you were in my life, you would’ve been targets too. I couldn’t risk that. I wasn’t going to let them hurt you.”

That’s when Raleigh slowly turns to face him, his jaw tight. “Then why the hell did you marry?” His voice is laced with disbelief. “If you were doing all of this to protect us, claiming anyone close to you would’ve been a target, then why the hell did you go and marry someone? Doesn’t that contradict everything you just said? You got involved with River, put her at risk. You’ve proven the exact opposite of what you’re claiming.”

Damian’s face tightens. “My wife’s case is different.”

“How?” Raleigh tilts his head, studying Damian with suspicion. “How is that different?”

He waits for a response, but Damian stays silent, his expression unreadable.

“Tell me how that makes sense.” He shakes his head. “Sounds like a hell of a lot of hypocrisy to me.”

I bite my lower lip nervously as I watch Raleigh go on. He looks at him, smirking mirthlessly. “He expects us to believe him when this ‘protecting us’ crap doesn’t add up. I’ll tell you why he married River. He married her because he wanted to. Simple as that. He married her for—”

“Revenge.” Damian completes, shocking us.

I freeze. “You married River for… revenge?” The words leave me breathless. “What the hell does that even mean?”

Damian slowly stands up, his movements fluid as he turns away from us. “I don’t forgive anyone who crosses me.”

His words are vague, but the tone sends a shiver down my spine. It’s like the room temperature just dropped ten degrees.

Raleigh and I exchange a look, both of us momentarily speechless. But Raleigh’s the first to break the silence. “So… you get back at people who cross you, but you somehow forgave Caleb—”

“Caleb and his parents are dead,” Damian interrupts.

Raleigh’s breath catches in his throat whereas I gasp out loud.

“They got what was coming for them.” Damian adds, his voice devoid of emotion, like he’s stating a simple fact.

I stagger and clutch at Raleigh’s arm. “Who are you? You just hinted of committing a crime and… and married a sweet girl like River for revenge! Why?”

“Because her father ruined my life.”

Raleigh curses under his breath, his fingers raking through his hair as he tries to process this madness.

“What’s wrong with you?” I cry out. “What has River got to do with all this?”

Damian faces us, his eyes making my blood run cold. “I hate him. And everyone connected to him. I won’t rest until I’ve made them all suffer.”

CHAPTER FIFTY-ONE

River

I hate him. And everyone connected to him. I won’t rest until I’ve made them all suffer.

I numbly turn from the green room’s door and walk away, the tray of refreshments in my hand wobbling because of my trembling hands.

I don’t recall walking down the long hallway, the world around me blurring into nothingness as I move forward on autopilot.

Hannah is the first to spot me when I enter the main hall, her eyes filled with concern. Ever since she returned with Raleigh, she had been nothing but polite with me. She steps toward me and gently takes the tray from my trembling hands. “Are you all right?”

I want to tell her that nothing is all right, that everything has shattered into pieces. But instead, I just nod.

“I told you they wouldn’t want this.” Hannah’s voice drifts over my numb mind as she places the tray on the table, but it doesn’t register.

She is still talking as I move past her on heavy legs. The ground beneath me feels like it’s slipping away, and I’m just… falling. The whole world is a blur, and I’m drowning in it. And I don’t care enough to fight for air.

For revenge.

Every step feels like I’m dragging my own dead weight behind me. My legs barely hold me as I pass Archer.

Hal and Vicky stand, watching me approach.

“Ma’am?” Hal bends his head to look me in the eye but I avert my face.

“I’m tired,” I whisper, the words slipping from my mouth without meaning, without life.

I face Vicky instead. “Can you take me home?”  I ask, my voice hollow, like it’s not even mine anymore. It sounds like someone else’s.

Hal pulls out his phone. He’s going to call Damian.

“No,” I manage to say. “Don’t call him.” I swallow hard. “He doesn’t want to be disturbed.”

For the first time, Hal doesn’t argue.

I don’t know what I said to Archer or Hannah before leaving. My mouth moves, my legs carry me, but it’s all so disconnected from the rest of me. I don’t remember the car ride back home or how I ended up in the master bedroom.

My hands move on their own, packing my things with a mechanical precision.

I know I should feel something, but there’s nothing. No anger, no sorrow, no fear—just nothing. My own reflection in the mirror feels alien, like I’m looking at someone else. Someone who was once alive but is now just… dead.

For the second time, I’ve been a fool—an even bigger one than before. I let myself believe that the Damian who seemed to soften, who pulled me close and took me across oceans, was the real one. That the laughter we shared beneath foreign skies, the quiet moments spent tangled together on cold hotel sheets, were glimpses of a new beginning—a true honeymoon, a second chance at the life I thought we could have.

I fell for him all over again, so easily, like I hadn’t learned a single lesson from all the times he’s turned away.

I let down my guard, convinced myself that maybe he had changed, that the distant man who left me aching in silence was finally gone. I was naïve enough to start dreaming again.

Now, all those moments we spent together feel like fresh wounds. I’m haunted by every touch, every look, every word he said that I thought meant something. I wanted so badly to believe that this time I wouldn’t be left feeling empty, abandoned.

I believed him. I believed in him. I believed I mattered to him.

But now… now I don’t even matter to myself.

◆◆◆

My hands are dirty and a bit scratched as I press my palms into the soil, carefully patting the soil around the base of the little plants.

Mrs. Hawthorne hums softly as she works in the flower bed, her hands moving gently over the roses. Her hands, weathered with age, move carefully but with a certain ease that comes from years of doing the same thing.

She’s in her early seventies, but age has only added layers of grace to her. There’s an undeniable elegance in the way she moves.

Mrs. Hawthorne is one of the wealthier residents in this small village on the outskirts of York. Though you wouldn’t know it by the way she dresses so modestly. She keeps to herself most of the time, a recluse of sorts, but she has always been kind to me.

I’ve spent the last month here, in her beautiful house, doing what I can to repay her kindness by helping with the flowers, cooking meals, and keeping the house in order.

“There’s something I’d like you to do this afternoon,” she says, breaking the silence.

“What is it?” I ask, already making a mental note for it.

“Shopping.”

Caught off guard by the sudden suggestion, I blink in surprise. “Shopping?”

“You’ve been here a month now, River. A month,” she repeats, as though the passage of time is something I’ve forgotten. “I think it’s time you went into town. Get yourself a few things, eh?”

At my puzzled expression, she sighs. “Don’t pretend like you don’t know, dear. You’ve been wearing the same few tops and trousers you brought with you. It’s hardly appropriate for a young woman to go about like that.”

I open my mouth to argue, but she doesn’t let me. “No, no. It’s not up for discussion. You need to get out, get yourself some fresh things. It’ll do you good.”

“I’ll go this weekend,” I offer quietly, but she shakes her head.

“Not good enough. You’ll go today,” she insists. “It’s been long enough. You’ve stayed hidden here long enough, I’d say. It’s time for a change. You can’t live like this forever.”

I stare at her, unsure how to respond. Then, “But I was planning on going to the flower shop,” I say weakly, trying to shift the focus elsewhere, to something—anything—that doesn’t involve a change in my routine.

It’s easier this way—living within the confines of a set routine.

Each morning, I wake up early and begin my day. I help Mrs. Hawthorne with whatever she needs. Then, tend to the house chores—mundane, yet soothing, in its own way. Afterward, I head to the flower shop. The work is calming. Spending hours there helps me focus solely on the present. Then, finally, I return to the place that is my new home, and the cycle begins again the next morning.

This routine—this simple, predictable pattern—has become my shield. It lets me forget. Forget the life I had before, forget the person I used to be, and most importantly, forget everything I left behind.

The idea of change, of facing everything I’ve been avoiding, feels too overwhelming. I’m not sure I’m ready to shatter that illusion by stepping out of the village. Not even for a day.

Mrs. Hawthorne waves a dismissive hand. “The shop can wait. It won’t collapse if you leave it alone for a day.”

The flower shop I manage belongs to Mrs. Hawthorne. It’s a little shop tucked away in the corner of the village.

She used to run it herself. But after I arrived, I offered to work there, wanting to keep myself busy, to stay in motion. I didn’t want anything in return. I just wanted to do whatever I could to help the woman who had saved me during my darkest moments, to repay her in some way for everything she had done for me.

But Mrs. Hawthorne, being the stubborn woman she is, insisted on paying me, telling me that I was helping her too much for it to be free. And so, I accepted.

When I still look reluctant, she fixes me with a stern look. “You can either go shopping, or we start discussing exactly what brought you here in the first place.”

After a month of living with her, I’ve realized that her stern expression is always rooted in care, not criticism. Mrs. Hawthorne never once pried into my past or asked about my family, even though it’s something most people would do when offering a stranger a place to stay.

That night, I managed to escape the mansion and boarded the first flight out, which landed me in London. From there, I took a train on impulse, not really thinking about where it would take me. It led me to this quiet village, alone with just a bag and a mind filled with haunting memories.

My funds were nearly drained, and I had nothing left of value to sell—not even a piece of jewelry. I left my phone and jewelry behind on purpose, knowing it could be traced.

There I was—empty, penniless, and so numb I couldn’t feel anything anymore. My heart felt dead, and the thought of living seemed pointless. I was exhausted, starving, running on fumes, and barely surviving.

That was when I saw a van barreling toward someone crossing the street. Without a second thought, I rushed forward to push them out of the way. The impact sent me crashing to the ground, leaving me with a concussion and a sprained ankle, but I had saved that person.

That person was Mrs. Hawthorne. She was beyond grateful, yet guilt-ridden for what had happened. She insisted I stay with her while I recovered, and I had no reason to refuse. Once I recovered, she asked me what my plans were. She could tell I wasn’t from around here. I told her honestly that I didn’t have any plans, that I didn’t know where I was going. So, she made me an offer—shelter and food in exchange for helping with the housework. I didn’t hesitate to accept, and the rest, as they say, was history.

“So, what’s it gonna be, love?” she asks, her eyes narrowing.

Shopping or facing the wreckage of my marriage? The choice is obvious. “I’ll go after lunch.”

She gives me a smug little smile, as though she’s already won, then goes back to her task.

◆◆◆

“Mrs. Hawthorne!” My voice rises in disbelief as she nonchalantly pays for the eight dresses, her expression completely unfazed by my protests. As if that wasn’t enough, she’d already spent a small fortune on sweaters, jackets, and trousers in the previous shop.

She hands over her address to arrange delivery and grabs my arm, steering me toward yet another store. I dig my heels into the ground, forcing her to stop. “You do realize I’m going to pay you back from my salary for all of this, don’t you?”

Her lips purse, and she gives me one of her trademark looks. “I told you not to fret about it, love,” she says firmly, resuming her march toward the door. “And it’s not even my money anyway,” she mutters under her breath.

I narrow my eyes. “What was that?”

“Nowt!” she says quickly. “I’m just saying I’m tired and hungry is all. Let’s grab an early dinner, eh?”

I frown, watching her closely. “You should’ve said something earlier. Let’s just go home if you’re tired. I’ll make you—”

“Don’t be daft. We’re in town, and we might as well make the most of it. A nice meal out’ll do us both good.”

It’s strange—Mrs. Hawthorne has always hated crowded places, preferring the quiet sanctuary of her own kitchen. But I don’t push it. Maybe she’s just that hungry and doesn’t want to wait until we’re home.

As we settle into the restaurant, though, an unsettling sensation starts to gnaw at me. It’s as if someone’s watching me, their gaze heavy on the back of my neck.

I glance around, scanning the faces of the diners, but nothing seems out of place. Everyone’s absorbed in their own meals and conversations.

By the time we finish and head home, the feeling hasn’t faded. I tell myself it’s just my nerves.

The next day, I fall back into my usual routine. After finishing the dishes in the morning, I head to the flower shop. When I return home in the evening, I find a note stuck to the front door.

Had to go to town to meet the solicitor, I’ll be back in the evening.

I frown as I read. Mrs. Hawthorne had mentioned this visit before, but I hadn’t expected it so soon. Ever since her husband passed away few years ago, she’s been fighting a legal battle over a townhouse he left her. Some distant relative of his—a cousin’s grandson—had popped up, claiming rights to the property, and it’s been a mess ever since.

The thought of her dealing with this alone weighs on me. No matter how tough she pretends to be, I know how much this has worn her down. She should’ve taken me with her.

I freshen up quickly and change into the new cashmere and silk blend turtleneck midi dress and long run coat in dark green.

I know her solicitor’s address is in the little diary she keeps in the salon, so I start looking for it.

I’m flipping through the pages when a knock at the door startles me. Is she back already?

I rush to the door, ready to scold her for not taking me along. But the moment I pull it open, time grinds to a halt as the air leaves my lungs. My knees threaten to buckle, and I instinctively step back.

Standing before me is the man I’ve been running from.

My husband.

Damian.

Like always, he’s found me again.

CHAPTER FIFTY-TWO

Damian strides inside, shutting the door behind him. The sound cuts through my daze, snapping the stillness around me. My heart thunders in my chest as I scramble to find my voice. “Please leave.”

His dark eyes seize mine and a split second later his mouth is on me. His lips cold from the evening wind. He pulls me into his arms with a strength that steals my breath, pressing me to him as if he can’t bear the distance any longer. His kiss is rough, demanding, as though he’s trying to reclaim what he thought he lost. I gasp against him, and he takes full advantage, deepening the kiss with a hunger that makes me dizzy, as if he’s starved for me.

I try to pull away, but he holds me tighter, his hands threading through my hair, his grip possessive. For a moment, I forget everything—everything except the warmth of his mouth on mine, the heat of his body pressing against me.

It feels he’s trying to erase the distance, the month of silence, with every demanding kiss. I can’t think, can’t breathe—only feel the desperate force of him pulling me back into his world.

“You left me again, angel,” he says breaking the kiss, breathless and angry. It’s the kind of tone that slips beneath my skin, making every nerve stand on edge. “Why?”

Fighting for oxygen, I desperately cast my gaze anywhere but on his towering frame. My hands tremble at my sides as I stammer, “This… this isn’t my house. You need to leave before Mrs. Haw—”

“She won’t be coming home tonight,” he interrupts smoothly, already back in control. “I arranged for her to stay at a hotel in town.”

My stomach drops. The room spins slightly as his words sink in. He didn’t just show up—he planned this. Every detail, down to ensuring we’d be alone. My lips part, but no words come out. The shopping spree, the dinner. Even Mrs. Hawthorne was involved.

“You had no right to do that!”

“I wanted to talk in private,” he says matter-of-factly, then adds after a pause, “My eyes are up here.”

I clench my jaw, refusing to meet his gaze. “I don’t want to talk to you. I want you to leave.” My tone is firm, but my legs feel unsteady as I brush past him and yank the door open.

The silence behind me is deafening, but I can feel the weight of his presence, heavy and impossible to ignore.

“You think I’m going to leave when I just found you?”

“You have to because I told you to!”

“I won’t give up on us, River,” he says. “You’re my wife.”

I grip the doorframe so tightly my knuckles ache, my head lowering against the wood as I fight to breathe. “Well, I gave up on us,” I say, the words escaping on a shaky whisper. My body trembles, every muscle tense.

“I know.” His response is soft, but it hits me like a blow. There’s a rawness to his voice. “What I don’t know is why. I don’t know why you ran. I don’t even know what I did wrong.” He stops, like he’s trying to find the right words. “But I’ll wait. No matter how long it takes, until you’re ready to talk.”

“There’s nothing to talk about. Nothing at all,” I choke out, as I try to swallow a sob.

His hand lands gently on my shoulder, and I flinch, spinning around to face him, my eyes snapping up to his.

That’s when I see it. The exhaustion etched on his face. His eyes are sunken. His jawline is more pronounced now. He’s lost weight, and it shows in the sharpness of his features. His beard is thick and untamed, as if he hasn’t cared to shave in a long time.

He steps closer. “Not once in my entire life had I cared about what anyone thought of me. Never cared about their opinion of me,” Damian says. “I’ve never felt the need to explain myself to anyone, not even to show them I had good intentions. If people hate me, or walk out of my life, I don’t give a damn. But you—” He grabs my elbow as I try to move past him. “When it comes to my wife, I care. I care a great deal if she decides to leave me. I care if she stops loving me. I care.”

His words pierce through me like a thousand sharp needles, and I bite down on my lower lip to keep from falling apart. “No, you don’t.”

Without warning, he spins me around, his hands gripping my shoulders as he looks down at me, his gaze intense. “I do.”

I shake my head, unable to look him in the eyes. “I don’t believe you.”

His hand slides to my cheek, his thumb brushing over my skin gently, like he’s trying to calm me, but all it does is set my heart racing. “What did I do, angel? Where did I go wrong?” His voice has a desperate note.

The tears are burning, threatening to spill, but I refuse to let them by shutting my eyes.

“Look at me.”

I shake my head again.

“Please, River,” he says hoarsely, and against every instinct, I glance up. I also let him pull me to him. His arms wrap around me tightly. He looks down at me, his face pained. “Tell me why you left me like that.”

I suck in a sharp breath, my throat tight with the truth I’ve been holding back. “Because you hate my father and everyone connected to him,” I choke out, my chin quivering as I quote him. “I left because, once again, you killed me while I was still breathing. I left because I realized everything we shared on that trip was a lie. I realized that I’d been wasting my time, my heart, my life on a relationship that was already dead. I realized that even if I spent my whole life loving you, you’d never love me back. That’s why I left, Damian.” I break free from his hold.

“So you were eavesdropping that night,” Damian concludes, as if the pieces have finally clicked into place in his mind.

I laugh bitterly, the sound bitter and raw, even to my own ears. “Funny, isn’t it? You accuse me of eavesdropping, yet the things I heard you say about me are just brushed aside, glossed over like they mean nothing.”

“You didn’t hear what I said after—”

“What does it matter?”

“It matters, damn it!” he growls as he pulls me back in, desperation lacing every syllable. “I want you to listen to me. Just listen.”

“And I told you I don’t want to,” I say quietly, pulling away. “I’ve given you more chances than you deserved. I was stupid enough to believe you’d really changed when you whisked me around the world, but I was wrong.” I take a shaky breath. “I was so, so wrong.”

I cut him off before he can respond again. “I might not know what revenge you’re after, Damian but I know this—no matter what I do, no matter how hard I try, I’ll always come second to this revenge of yours.”

His anger flares. “Would you let me speak now?” he demands, the control he usually maintains slipping away. It’s so unlike him, this anger, this loss of composure. But what do I know about him anymore? After living with this man, being his wife for over a year, I’ve learned I don’t know him at all. Not truly.

“Whether you choose to divorce me or not, it’s your call,” I say, my voice trembling. “Either way, I’m fine. Because I’ll never love anyone else or marry again.”

His face twists with frustration, and he takes a step forward. “River—”

“No, Damian. I’m done.”

“I’m not!” He growls. “I will never divorce you.”

I wipe my tears, nodding quietly. “That’s okay, like I said.”

He jerks forward suddenly, his hand wrapping around my nape, pulling me roughly against him. “It’s not okay for me,” he says, his voice raw with emotion.

I nod, finally understanding. “I’m just like your habit. It’s tough to break, but you’ll get used to it.” The words cut me as they leave my mouth, and I can no longer hold back the flood of tears that fall freely now. There’s no point in trying to stop them.

“I’ll never let you go, angel.” He cradles my face in his hands.

“You don’t have me to let go of now.” I close my eyes, the words sharper than knives, each one more painful than the last. “Would you leave?” I ask, my voice trembling. “Please.”

The silence stretches for what feels like forever before I feel his lips gently press against my forehead. Like it’s a goodbye. I don’t open my eyes. His kiss lingers for a moment before he pulls away.

The second the door closes behind him, I crumble. My knees give out beneath me, and I collapse to the floor, violent sobs wracking my body. I let it all out—every last shred of pain, every ounce of the love that has been suffocating me.

It’s truly over.

◆◆◆

The morning air is sharp as I step out of the cottage. The narrow streets are bathed in the soft glow of the sun as I walk, clutching my coat tighter.

My swollen eyes hurt from all the crying and lack of sleep.

It’s just been a day since Damian barged into my life once again, and yet, the image of him standing in my doorway still clings to me like the smell of smoke after a fire.

I push the thought away. I can’t afford to think of him now. I’ve spent too long building this new life for myself. Too long hiding in this cottage, hoping that one day I could forget the man who somehow still has pieces of my soul, even after everything.

When I reach the flower shop, I take a deep breath. The tiny bell above the door rings as I step inside and quickly immerse myself in work.

It’s an hour after I arrived when the tiny bell rings again. I turn around to greet the customer but lose my smile the moment I see Damian.

My heart stutters in my chest, but I whirl back, giving him my back and continue arranging the flowers, pretending I don’t feel the way his gaze presses against my back.

I thought after yesterday, he’d stay away for good. That I wouldn’t have to face him again. But here he is, and I don’t know what to make of it. Once again, he’s managed to catch me off guard.

“River.” His voice is soft.

I keep my focus on the flowers. “I’m busy,” I reply, not meeting his eyes, not allowing myself to show even an ounce of weakness.

Silence. For the briefest of moments, I wonder if he’s actually going to walk away. But no.

I hear his footsteps behind me, growing closer with each passing second. I can feel his breath on my skin, and the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end.

“Please, look at me, angel.” His voice is so soft, barely audible, but still cutting through the calm of the shop like a knife. And he’s saying please again. It sends a shiver through me.

I turn, but my eyes never meet his. “You’re wasting your time,” I say, the words harsher than I intended. But I can’t stop them. I won’t let him think for a second that I care anymore.

But still, he doesn’t leave. He keeps standing there.

“Will you, for once, do something for me?” I snap.

No response. But then, I hear the familiar chime of the bell, indicating that he left.

All day, I feel his eyes on me. Every step I take, every move I make, I know it’s Damian. I know he’s watching. But I don’t see him anywhere. His eyes follow me everywhere, even as the sun dips below the horizon. It doesn’t let up until I’m back at the cottage, closing the door behind me.

Mrs. Hawthorne had finally returned, and I wasted no time confronting her about Damian. Her response was maddening. With a calm demeanor, she explained that she thought she was helping me, that a husband and wife shouldn’t let one argument drive them apart. She went on to tell me Damian had come looking for me when I was at the flower shop and had asked for her help to make things right with his wife.

I tried to explain that I had my reasons for staying away without revealing too much. The hurt must have shown on my face because she realized how deeply her actions had upset me and offered a heartfelt apology and promised not to interfere again. It was a small comfort.

The next day, I go grocery shopping. I’m picking out a few things for dinner when I feel it again—his presence.

I know he’s here.

I grip the handle of my basket a little too tightly, my knuckles white. I look over the rows of canned goods, trying to find something, anything to distract me. But no matter what I do, a prickling sensation crawls up the back of my neck.

And then I hear it. His deep voice. “River…”

I close my eyes, biting back the pain and anger that bubbles up in my chest. I want to scream at him. Tell him to go away. To stop haunting me. But I don’t. Instead, I continue moving through the aisles, my pace quickening as I try to escape him.

After paying, I exit the store with arms full of bags and questions swirling in my mind. Did I imagine him? How can he just disappear—

I cry out as he appears in front of me.

He says nothing. Just reaches for the heavy bags and begins walking, leaving me no choice but to follow.

“Stop stalking me!” I say falling into step beside him. He says nothing. I take the time to study him, he still hasn’t shaved. He is wearing a dark sweater, jeans and corduroy jacket.

“So now you’re ignoring me?”

“You’re ready to listen, angel?” he asks, shutting me up. “Didn’t think so.”

The days slip by like this. Over and over, I see him everywhere. In the village square, across the street from the cottage, out of the corner of my eye when I’m walking into the bakery. He’s persistent. He won’t give up.

He follows me around like a shadow, doing the little things without a word—helping with errands, being there when I don’t need him. And it drives me crazy. He’s constantly around, making sure I’m aware of his existence.

Where did the driven, work-obsessed man go? The one who used to bury himself in work even on our trips? Now, it’s like his job doesn’t even exist. He’s acting as though he has no purpose outside of stalking me. What happened to the workaholic Damian Montgomery?

Two weeks go by and I’ve seriously had it. I’m returning home after the long day working at flower shop and he’s right behind me. Stalking me again.

When I’m near the front door I abruptly spin around. “I’m not going to keep doing this,” I say, my voice shaking slightly, despite my best efforts. “Why can’t you understand? I don’t want to talk to you! I won’t let you ruin me again.”

His eyes are dark, unreadable. “You’re wrong, River. I’m not trying to ruin you. I’m trying to make things right.”

“By following me around, stalking me in every corner of this village? How does that make things right?”

He steps closer, his hand outstretched, as if he is going to touch me but I shake my head. “No,” I say, backing away. “I’ve had enough.”

I unlock the door and storm inside. But when I move to slam the door on him, his hand shoots out, blocking it from closing. But he’s late and the door slams on his hand with a sickening thud.

“Damian!” I gasp, rushing to his side.

I look at his hand, and my stomach lurches. Blood is already dripping from his fingers, a crimson trail on the floor beneath him. I grab his arm, pulling him inside, my hands trembling. “Oh my God, Damian, why would you—” My words break off as I guide him to the couch, the sight of his injured hand making my chest ache.

I scramble to find the first aid kit. Mrs. Hawthorne comes out of her bedroom and stares at me with wide eyes as I rummage through things. I don’t answer her questions and sprint back to the living room.

I’m shaking as I kneel in front of him, my tears falling. Gently, I take his hand in mine, cradling it.

“I’m so sorry,” I whisper, barely able to breathe through the sobs. “I never wanted this... I never wanted to hurt you.”

I press a cloth to his hand, trying to stop the bleeding.

He’s silent for a moment, letting me tend to him.

When I finally look up, I find him watching me. “I’d take a dagger to my heart if it meant you’d finally talk to me.”

“But you can’t fix this,” I whisper, my voice filled with sorrow.

“I’m not asking for forgiveness,” he replies. “I’m just asking for a chance to explain.”

I sniffle before looking at him. “Fine.”

CHAPTER FIFTY-THREE

After making sure he doesn’t need stiches, I dress his wound then make him tea. Mrs. Hawthorne comes out to meet Damian and within minutes makes herself scarce but not before shooting me a pleased grin.

I take his empty cup and carry it back to the kitchen. When I return, Damian is standing by the window. He turns his head, sensing my presence.

“Are you ready?” he asks and I nod solemnly.

“To understand everything clearly, I’ll have to start from the very beginning.”

Wordlessly, I take a seat on the lounge chair, silently giving him the green light.

“Anthony Sabatino.” He inhales deeply, his eyes falling shut for a moment, as if the mere mention of him is physically paining him. “My father. A brilliant mechanic. He never had the fancy degrees or the recognition that everyone thinks matters. All he had was his hands, his mind, and his obsession with machines. He’d stay up late, night after night, tinkering with engines, dreaming of building something that could change the world. Despite facing financial hardships, his passion for automobiles and innovation never wavered.”

I don’t dare move. I don’t dare interrupt as he talks.

“That’s why our family struggled financially,” Damian says, his voice dropping as though he’s reliving the past. “But my mother… she never once complained. She supported him, his dream to innovate, even when it meant taking on work as a housekeeper to keep us afloat. She believed in him when the world didn’t.” His jaw tightens briefly, but he continues. “He faced failure after failure. Years of it. But her faith in him remained unshaken. Because of that faith, he finally succeeded.”

He pauses, his gaze distant. “He invented something extraordinary—a compact device designed to enhance the fuel efficiency and overall environmental impact of vehicles. This device could be easily integrated into existing engines, making it a cost-effective and eco-friendly solution for car owners.”

I blink in surprise. “That sounds… familiar.”

A humorless smile curves his lips, and he rips open two buttons of his shirt. “Doesn’t it?” His voice is low, bitter and cold. “He was ecstatic, for once feeling like all those years of struggle had been worth it. He had a meeting lined up with one of the biggest companies in the field. A chance to finally change our lives.”

A sinking feeling settles in my stomach.

“That was the last time I saw him,” he says, his voice rough, each word dragged out like it’s ripping something inside him. “A week later, the cops showed up. They said my father was dead.” He stops, his jaw clenching hard. “My mother… she was six months pregnant. The news shattered her. She couldn’t take it. Locked herself in the bedroom. I found her hanging from the ceiling.” He exhales harshly. “I was eight years old.”

I freeze, the air in my lungs turning to stone. My hands grip the armrests tightly, my knuckles white, my body trembling.

I want to say something, anything, but no words come. How could they? How do you respond to something so devastating? My throat burns, and tears begin falling as I stare at him, his face so calm, yet his eyes screaming with a pain I can’t fathom.

“Damian,” I finally manage. “I’m so sorry,” I sob, streaking down my cheeks as I sit there, helpless, my body trembling with his grief. I want to fix it, take it away, but I can’t. And the ache of that realization makes the tears fall even harder.

He nods, swallowing thickly. After a beat, he clears his throat. “He wasn’t just my father—he was my best friend, my mentor. I spent countless hours with him in his garage, me watching him work, handing him tools, listening to his dreams. He trusted me with everything, and I knew that device he was working on like the back of my hand. He believed it would change everything.

“After I was adopted at twelve, I started digging into the company he was supposed to meet with, something didn’t sit right. I found out they had released a product, an exact replica of my father’s invention. Same name, same design, identical in every way. What made it worse was that the launch date was just a few months after his meeting with them.”

I sit there, stunned, my heart sinking with each word.

“It wasn’t until I was older, capable of doing proper research, that I confirmed my suspicions. The company had stolen his design, his research, and marketed it under their own name. They never gave my father the credit he deserved. When I dug deeper, I found out they had replaced all of their employees shortly after my father’s meeting with them. Want to know the company’s name?” Damian’s eyes meet mine.

I can’t find the words, so I nod, pale and frozen in place.

“IDG,” he says flatly.

“IDG?” I whisper. The name slams into me like a physical blow. My throat constricts, and for a moment, the world goes completely still.

“IDG,” Damian repeats, his voice emotionless. “Innovare Dynamics Group. Your father’s company.”

“That’s not possible…” I whisper in disbelief, and I don’t even realize I’ve spoken until I hear the shaky sound of my own voice.

Damian’s gaze hardens. “I told you you wouldn’t believe me. That’s exactly why I never wanted to tell you.”

“But… but…” My mind reels, struggling to process the impossibility of it all. My father, the man who built everything from the ground up, would never... steal someone else’s idea. Conspire to hurt Damian’s father? The thought is inconceivable.

Damian pulls out his phone, his fingers moving swiftly over the screen. A minute later, there’s a sharp knock on the door. I freeze, unable to contain my shock as Hal steps inside. “Mrs. Montgomery,” he says with a small nod in my direction, before putting a black briefcase onto the coffee table. Without another word, he turns and leaves, the door closing softly behind him.

Damian opens the briefcase and pulls out two files. “According to the authorities, my father’s body was found in the woods. The location was seven miles away from the IDG building. But…”

He slides the first file across the table. “The day my father went to that meeting, two separate 911 calls were placed from the IDG building. The file holds those call records, along with statements from employees who worked on the 30th floor. They heard shouting, even gunshots. Shortly after those calls were made, every single one of those employees was transferred to your father’s overseas branches. Their stories changed, and everything was swept under the rug.”

“The police, senators, and countless influential figures were all involved in covering up my father’s murder.” He hands me another file. “The names of everyone involved are in here.”

I can feel the blood drain from my face. I stare at the file, my hands trembling. My body feels like it’s going to give out at any moment. The world I knew is crumbling to dust.

“I’ve dealt with almost everyone on that list.” Damian reveals with grim satisfaction.

“But these don’t prove that my father and his partners…” I can’t finish the sentence. My voice cracks.

“Killed my father?” A bitter smile twists his lips. “That hurt more than I thought. I knew you wouldn’t believe me. I knew you’d take their side, but hearing it from you, seeing that disbelief in your eyes... it hurt. More than I thought it would.”

“No!” I swipe at my tears and stumble to my unsteady feet. “I didn’t say I don’t believe you, Damian. I’m just… trying to make sense of all this!” My breath comes in quick, jagged gasps. “My mind is still processing the fact that your… your father was killed, and your mother…” My voice cracks, and a sob tears through me. “I… I can almost accept the thought of my dad stealing, even if it seems impossible, but murder… Damian…”

He pulls out another file and a flash drive, his expression unreadable. “These are reports and recordings from therapy sessions with your father’s partners, William Thompson and Richard McAllister. They confessed to killing my father.” He pauses, his jaw tightening. “They never went into specifics, but they did mention the involvement of your father.”

I turn quickly, stumbling toward the bathroom, the sound of my heartbeat pounding in my ears. I bend over the pot, retching violently. The contents of my stomach come rushing up, my body shaking uncontrollably as the truth of his words finally sinks in.

I’m shaking, my body wracked with tremors as I clutch the edge of the pot. The harsh reality of everything, the betrayal, the loss—settles deep in my bones.

I’m about to collapse on the floor when suddenly strong arms wrap around waist, lifting me with ease.

Damian carries me back to the living room. His eyes never leave me, watching me with a mixture of guilt and concern, as if he wishes he could take all this pain away from me. Even though I should be the one feeling that way, comforting him. Not the other way around.

When we reach the sofa, he sits down, pulling me into his lap like a fragile doll. His hand strokes the back of my head, his fingers threading through my hair in soothing motions. But it doesn’t stop the tears.

I cry. Hard. The floodgates have opened now. The pain in my chest twists and tears through me, and I let it all out—every broken sob, every shard of devastation.

Damian doesn’t speak. He just holds me. His face is unreadable, but his body tenses every time I break down again, his grip tightening on me, as though he’s trying to soak my pain.

“I’m sorry,” he mutters, voice rough, though it’s unclear whether he’s apologizing for the truth he’s laid bare or for the pain that’s now consuming us both. “This is why I didn’t want to tell you.”

But I needed to know. I had to face it.

“Is there more?”

His jaw hardens. That means yes.

“Tell me. Tell me everything,” I say hoarsely, sliding off his lap.

Without a word, Damian stands and moves toward the kitchen. A minute later, he returns with a glass of water. He hands it to me, his gaze never leaving mine as I sip, making sure I’m okay before speaking again.

“This file,” He produces another file, this one thick and ominous, “contains every wrongdoing your father and his partners committed, both through IDG and their other ventures. Insider trading, money laundering, tax evasion, intellectual property theft—all of it. I used these to dismantle their empire, destroy William Thompson and Richard McAllister’s lives, and bring their families to their knees.”

“Why their families?”

His eyes lock onto mine. “I have a rule,” he says, his voice low and dangerous. “Only one. Don’t harm the innocents, and don’t forgive the culpable. If their families had been innocent, I would’ve left them alone. They might not have had a hand in my family’s destruction, but they did other things, unthinkable things—and they walked away without facing any consequences. So I made sure they didn’t get away unpunished.”

“Like Melissa?” I remembered how he admitted of conspiring her accident.

“No. I just uncovered dirt on each one of them and used it, legally, to drain their finances until they were bankrupt. I could’ve gone to the authorities, but that wouldn’t have been enough. They needed to feel it. They needed to understand what it’s like to be on the other side, to know how it feels when everything you’ve built comes crashing down. Melissa was the only exception.”

“Why?”

“Because she tried to hurt what’s mine. My wife.” The words hit me with the force of a storm, leaving me breathless.

I watch him rise from his seat, crossing the room to stand by the window, his broad shoulders tense as he stares out into the night.

“I took over IDG recently.”

I freeze but he continues, “Richard was already bankrupt, but your father spent what little he had left to sue me over it, but he lost. Every single penny.”

My dad. Christopher Gibson. The man I once saw as untouchable has been brought to his knees by my husband.

“There’s one last file in that briefcase. It’s the paperwork to transfer ownership of IDG back to your father. I had it drawn up. All it takes is my signature. I’ll sign it right now for you.”

I can't hide the shock in my voice as I ask, “Why? Why would you do that after what he did to you and your family?”

He turns slowly. “Because no victory, no revenge, is worth losing you.”

I draw in a sharp breath.

Before I can respond, he strides in my direction, eating the distance between us. Then to my utter shock, Damian drops to his knees right in front of me.

The sight of him like this—a man who never bends, now at my feet—steals the air from my lungs.

He takes my hands in his. “I don’t care about power or pride anymore. None of it matters if I can’t have you by my side.” His eyes search mine. “Come back to me, angel. Let me fix this. Let me fix us.”

“But you hate me—”

His eyes narrow. “How could I ever hate my wife?”

Tears sting my eyes as the memory of his words burns in my chest. “I heard you… You said you hated my father, and everyone connected to him.”

“Yes, I did.” His jaw tightens. “And I meant his partners and their families.”

“But I’m connected to him,” I whisper.

He grabs the back of my neck, pulling me closer. “No, you’re not. You stopped being his the day you became mine. From the moment I put that ring on your finger, you became my family, my only loyalty. You’re connected to me and no one else.”

I swallow hard, clinging to the doubts that won’t let go. “B-but you married me for revenge, Damian…”

His expression tightens, a shadow passing over his face like the confession physically wound him. For a moment, he says nothing, but when he speaks, his voice is heavy. “At first, I told myself that’s all it was. I wanted to believe it, to keep things simple, to convince myself I wasn’t weak. It was easier to call it revenge, to think I was in control. But I was lying to myself. I wasn’t ready to admit the truth.”

His hands come up, cradling my face as he lifts my gaze to meet his. “Raleigh was right. I married you because I wanted to. Because I couldn’t imagine not having you. After my parents died, I built walls, walls so high even Raleigh and Summer could barely break through. I kept my heart locked away, buried in ice. And when I was adopted, I built those walls even higher, stronger. No one got close. No one dared.” His voice drops, his thumb brushing against my cheek. “But you… you shattered every wall. I never stood a chance. You didn’t ask for permission, River. You walked straight into my life despite my cold defenses and claimed me before I even realized it.”

I stare at him, wide-eyed, breath caught in my throat as his words unravel every defense I’d tried to hold onto.

“My parents—they’re already gone,” his voice cracks just enough to betray his emotions. “They’ve already been stolen from me. But you? I can’t lose you too. I won’t. The revenge, the files, the leverage—I’ll burn it all. I’ll give your father back his empire. None of it matters if it costs me you.” He exhales a shaky breath and for the first time, I see a crack in his armor.

“Just… don’t leave me.” His forehead rests against mine. “I need you. I… I-I love you, River. More than I ever thought I was capable of.”

I squeeze my eyes shut as the sobs wrack through me. He scoops me off the sofa like I weigh nothing, shifting on the carpet and cradling me in his lap as though I’m the most precious thing in the world.

“I love you, River,” he murmurs, his voice thick and breaking. He presses his lips to my temple, repeating the words over and over, each one carving deeper into my heart.

How could he still love me? I am the daughter of the man who destroyed his world, the bloodline of his greatest enemy.

How could his heart, so burdened with vengeance and pain, find room for someone tied so closely to his suffering?

I should feel grateful, humbled even, that he’s chosen me despite everything, but all I can feel is guilt. Guilt for loving him when I know the shadow of my father’s actions looms over us. Guilt for being the reason he’s suffered more, for being the daughter of the man who left him broken.

And yet, there’s something terrifyingly beautiful about it too. That even after all he’s endured, after every wound my father inflicted on him, Damian has it in him to love. To choose me. It doesn’t make sense. It’s almost cruel, that he would open his heart to me, the one person who reminds him of everything he’s lost.

Maybe in me, he’s found the one thing that can overpower his hatred, even if it tears him apart in the process. And that makes me cry harder.

He misinterprets my tears, assuming they’re for something entirely different, because he says “I know I hurt you. I know I don’t deserve you. But I need you to know—the man you saw on that trip, that was me. The real me. Every moment we shared, every laugh, every touch, was as real as the beat of my heart. As real as my love for you.”

I grip his shirt tightly, my tears soaking through the fabric as they spill uncontrollably. I want to tell him I believe him, to give him some kind of reassurance, but the words just won’t come. All I can do is cry.

“I used to think I had no heart, but when you left, I felt it crack wide open, like it was dying inside me,” he says, tightening his hold as if he’s afraid I’ll slip away again.

“I searched everywhere for you. I went through hours and hours of CCTV footage of every highway, every airport. Flew to Paris, even to Scotland—everywhere I thought you might be. And you weren’t anywhere.” I feel his chest rise and fall unevenly. “Every minute, I was paralyzed with fear, imagining the worst. You were out there, all alone. No money, no protection. Wondering if you were safe, if you were even alive. It was like being trapped in a nightmare, one I couldn’t wake up from.”

His pulls me impossibly closer, like he can’t bear the thought of any space between us. “I hired countless PIs. Followed every lead, barely sleeping between flights. That’s how I found you here.”

His words piece together the fragments of my shattered heart, mending each crack.

I bury my face into his chest, my tears flowing freely as his love seep into my soul.

“I can’t do it, River. I can’t live without you. I simply don’t want to.”

“Damian…” I manage to whisper.

“Let me speak. Please,” he pleads. “I’ve buried everything so deep inside me for so long. You begged me to open up, and I didn’t. You gave me your heart on a silver platter, again and again, and all I gave you was silence. But not anymore. You deserve to hear it all.”

He cups the back of my head, gently pressing my face against his chest once more. “How could you ever believe that I hated you? You’re the only light I’ve ever had in this dark, jaded life of mine. The only reason I’ve survived this long. Without you… I have no reason to exist.”

His confession crashes into the fragile remnants of my strength, breaking me even as they start to put me back together. It shatters and saves me all at once. My body can’t take it anymore, the exhaustion of my heartbreak followed by the overwhelming relief by his love confession take its toll and the darkness swallows me whole.

◆◆◆

“Damian!” I jolt upright, gasping as the remnants of a restless sleep cling to me. My voice is loud enough to echo through the guestroom.

Mrs. Hawthorne is already by my side. She leans forward slightly. “Easy now, love,” she says, concerned. “You need to rest.”

I blink, disoriented. “Where’s my husband? What time is it?”

She glances at the antique clock resting on the mantle. “It’s seven in the morning,” she replies. “He had to leave. Some... unsavory types with cameras were outside the house, causing a ruckus. He went to sort it out.”

Paparazzi? My pulse quickens.

“Are they still out there?”

She shakes her head. “Not anymore. But your husband did insist I keep you indoors until he gets back.”

Her words don’t really register as I push off the plush bedding, my bare feet meeting the cool, polished wood floor. “I—I need to see him.”

I choose Damian. Now and forever.

I chose him when I was eighteen, when I fell in love with him at first sight. I chose him again at twenty, when life threw us back together. I chose him when I was twenty-one, defying my father to marry him. And now, I’m going to choose him again.

He asked me in Scotland if I’d choose him again. If I’d try to make our marriage work. At the time, I didn’t know about his past. But I chose him anyway. And now, after knowing everything, I wholeheartedly choose him once again. And I need to tell him that.

Last night, I couldn’t. Couldn’t force the words past my trembling lips. I love you. Why was it so hard to tell the truth when my heart was crying it out loud?

I couldn’t tell him I forgave him when he was apologizing for everything. And I couldn’t ask for forgiveness myself—for running, for shutting him out, for not staying to fight for us when I should have.

But he said he wants me back. And God, I want him back too.

“Don’t be daft. He’ll be back soon, probably by evening at the latest. He’s staying in the village, and once he’s able, he’ll be right back here. There’s no need to fret.”

“Did he say where he’s staying?”

She shakes her head softly. “No, darling. He was in a rush. Poor thing. He left before you woke up. But let me tell you, River, he didn’t leave because he wanted to. He left because he had to. You were unconscious, your fever so high he was beside himself. He called for a doctor right away. He only let the doctor go around two this morning—after your fever finally broke.” Amusement glinting in her eyes. “You’re a lucky girl. Your husband stayed up all night even after the doctor reassured him. Not a wink of sleep. He wouldn’t leave your side. Kept me awake as well with all the pacing and noise,” she adds, grumbling with no heat.

I find myself smiling. If he’s staying in the village, he’s probably at one of the bed and breakfasts here. I’ll make sure to check all of them later.

After a quick shower, I get dressed hurriedly, ready to go but Mrs. Hawthorne hovers, never letting me out of her sight, never letting me do anything.

I finish my breakfast in record speed, noting how I got my appetite back after a month and a half.

An hour later, when I see her drift off, book in hand, I seize the opportunity. My feet are already moving. I slip out the door as quietly as I can.

I move quickly, feeling the adrenaline rush through me, my heart beating faster with each step.

The more I think about it, the clearer it becomes. I would spend my entire life loving him. I would give him everything—my heart, my trust, my devotion. Because he deserves it, all of it. Damian, with all his darkness, his flaws, his past. He deserves the chance to make things right, to build something better from the wreckage of his past.

Damian is far from a morally righteous man. I can still hear his voice, the way he coldly recounted Caleb and his family’s death, no remorse in his tone.

But did they show any remorse for what they did to him, to Summer, or Raleigh and many others? No. They earned what came to them. Everything Damian did, every choice he made, was a result of all the cruelty he’d been forced to endure.

Damian may not be a law-abiding man, but he protects and avenges those he loves, those who matter. He can do anything, go to any length for them. And I’m one of them.

He loves me.

He’s willing to give me everything, to protect me at all costs. He’s willing to go to hell and back for me. How could I not give him all of me in return? How could I not be his, when he’s fought so hard for me?

I can’t wait to see him. To feel his arms around me, to know that everything will be okay.

I cross the road, barely hearing the screech of tires until it’s too late. With a shriek of horror, I hastily move out of the way but end up falling on the pavement. The car swerves violently to the other side, narrowly avoiding a crash.

I scramble to sit up, wincing as I check my skinned palms and knees.

“River!” A hand clamps over my shoulder. I look up and gasp at the sight of a very pale Matt looming over me.

CHAPTER FIFTY-FOUR

I blink up at Matt, still too stunned to speak as he helps me to my feet.

“Matt? Oh my god! What are you doing here? How have you been?”

His hands remain on my arms as I find my balance. “Leave it to you to ask about me when you’re the one bleeding,” he says, his smile tired.

I glance down at the scrapes on my knees and palms, only now noticing the sting. “It’s nothing,” I wave it off. “But seriously, why did you stop emailing me? Do you have any idea how worried I’ve been? I even had Vicky call Laura to figure out where you were! That’s how I found out you were in London, and—”

“Whoa, whoa,” he interrupts, holding his hands up in mock surrender, a faint smile tugging at his lips. It’s charming, but not in the way it used to be. It’s dimmed. “Let’s get you fixed up first, then we’ll catch up. I’ll take you to see a doctor.”

“No need, I stay nearby…” I say then remember where I was headed. “Really, I’m fine, and I’m kind of in a rush.”

“River,” he says, his tone firm now. His gaze drops to my bloodied legs. “Your skirt is torn, and you’re hurt. Whatever you’re rushing to can wait. You need to clean those wounds before they get worse. Come on, let me drive you home.”

I hesitate, glancing in the direction I’d been headed but Matt’s right. Showing up like this would only make Damian furious. Reluctantly, I follow him to the car and let him take me back to the cottage.

Matt leads me back to the cottage, his arm supporting me as I hobble alongside him.

The moment Mrs. Hawthorne opens the door, her eyes widen at the sight of me.

“Good heavens, child! What have you done to yourself now?” she exclaims, her gaze darting between my torn skirt and bloodied hands.

“It’s not as bad as it looks—” I start, but her stern glare cuts me off.

“She tripped,” Matt says quickly, stepping in. “But nothing too serious.”

“Tripped?” she echoes, her tone sharp. Her eyes shift to Matt, who is standing protectively by my side. “And who’s this?”

“This is Matt,” I explain, brushing my hair out of my face. “He’s a friend. We bumped into each other by chance.”

Her attention shifts back to me. “And what were you doing wandering out alone? Don’t tell me you were sneaking off to see Damian!”

Heat rises to my cheeks as I fumble for a response, but Matt speaks before I can.

“She just needed some fresh air,” he says smoothly.

Mrs. Hawthorne huffs, crossing her arms. “Fresh air, my foot. Now don’t stand there. Get inside.”

She steps back to let us in, muttering something under her breath about reckless behavior. Matt helps me to a chair in the sitting room while Mrs. Hawthorne bustles off to find the first aid kit.

“You didn’t have to lie for me,” I murmur as he kneels to inspect the scrapes on my knees.

He glances up, a faint smile tugging at his lips. “Seemed like you could use the backup.”

Mrs. Hawthorne returns moments later, setting the first aid kit down with a loud thud. “Let’s see how bad it is.”

“I’ll take care of it,” Matt offers.

Mrs. Hawthorne gives him a once-over. “Fine, but don’t botch it up. I’ll get tea.”

She leaves the room, grumbling softly to herself, and Matt turns back to me with a small chuckle.

“She’s quite the character,” he says, carefully dabbing at the scrapes with a damp cloth.

“She means well,” I say, smiling.

“This might sting,” he warns gently.

I wince but stay still, watching as he works with careful precision.

“You’re good at this,” I murmur.

He glances up and winks. “Lots of practice.”

He then excuses himself. By the time Mrs. Hawthorne returns with a tea tray, Matt has charmed her completely. Her earlier irritation has melted away, and she even offers him a smile as she sets the tray down.

“Well, I suppose it’s a good thing you were there,” she says, begrudgingly. “Though I still don’t approve of her sneaking off.”

I keep my eyes on the teacup in my hands, avoiding her pointed look.

Later, Matt and I sit on the bench in the back garden. “So,” I ask softly, “how are you, Matt?”

“Miserable,” he says, his voice low and honest. “My mother... she passed away a couple of months ago.”

“Oh, Matt.” My heart clenches. “I’m so sorry.”

He nods, swallowing hard. “It’s... it’s been a lot.”

“Is that why you flew to London?” I ask gently.

He shakes his head. “No. I flew to London to get some space. While I was there, I got a call from the institution where she was staying—her health had declined. She passed in her sleep.”

I place a hand on his arm. “That must’ve been so hard.”

Matt doesn’t answer right away. He just stares ahead for a moment. “We weren’t close… but she was my only family.”

I hear the pain in his voice and squeeze his arm. But then he sighs, like he’s pushing it all away, and turns toward me. “Anyway,” he says, his tone shifting, “you asked me what I was doing here. I came to see you.”

“Me?” I blink in surprise.

“Yeah,” he says with a soft smile. “I called Vicky. She told me you left L.A. without telling anyone. In the middle of the night…”

“Foolishly,” I finish for him with a small wry smile.

But his expression turns serious. “I thought it was brave.”

His words make me pause, caught off guard. “Brave?”

“Staying in a toxic relationship is hard, River. But leaving it? That takes real courage. You took that step. And I admire that. I just wish I’d been there for you.”

His sincerity hits me. It’s strange, hearing someone speak about my actions like they were worth something. Like he understands me. I smile, touched by his words. “Thank you, Matt. But how did you know where to find me?”

Matt shrugs. “I read in the papers that Damian was spotted here. It didn’t make sense at first, but I figured it out. He’d found you. So… here I am.” He pauses, his expression growing more serious. “River,” he says, his voice dropping, “remember when you told me to look into your father?”

I nod slowly.

“I have bad news.”

“I know about his bankruptcy,” I tell him. “And the hostile takeover.”

“So you know Damian is the one who did it.”

I exhale slowly. “I do.”

Matt runs a hand through his hair, a flicker of discomfort crossing his face. He takes a deep breath, shifting uncomfortably in his seat. “But that’s not all, River. There’s… something I’ve been meaning to tell you. I’m not sure how you’ll take it, but it’s something you need to know.”

A sense of foreboding settles over me. “What is it?” I ask, my stomach dropping.

He hesitates, and for a moment, I can see the struggle written all over his face. His gaze drops to the floor, like he’s trying to pull himself together.

“Matt?” I ask, my heart beginning to race.

“I—” He shakes his head, as if trying to shake off the weight of whatever it is he’s about to say. But then his eyes lock onto mine, dark and vulnerable. “It’s about your father.”

“Is he…? Did something happen…?” I ask quietly.

“No, no,” he rushes to say. “It’s not that.” His voice uneven, the effort to hold himself together apparent. “But I—”

I watch him struggle. He’s not looking at me now, staring instead at his shoes, as if searching for the right words. “My mother… she worked for him,” Matt continues, his voice strained. “She was his personal assistant. About twenty-four years ago.”

I’m stunned into silence, the news catching me off guard. “Okay… but why are you so tensed?”

He curses under his breath and stands, his chest rising and falling with every shaky breath. “I thought I could get through this without having a panic attack…”

I rise to my feet, wincing at the ache in my knees, and instinctively reach for his arm. “Matt, you’re sweating. What’s going on?”

He shakes his head, refusing to meet my gaze, and starts pacing, his movements erratic. My concern sharpens. I turn and rush inside, grabbing a bottle of water, before rushing back out.

I walk over and gently guide him back to the bench. “Here,” I say, unscrewing the cap and pressing the bottle into his hands.

He takes it with trembling fingers, the bottle nearly slipping from his grip as he drains half of it in one go.

I sit beside him, waiting for his breathing to slow, giving him the space he needs.

Once he finally seems calmer, I speak up. “You don’t have to talk if it’s this hard. You’re sweating through your shirt, Matt. You’re trembling. You’re not okay, and I can see it. Whatever it is... I don’t have to know.”

“You have to.” He exhales, his breath ragged as he leans back, eyes closing for a brief moment. Almost as if the words are fighting to get out, he blurts, “I witnessed a murder.”

I freeze, the blood draining from my face. “What?”

He nods, his lips pressed tight as if he’s trying to keep the tremor in his voice under control. “I don’t know where to start... my mother, she was a single parent, working for your father. It was a demanding job. She worked long hours. So she used to take me with her sometimes.”

I can’t move, can’t speak, my stomach churning.

“The building had an on-site childcare facility, a safe place for kids of single parent employees. I spent a lot of time there, three days a week or more. But I was a mischievous seven-year-old,” he adds, a bitter smile pulling at the corner of his mouth. “I’d sneak off, explore the building. One day… I snuck into your father’s office.”

A chill runs down my spine. The ground beneath me feels like it’s crumbling away.

“I was in the connecting conference room next door. It had a one-way mirror. I could see into your father’s office, but they couldn’t see me.”

I can’t breathe. My heart thuds painfully in my chest, knowing where this is going.

“I saw two men enter first. William Thompson and Richard McAllister. I didn’t recognize them back then. I was just a kid. It wasn’t until much later, when I started digging into your father, that I pieced it together.”

I swallow hard, my throat dry. “You didn’t know who they were up until now?”

“Not even your father. If I had, everything would’ve clicked the moment you said his name at the community center.” His expression darkens. “After those two, two more men came in. One of them was in a plaid shirt and jeans. The other… was your father.”

It feels surreal, like some cruel twist of fate. Matt—Matt, the friend I made at the center, the one who offered me kindness, friendship and warmth when I needed it most—is the key witness to Damian’s father’s murder. The realization crashes into me, knocking the air from my lungs. I feel the bile rise in my throat, my knees weakening.

He keeps going, his voice quieter now. “Your father took the couch. Thompson and McAllister sat across from him. But they didn’t offer a seat to the man in the plaid shirt.” He hesitates, running a hand through his hair. “The guy had this thick file with him. He was flipping through it, talking nonstop, trying to explain something. Your father and the others were listening carefully, watching him like hawks.”

Matt pauses. “I remember being so frustrated. I was hungry, bored, and tired. I wanted to leave, but I knew if I interrupted, my mom would lose her job, and we’d both be in trouble. So, I did the only thing I could—I laid down on the floor and fell asleep.”

Matt suddenly stands, pacing in front of the bench. He rubs his hands over his face, his breathing uneven.

“What happened then?” I whisper.

He stops and stares at the ground, his hands clenched into fists. “I woke up to a gunshot.”

My heart stops.

“The man in the plaid shirt was clutching his arm, blood pouring between his fingers. His face… God, he looked so scared, like a trapped animal. He was looking around the room, desperate for a way out.”

I screw my eyes shut but the image he painted in my head refuses to fade.

“Richard was standing by the door, blocking it. He wasn’t just guarding it—he was smirking, like he was enjoying it. The man tried to say something, pleading with them, tears streaming down his face. But none of them cared. None of them said a word.”

Matt’s voice falters, and he looks away. “Then William shot him again. Twice. Right in the chest.” He stops pacing and grips the back of the bench, his knuckles white. “The man collapsed onto the floor. Right on the file he’d brought… blood and papers everywhere. And your father?” His eyes are filled with disgust. “He just sat there, sipping his whiskey like nothing was happening. Like it was a normal day at the office.”

I feel nauseous, the air around me suffocating.

“I was so scared, River,” Matt whispers, his voice cracking. “I couldn’t move, couldn’t scream. I just froze. I was a kid, hiding in a room, watching a man get murdered. It was too much. I blacked out.”

My father. No, not my father. Christopher Gibson did this. He didn’t just witness it. He orchestrated it. He was the mastermind. He commanded it, oversaw it, and allowed it to happen in the very space where I once thought decisions were made to build, not destroy.

The man I trusted with every ounce of my being, was no better than the monsters he warned me about as a child.

How could he watch an innocent man—a man with hopes, dreams, and a family—being killed.

The man I idolized, who I believed was everything a father should be—strong, loving, protective—was nothing more than a predator in a tailored suit.

And Damian. Damian spent his life trying to claw back something—anything—from the ashes. All while the true villain sat in luxury, unbothered.

I’m proud of my husband. Proud of the lengths he went to, the ruthless precision with which he avenged his father and his family. He didn’t just settle for justice; he made sure they suffered. Slowly. Cruelly. With every painstaking step, he dismantled the lives of those responsible for his family’s destruction, piece by agonizing piece. And I stand by him. I stand by the man who took the empire that shattered his world and made it his own. He’s rebuilt it from the ashes, not as a victim, but as a force that no one will dare to underestimate again.

But Matt’s face, the way his hands tremble, the crack in his voice… He lived through it. My father ruined his life too.

Matt speaks again, “I was found hours later. I don’t remember much. I was too numb, too scared to move, too terrified to even think. I thought, maybe… maybe the cops would come. I thought they’d ask me what I saw, but no one did. I was just waiting, but nothing happened. No questions. No one ever came.” Matt’s voice cracks, his hands clenched into fists. “Instead, my mom—she shipped me off to London. Just like that. I was sent to boarding school. Like it was some kind of punishment. I was never given a chance to process it, to speak about what I saw. They never asked me if I was okay. My mom was terrified I’d talk, so she silenced me. She didn’t even take me to therapy. Instead, she put the fear in me—if I talked, I’d be next. Said I was only alive because they thought I passed out and didn’t see anything. My mother knew, though. She knew what had happened, and it changed everything for me. I never forgave her for siding with the criminals.”

I remember how Damian mentioned my father relocated all the employees working on that floor overnight.

His eyes cloud over with a haunted look again. “But it changed me, River. I couldn’t escape it. I buried it deep, I tried to forget. But you can’t forget something like that. So I started working on it, in my own way. I volunteered. I worked with NGOs. It was my way of helping him—the man they murdered.”

“That man… the one who was… killed,” I choke out, the words scraping against my throat. “His name was Anthony Sabatino.”

Matt freezes. His eyes widen. He’s silent for a moment before his voice drops to a harsh whisper, disbelief in every syllable. “How… how do you know his name?”

The truth burns in my chest like acid. “He was Damian’s father.”

A flash of horror crosses Matt’s face. His mouth opens, but no sound comes out at first. It’s like the ground beneath him has cracked wide open, swallowing everything he thought he understood. He stares at me in disbelief. “Damian’s father…”

Matt doesn’t blink. He doesn’t even breathe for a moment. Then, his voice drops, harsh and low. “Did he know your father was the one who killed his?”

My throat tightens as I nod.

“Before or after he married you?” he presses, his eyes now searching mine like he’s looking for any shred of hope that maybe it wasn’t as bad as it seemed.

“Before,” I say hoarsely.

Matt’s hands curl into fists. “That bastard,” he growls. “He married you for revenge, didn’t he? That explains everything. No wonder you were miserable, but you didn’t even know why. All of this—the misery, the distance, the cruelty—that’s what it was about. It wasn’t love. It wasn’t even about you. It was about getting back at your father. It’s the only thing matters to him.”

“No,” I whisper, shaking my head desperately. “That’s not true.”

“He didn’t love you, River. He didn’t want you—he wanted to destroy your life.”

“No! You don’t understand—”

Matt glares at me, as if trying to make me see what’s obvious. “River, I get it. What happened to him was brutal. I truly do feel for him. But pulling you into his mess? Into all of this? That’s unforgivable. You were innocent. You didn’t deserve any of this.”

I bite my lip. “I know you’re angry. I know it’s hard to understand. But we talked last night. Damian told me everything. He… he told me why he did it, why he married me. He…” My voice shakes. “He loves me. Even after everything, even after what my father did to him. He still loves me.”

There’s a long silence after that.

“I can’t believe he’s capable of that,” Matt finally murmurs, resigned. “Just promise me one thing…”

“What?”

“Promise me you won’t lose yourself in his world,” Matt says quietly. “Don’t let him pull you under. You deserve more than this—more than revenge, more than hatred. I want you to be happy, River. Don’t forget that.”

“I love him, Matt.”

He gives me a sad smile, his eyes filled with something unreadable. “You deserve the world, River. I just hope he gives you everything you’ve always wanted.”

After a beat, he says, “I’ll talk to Damian about that day. I think I can finally do what I’ve been wanting to for so long… help that man—Anthony get justice.”

I nod solemnly.

“So I guess I should leave now.” He pushes to his feet.

“Are you okay now?” I ask, rising.

“Yes.” He pauses, then, “I think I’ll never truly get over what I saw. Who could? But now, knowing I have a chance to help put those responsible behind bars… maybe I can start to make peace with all of it.”

I place my hand on his forearm, offering support. “Guess I’ll see you in L.A. in a couple of weeks then? We’re still on for volunteering, right?”

His smile is bittersweet. “I might not be there.”

I blink, surprised. “Oh... So, you’re staying in London a little longer?”

“I’ve been offered a position with a non-profit organization in South Africa. It’s a program focused on providing education and resources to underprivileged children.”

“South Africa?” I repeat. “How long will you be there?”

Matt looks away for a moment, as if searching for the right words. When he meets my eyes again, there’s a quiet finality to his gaze. “For good, probably,” he says softly, and I see the resignation in his eyes. “I don’t think I’d come back.”

“Why?” I ask, a frown pulling at my brows.

His gaze drifts, as if the question itself is something he’s not sure he can answer. “Because this is what I’ve always wanted to do—helping people, making a difference. This program isn’t just an opportunity—it’s a calling. If I can ease even a fraction of their struggles, if I can give them hope, how could I not go?”

His words carry a passion that I can’t help but admire. Still, the thought of never seeing him again makes my heart heavy. “I’ll miss you, Matt. You’re a great friend.”

His smile returns, faint but real. “Can I get a hug?” he asks, his voice small, almost vulnerable.

His question has a finality to it, a goodbye he doesn’t say outright. My eyes well up, and I nod silently.

He steps closer, wrapping me in his arms with a tenderness that makes me emotional.

His hold is warm, strong, yet hesitant, as if he’s afraid to let go. Then his lips graze the crown of my head. I freeze, my entire body going rigid.

“I love you, River,” he whispers, his voice breaking. “I always have… and I always will.”

“Matt, I—”

“I know,” he says quickly, cutting me off, his tone resigned. “I know you’re married. I know you love him. I know I don’t stand a chance, not now, not ever. But… I had to say it. This might be the last time I’ll ever see you, and I couldn’t leave without telling you.”

Tears sting my eyes as his words pour out.

“Thank you, River,” he continues, his voice trembling. “Thank you for being my friend. For coming into my life and letting me be a part of yours, even for just a little while. I cherished every moment.” He pulls back slightly, his eyes glistening with unshed tears. “I’ll miss you,” he murmurs. “More than you’ll ever know. I—”

The words die on his lips as he’s yanked backward with a force that makes me stagger.

“Matt!” I cry out in shock, my heart hammering as Damian steps into view. His eyes are dark and blazing with rage.

Before I can process what’s happening, Damian’s fist connects with Matt’s jaw, sending him flying across the garden.

“Damian, no!” I scream, rushing forward as Matt struggles to his feet, blood trailing from the corner of his mouth.

Damian doesn’t stop. He stalks toward Matt, his movements predatory and terrifying. In an instant, he grabs Matt by the collar and hauls him up with a force that makes my stomach twist.

“How dare you touch my wife?” Damian growls, each word dripping with cold, lethal intent.

“Damian, stop!” I plead, grabbing his arm and tugging desperately. “You’re misunderstanding! Please, listen to me!”

He doesn’t even glance at me, his focus locked on Matt, who looks more solemn than anything.

“I caught most of what he said, angel,” Damian murmurs, his voice dangerously quiet, his eyes never leaving Matt. The fury in his tone is unmistakable, coiled tight beneath a chilling calm. “It’s taking everything in me not to end him for even daring to speak to you like that.”

The violence in his words sends a shiver down my spine. My breath hitches, panic rising in my chest.

“But I love you!” I cry out, desperation cracking my voice. That finally gets his attention. His eyes flick to mine, the molten rage flickering as I nod frantically. “I love you, Damian. Only you. You’re my first love, my only love. You’re my whole life.”

His jaw tightens, his breathing labored. With a sharp shove, he lets go of Matt, who stumbles backward.

Damian pulls me to his chest with an iron grip, his possessiveness unmistakable. I reach up, cupping his face, my hands trembling. “Damian, listen to me. Everyone in this world has the right to their feelings, even Matt. He confessed, yes, but that’s all. He didn’t cross any lines. You can’t—”

He silences me with a fierce, dominating kiss, his lips claiming mine in a way that leaves no room for argument. It’s desperate and consuming, as though he’s trying to brand himself into my very soul.

When he finally pulls away, my lips are swollen, and my head is spinning.

I glance around, realizing Matt is nowhere to be seen.

He’s gone.

◆◆◆

Damian carries me to the guestroom and gently places me on the bed.

“So, you love me?” he asks softly, his voice low. His thumb brushes over my lip, gently, like he’s savoring the taste of the words I just gave him.

“I never stopped,” I breathe, my heart pounding in my chest.

Damian leans down, his lips brushing softly against mine, but I can feel the tension in his body—the need in his touch. He pulls back slightly, searching my eyes as if making sure I mean it, that I’m truly his.

“Damian…” My voice trembles slightly, everything inside of me screaming to feel him, to be close to him.

Without breaking eye contact, he reaches for the hem of his sweater, pulling it over his head in one smooth motion. I can’t help but watch the way his muscles flex with every movement, every inch of skin exposed. The sight of him—powerful, raw, and all mine—has my body responding before I can even think.

“We need to talk...” My mouth feels dry, my thoughts slipping away.

“Later,” he growls, as he climbs on top of me. “First, I need to love my wife.” Then his lips are on mine—insistent, urgent, as if this kiss is the only thing that matters.

In a blink of an eye, our clothes are discarded, and his hands travel over my skin with an authority that screams I belong to him—completely, irrevocably.

And I do.

I feel him everywhere—his lips, his hands, his heat. It’s all-consuming. His slow and light caresses drive me crazy. I whimper with need.

“Shh,” he whispers, pulling away for just a second, his eyes locking with mine, dark with need. “Let me love you, angel.”

“Yes…”

Damian’s eyes darken as he looks down at me. Then he begins loving me. He’s taking back everything we’ve been through—every moment of doubt, every distance. He’s erasing it all, and making me his once again.

His mouth worships me, his hands are everywhere, and all I can do is feel, ache, need.

His kisses are no longer tender—they’re possessive, hungry, as if he’s starving for me.

And then, with a controlled movement, he enters me, filling me completely. I gasp, the sensation overwhelming me, and I can feel him, every inch of him, claiming me, marking me. He moves slowly, each thrust deep, controlled, but with the kind of power that leaves me breathless.

“Tell me you love me,” he demands, his lips brushing against my ear. “Tell me you’re mine.”

“I love you,” I whisper as I try to catch my breath. “I’m yours, Damian. Always.”

He growls, the sound primal, as he grips my hips harder, his movements becoming more urgent, more desperate as he drives deeper into me. “And I’m yours,” he breathes, his lips brushing mine. “Always.”

I gasp at the depth of his words, at the sincerity in them, as he continues to move within me. My body trembles, my heart thundering in my chest as his possessiveness takes over completely.

And in a deep, earth-shattering moment, we both fall apart, our bodies trembling, our hearts racing in sync. He holds me close, kissing me softly as we both try to catch our breath, the world outside forgotten.

“I love you, River,” he murmurs against my skin.

I smile because I know with every fiber of my being that it’s the absolute truth.

That evening, as we sit side by side, I finally decide to talk about Matt. Damian’s arm is draped around me, and I can feel the tension still coiling beneath his skin, a mixture of jealousy and something darker that he hasn’t fully shaken off yet.

“You shouldn’t have hit him.”

“He shouldn’t have fallen in love with my wife.”

I roll my eyes, frustrated that he refuses to feel guilty about hitting Matt. Damian doesn’t do guilt. Not when it’s about something or someone he sees as his. I’ve accepted it. So, I let it go. For now. There’s something more important I need to address. About Matt’s testimony.

Damian remains silent the whole time, not a single muscle in his body shifting as I speak. He absorbs everything, his eyes never leaving me. The only thing that betrays the turmoil inside him is the subtle tightening of his arm around me.

“He wants to help. He is willing to testify against them.”

Damian nods once. “I’m grateful.”

I bring his face to mine, pressing a soft kiss to his forehead, then wrap my arms around him in a protective embrace.

But then I freeze, suddenly remembering something. Damian notices immediately, pulling back to look at me, concern flashing in his eyes. “What’s wrong?”

“I... I didn’t get my birth control shot.”

His brow furrows. “So?”

“So? I could get pregnant.”

He’s quiet for a moment. Then, “You don’t want my baby?”

My gaze sharpens as I look at him. “You know I do. More than anything. But you’re the one who insisted on the shot every time.”

He hesitates, his expression unreadable for a moment. Then his voice softens, laced with uncertainty. “I wasn’t sure you’d want to have my children after you learned about my past…”

The words hit me like a cold splash of water. I pull back, my chest tight with a mixture of shock and hurt. “Damian, how could you think that?” My voice cracks, my eyes stinging.

He reaches for me, but I resist, struggling against him for a moment before I let him pull me into his chest. I bury my face there, trying to find some comfort in the familiar warmth.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers, kissing the top of my head.

“I hate you,” I mumble against him, the words coming out softer than I mean them to.

“I know,” he says, the tiniest hint of amusement in his voice. “But I love you.”

I pull away just enough to look at him, still angry, but the tenderness in his eyes makes it hard to stay mad. He kisses the tip of my nose, and I feel a smile tug at my lips.

“Why haven’t you gone back to using Sabatino again?”

“Because the name Sabatino belongs to a version of me that’s long gone. I’m not that person anymore.”

“I don’t give a damn if you’re a Sabatino or a Montgomery. You’re mine, and that’s all that matters.”

“I am,” he growls, leaning in to kiss me.

Someone coughs loudly, startling us both. Damian and I jerk apart and find Mrs. Hawthorne standing in the doorway of the guestroom.

“Yes, Mrs. Hawthorne?” Damian’s voice is clipped with irritation. I nudge him with my elbow, silently urging him to be more polite.

“Your friend, Matt, is here to see you,” she says, and I can feel the shift in Damian’s posture. His body stiffens.

“I’ll be right there,” I say quickly, standing up. Damian follows me, his presence looming close, as always.

“Matt,” I call out as I step into the living room.

He turns, offering me a small, warm smile, but it fades when he notices Damian standing behind me.

I wince when I see a bruise shadowing his jaw.

“I just came to make sure you’re all right and to say goodbye,” he says, his voice quieter than usual.

“I’m fine, Matt,” I reply, but my heart aches at the sadness in his eyes.

He nods slowly, a fleeting look of relief crossing his face.

Damian clears his throat, stepping forward with a quiet edge to his voice. “Thank you for offering to help with my father’s case. I appreciate it.”

Matt meets Damian’s gaze, and nods. “It’s the least I can do.”

Damian pulls me closer, his arm wrapping around my waist as he speaks softly but with absolute certainty. “I’ll always keep her happy,” he says, the words meant as a reassurance, an acknowledgment of Matt’s feelings for me.

“You better,” he says, serious. “Or I’ll find you, and deal with you myself.”

I gasp at the threat. Damian arches an eyebrow but says nothing.

Matt takes a cautious step toward me, his eyes locked on mine, uncertain and searching. I stiffen instinctively, bracing for Damian’s wrath.

I half-expect Damian to erupt at any moment. But to my surprise, he doesn’t. He stays silent, his gaze never leaving Matt.

Matt extends his fist toward me in that familiar, playful fist-bump gesture, and a small smile tugs at my lips as I bump mine back. Without missing a beat, he twists his hand, opening it to reveal a handful of brightly wrapped candies. “Sorry, I didn’t have time to get cookies,” he says with a sad smile.

The sweet gesture makes my throat tighten and tears well up in my eyes.

“Thank you, Matt.” I choke out.

He takes a step back, his gaze lingering on me just a little too long. He offers me one last soft smile and says, “Goodbye, River. Be happy… always.” Then he was gone.

I stand there, a lump in my throat, wishing there had been more I could say to my friend, wishing he hadn’t had to leave with his heart still quietly breaking.

Damian leads me back inside, his hand on my back as he gently guides me through the door and closes it behind us with a soft click.

Later than night, Damian turns to me. “So are you ready to fly home tomorrow, Mrs. Montgomery?”

I pretend to ponder for a moment, drawing out the moment. “Hmm, what’s in it for me?” I ask, my tone playful.

He gives me a knowing smirk, stepping closer as he begins to list off everything that awaits me. “Well, for starters, you’ve got your loyal friend and personal bodyguard, Vicky, and her chief, Hal. Then, of course, we have my ever-clingy foster siblings, Summer and Raleigh, who haven’t missed a single day of pestering me while I was trying to win you back these past two weeks, bombarding my phone with ideas.

“And don’t forget their intimidating spouses—Archer and Hannah—who took it upon themselves to not-so-subtly threaten me into treating you right. And...” he pauses for effect, leaning in close enough for me to feel his breath against my skin, “last but definitely not least, there’s me. Your ruthless husband, who would burn the world to the ground just to make sure you’re safe, happy, and entirely mine.”

EPILOGUE

Three months later…

Sunlight pierces through my eyelids like a dagger, and I flinch. Groaning, I pull the covers over my head, relief flooding me as the darkness blocks out the assault.

Sleep starts to pull me back under when suddenly the blanket is ripped away.

“Wake up, sleepyhead!” Summer’s voice is bright and far too loud.

I grab my pillow and slam it over my face. “Five more minutes.”

“Please keep it down. Let her sleep,” Vicky says softly, her tone apologetic. “She probably needs it.”

Thank you, Vicky, I say internally. After last night, I’m beyond spent. Damian had kept me up until the early hours. He was insatiable. And as much as I’d craved every second of it, my body was paying the price today. This morning, I kept retching for what felt like an eternity, so after breakfast, I’d slipped away to crash.

“Yeah, no,” Hannah deadpans. “It’s the middle of the day, and she’s been hiding in here to nap while we’ve been stuck waiting.”

A second later, my pillow is yanked away.

“Guys, seriously?” I grumble, keeping my eyes stubbornly shut.

Then, something cold and wet presses against my forehead. I crack open one eye, groggy, and find Goldie, panting right in my face. The once tiny golden retriever is all grown up now, nudging my cheek like he thinks he can wake me up with his slobber.

Without thinking, I open my arm, and he curls right into me, settling down to cuddle.

“Goldie, stop it! Leave Aunt River alone. You’re not helping!” Summer tries to pry him off, but I tighten my hold.

Summer lets out a dramatic sigh and flops onto the bed beside me, huffing as if the world has wronged her. Not even a second later, the bed dips on the other side. “I could really use a nap too,” Hannah murmurs, practically melting into the mattress.

“Where are you going, Vicky?” Summer calls out. “Come on. This four-poster’s got space for everyone.” She shifts toward me, and the bed dips again.

“Well, Hal said—” Vicky starts, but she’s immediately interrupted.

“Hal?” Summer and Hannah both say in unison, their voices full of playful teasing.

I manage to crack open one eye to glance at Vicky, whose face is now bright red.

“You guys are on a first-name basis now?” Hannah asks with a wicked grin. Then she turns to me, still smirking. “So, you’re finally awake, huh?”

I shake my head, pulling the covers up. I hear Hannah snort.

A phone goes off, dragging another groan from me. These girls are relentless.

“Yes, baby,” Hannah’s voice drops into that soft, sugary tone, and I lower the covers to gape at her. When it comes to her husband, she sheds her cold, aloof persona in an instant and turns into a lovesick puppy.

“How’s my princess?” Raleigh’s voice comes through the phone, muffled but clear enough for me to catch.

Hannah giggles. I glance at Summer, raising an eyebrow, and she chuckles in response.

“Is River ready?” Raleigh asks, and I narrow my eyes at the mention of my name. Ready for what? I lean toward Hannah, trying to eavesdrop on their conversation, but she’s off the bed in a flash. A few seconds later, she ends the call.

I sit up, absently petting Goldie, my suspicion growing. “What’s going on?”

Hannah rests her hand on her small baby bump, cradling it. “Nothing.”

It’s a tell. In the past two weeks, I’ve noticed her doing that every time she lies or gets nervous. She just caresses her bump as if doing so calms her.

There’s a soft knock and before any of us can respond, the door swings open. Morag steps in, her eyes scanning the room.

“Still in bed?” she says. “Up ye get, lass. A shower’s needed.”

I frown. “But I already showered this morning.”

“Aye, and even so, ye’ve got to do it again for yer—”

“We’ll take it from here, Morag!” Summer jumps off the bed, then slows herself, remembering she’s four months pregnant.

I watch as Hannah and Summer gently usher Morag out of the room.

My gaze shifts to Vicky, silently demanding answers. She meets my eyes for a split second before quickly looking away.

When she sneaks a glance at me, I narrow my eyes at her in mock anger. Traitor. I say with my look and she averts her eyes again.

It’s official—Vicky has jumped ship. She used to be firmly in my corner, but in the past two weeks, she’s gotten closer to Summer and Hannah. Now, I’m the odd one out. Not that I blame her—those two have a way of pulling you into their orbit. But still!

My mind drifts back to Damian and the unexpected trip he planned two weeks ago. He’d walked into the room with his usual commanding demeanor, barely giving anything away. “Pack a bag,” he’d said, and I hadn’t questioned it. I’ve gotten used to traveling with him for work, so I assumed it was just another one of his business trips.

But when I boarded our private jet, I was met with the loud, cheerful shout of, “Surprise!” from our friends. Hannah, Raleigh, Summer, and Archer stood there, grinning at me like they’d been waiting forever.

The happiness that washed over me in that moment was so overwhelming that I didn’t care about the audience. I flung myself at Damian, wrapping my arms around his neck, and kissed him with every bit of gratitude and love I felt. It wasn’t just a thank-you for the trip; it was for him. For how much he’s changed.

Since we returned to L.A., he’s been showing me through his actions that I’m his number one priority now. His work no longer consumes him like it used to. He’s cut back to weekdays only and has finally learned to delegate instead of trying to carry the burden of his empire alone.

Even better, he’s stopped being so hard on himself. He smiles more. Laughs more. And for once, he’s letting himself enjoy life—with me.

I think back to how Raleigh’s obnoxious gagging noises broke the moment between Damian and me that day. I’d laughed so hard because Damian was blushing.

This surprise Scotland trip wasn’t just about fun, though. It was about healing, too. Seeing Summer and Raleigh finally forgive Damian, finally move past the tension that used to hover over us like a storm cloud... it meant everything.

Watching Damian smile and laugh—not just with me, but with everyone—was everything. That man deserved every ounce of happiness this world could give him. And after all he’d been through, it was about time the universe started making it up to him, showering him with that joy in abundance.

But as much as I loved seeing him happy, I couldn’t deny how entertaining it was to witness the rivalry between Archer and Damian. Those two were like wolves at each other’s throat, proving who was the biggest alpha, and honestly? It made every moment better.

Take last week, for example. We were having a picnic by the pond. The sun was shining, the breeze was perfect. I was having trouble opening a jar of jam. Archer decided to be the knight in shining armor. He helped me open it before Damian even had the chance to offer.

I swear, I’ve never seen Damian sulk so hard. It was like someone had stolen his favorite toy. And Archer? He was grinning like a cat who’d just caught a mouse. It was honestly adorable.

But of course, the tables turned the very next day. Summer, who was neck-deep in planning the launch of her clothing line, went straight to Damian for advice. And the second she did, Archer’s smugness evaporated into thin air, replaced with a sour expression while Damian’s eyes gleamed with satisfaction for scoring a point.

And don’t even get me started on Hal. Ever since Raleigh decided to take him under his wing, he’s been trying to “un-grump” him. Apparently, staying too long with Damian had turned Hal into a mini version of my husband—stoic, brooding, and, in Raleigh’s words: no fun at all. So, Raleigh took it upon himself to teach Hal how to be “cool.”

Step one: Ditch the suits. Hal’s collection of leather jackets has now grown to an almost absurd number. Step two: Raleigh’s legendary “how to woo a woman” lessons. Raleigh took his role seriously, even using his wife, Hannah, to demonstrate everything—from perfecting the ideal smirk to delivering a line that could make any girl blush.

Meanwhile, the girls have been busy with their own schemes, starting with a total makeover for Vicky. They’re obsessed with playing matchmaker and even set up a full day out for her and Hal. The way Raleigh grinned when he heard about it made me suspicious that he might’ve been in on it too.

It’s no wonder Vicky’s been keeping secrets from me lately. Like I said, she’s fully switched sides.

“Can someone please tell me what’s going on?” I protest as the girls practically drag me off the bed and start steering me toward the bathroom.

“It’s a surprise!” Summer chirps, her grin wide. Hannah shoots her a sharp look that shuts her up immediately.

I spin to face them. “Wait a second… it’s Damian, isn’t it?” The thought alone makes my heart leap, excitement bubbling over. “He planned something for me again, didn’t he? What is it? Please, tell me!”

“Something like that,” Hannah says smoothly, her expression completely neutral except for the tiniest twitch of her lips. “Now stop asking questions and get moving.” She waves me toward the bathroom.

I sigh and obey.

I step into the shower, letting the warm water soothe me. I’m careful not to rub my overly sensitive nipples.

A smile tugs at my lips. Whatever he’s planned for today, it can’t top the surprise I have for him. My hand drifts to my still flat stomach.

I conceived that day in the cottage, three months ago. The memory of that night still feels like a dream—intense, raw, and filled with so much love.

I found out a little over two weeks ago, but before I could tell him, he swept me and our friends here to Scotland. Between his romantic spontaneity and the constant company of our friends, the right moment to tell him never came.

Today feels like the perfect time, though. It’s obvious the girls are trying to act all hush-hush about whatever Damian’s planned, and their failed attempts at being subtle are downright adorable. I let out a soft laugh.

I’ll use it as my chance to finally tell him. Though, knowing him, he probably won’t be too shocked. After all, he’s been relentless ever since I told him I wanted kids. He’s made it his mission to ensure I’m pregnant. Morning, noon, or night—he’s been at it with a kind of dedication that should probably embarrass me but doesn’t. If anything, I find it hot.

Once I finish up, I wrap myself in a soft robe and step out of the bathroom.

The room goes quiet the second I appear, the girls freezing mid-conversation. Their wide-eyed glances at each other only make me grin. Whatever they’re hiding, they’re terrible at it.

The room looks cluttered—thick garment bags lined up on one side, shoe boxes stacked on the other. My brows knit in confusion as I step further inside, taking it all in.

Summer rushes forward, her face lit up with excitement. “Ready to party?” she blurts out.

Hannah groans audibly, dragging a hand down her face. “Seriously, Summer?”

Vicky turns away, but her shoulders are shaking with suppressed laughter.

Summer whirls around, throwing her hands up. “What?”

“Party? That’s your best excuse?” Hannah says. “Out of all the things you could’ve said, that’s what you went with?”

Summer crosses her arms, tilting her chin up defiantly. “Well, did you have a better idea?”

Hannah stares at her for a beat before letting out a sigh.

“Oh, come on! It’s not like we can hide that!” She jabs a finger toward the corner of the room.

My gaze follows where she’s pointing, and I spot a single white garment bag hanging in stark contrast against the black ones. I step closer, my breath catching when I see my name embroidered on it in silver glitter.

“What is this?” I ask softly, my fingers brushing over the delicate lettering.

There’s something else etched beneath my name on the bag, and I lean in closer and read it aloud.

“River.”

“Damian’s bride.”

My voice falters, and my mouth falls open. For a moment, I just stare at the inscription, my brain struggling to process. Slowly, I turn to face the girls, who are now grinning like cheshire cats.

“So… you see… this isn’t exactly for a party,” Hannah says, throwing a sidelong glance at Summer, who just sticks out her tongue in return.

Before I can even process the whirlwind of emotions, Vicky clears her throat and calls out, “You may come in now.”

The door creaks open, and to my utter shock, a parade of manservants begins to enter, each one carrying a bouquet more beautiful than the last. The room fills with their fragrance, rich and intoxicating. I can barely keep track as they keep bringing more, taking my breath away. By the time the sixteenth one arrives, I just stop counting.

The last bouquet is handed to me. I notice a small card tucked among the red roses. My fingers tremble as I lift it, unfolding it slowly.

It’s Damian’s handwriting, unmistakable, and as familiar to me as the beats of my own heart.

For every month since our marriage.

My heart skips, and I hold my breath as I continue reading.

I never gave you the wedding you deserved, and I’ve realized that’s a sin I can’t forgive myself for. So today, I’m giving you the fairytale you always dreamed of—not only because I’m trying to make up for what I’ve done, but because I want it too.

Yours,

Damian.

“I… this is…” I choke on my words as I stare at the card, my hands trembling, my eyes brimming with tears.

Before I can gather myself, the girls are at my side, closing in around me like a warm, comforting cocoon. They peer over my shoulder, their eyes flicking between the card and my reaction.

“Awwww,” Summer squeezes my shoulder, her expression filled with warmth and affection.

Hannah and Vicky are silent but their smiles soft.

“He’s—he’s planning to marry me again…” The words come out in a dazed murmur as my fingers run over the card.

Summer grins, her eyes twinkling. “It’s so romantic! Damian’s going all out.”

“I… I can’t believe it,” I murmur, my voice thick with emotions as I look up at my friends. “I never even thought—” My voice cracks, and I press my hand against my chest, trying to calm my racing heart.

“River, you’re his world,” Hannah says gently, her eyes soft as she watches me. “He wants to make up for every moment he feels he fell short. He wants you to know, beyond any doubt, that you’re the most important person in his life. And he’s doing it in the biggest, grandest way possible.”

Summer narrows her eyes at Hannah, suspicion written all over her face. “Hold on. Raleigh told you all that, didn’t he? Because that’s exactly what Damian said. I swear, that man can’t keep his mouth shut about anything.”

Hannah flushes, caressing her baby bump. “He’s my husband! There are no secrets between a man and his wife. Don’t act like you didn’t spill everything to Archer.”

Summer falters, her cheeks pinking. “Well, my case is different! Archer’s been overseeing the creative arrangements, so it’s mandatory.”

Hannah raises an eyebrow, clearly gearing up for a retort, but I cut them off with a watery smile, wiping at my eyes. “Enough, you two! Bickering isn’t going to get me down the aisle any faster. Now, stop distracting each other and help me get ready!” My voice is a bit shaky, but the excitement in my chest is impossible to contain. “It’s my wedding day!”

The girls cheer in unison, all tension forgotten, and they jump into action.

Two hours later, I stand in front of the mirror, transformed into the image of a bride straight out of a dream. The dress is breathtaking—a fitted mermaid gown that hugs my figure in all the right places, its full sleeves shimmering with thousands of delicate crystals that catch the light like stars scattered across the fabric. The skirt flows out in soft, graceful waves, every inch a masterpiece.

And then there’s the tiara. Diamond-encrusted and sparkling like a crown meant for royalty, it sits atop my head, making me feel like a queen.

Later, Raleigh walks into the room, Mrs. Hawthorne trailing behind him. When she greets me with her familiar sternness and motherly warmth, I nearly lose my composure. The sight of her, someone who has been like family to me, makes the day even more special. My eyes well up, but I blink quickly, determined not to ruin the meticulous makeup the girls worked so hard on.

When we were ready to go down, I turn to Raleigh, my hands clasped tightly in front of me. “Raleigh,” I start nervously, “would you… would you walk me down the aisle?”

His expression softens instantly, and he gives me a gentle smile. “I’d be honored to,” he says, his tone filled with sincerity that makes my heart warm.

When we step outside the castle, my jaw drops. “Oh my God,” I gasp, taking in the breathtaking scene before me.

The sprawling lawn has been transformed into a vision straight out of a fairy tale. Rows of white chairs, draped with delicate satin ribbons, are arranged in perfect symmetry, facing an opulent altar adorned with cascading flowers in shades of blush, cream, and soft pink. Crystal chandeliers dangle from the large pergola overhead.

Everywhere I look, there are floral arrangements bursting in full bloom, their fragrance weaving through the warm air.

The aisle is nothing short of a dream brought to life—a raised, elevated runway made entirely of reflective glass, its surface gleaming like a flawless mirror under the golden afternoon sunlight.

It stretches straight ahead, framed by floral arches that seem too perfect to be real. Each arch is wrapped in glimmering golden vines and adorned with white and blush roses and strands of sparkling crystals hang from the blooms, swaying gently in the warm summer breeze, catching the light like tiny diamonds.

Beneath the elevated platform, soft pools of golden light cast an ethereal glow, making the glass seem as though it’s floating above the ground.

“When… when did he do all this?”

“This morning,” Raleigh replies, his tone casual, as if it’s no big deal.

I blink rapidly, struggling to process it. “But… how?” I ask in a stunned whisper as I take in the massive crowd gathered in their finest attire—powerful men and women mingling. Photographers swarm the perimeter, their cameras clicking incessantly, capturing every dazzling detail.

Raleigh chuckles softly. “Damian said, the first time he didn’t give you the grand wedding you deserved. And,” he gestures toward the impeccably dressed guests, “a lot of his colleagues and acquaintances didn’t know you. So, naturally, he wanted to make sure everyone—and I mean everyone—was here this time. Influential figures. The works.”

My brow furrows as I turn to him, my voice a mix of awe and confusion. “But why?”

Raleigh’s grins. “Because he can. And, more importantly, because he wants the entire world to know you’re his.”

“He said that?” I whisper.

“Word for word,” Raleigh confirms, his grin turning mischievous. “Very caveman-ish, isn’t it?”

“More like romantic,” I murmur, a shy smile tugging at my lips.

Raleigh’s smile fades a little, replaced by something that looks almost wistful. “You know, the Damian I knew wouldn’t have done any of this. He wouldn’t have known how to. But now… he’s different. He’s not the person I knew; he’s a better version of himself. And you—you’re the reason for that, River.” His voice softens, his eyes locking with mine. “I just want to thank you. For bringing out the best in him. For changing my best friend, for making him into someone I’m proud to call my big brother again. You’ve made him a better man. Thank you for saving my savior.”

Tears well up in my eyes, and I give him a soft, shaky smile.

Raleigh clears his throat to hide his emotions. “Ready?”

“Yes,” I whisper.

I’m so ready.

◆◆◆

Damian

Happiness.

For decades, it was a foreign concept for me. A word that didn’t belong in my vocabulary, a feeling I couldn’t remember.

When I was younger, happiness was simple, almost too simple. It was the quiet mornings spent with my father, the scent of motor oil in the air as we worked side by side in the garage. It was the warmth of my mother’s voice calling me to the dinner table, the comfort in the aroma of her cooking filling the house with something resembling peace.

Happiness was the feeling of being wanted, needed and loved. Happiness was the day I learned I was going to be a big brother, the excitement of knowing my world was about to expand.

That was before everything changed.

Before the world turned cold and empty. Before the laughter in our house turned to silence. Before tragedy ripped everything away from me—the family, the warmth, the hope.

I lost my mother, my father, my innocence. And in the process, I buried myself. I became someone I didn’t recognize, walking through life with a hollow chest, a man who had forgotten how to feel, how to believe in anything good.

That’s why happiness, to me, was a fantasy—something that belonged to people who hadn’t been through what I had been through.

But now... as I stand here, dressed in a tuxedo, waiting for River, I realize I’m not the same man who walked through hell years ago. I’m not the same man who thought he would never feel whole again. Because despite everything—despite all the loss, the darkness—fate has given me a second chance.

And her name is River.

The girl who has shown me that love isn’t just a word. It’s a lifeline. It’s something real, something raw, something that runs deeper than I ever thought possible. I don’t know when it happened, or how, but River has made me feel again. She revived my heart—pulled me from the edge, and showed me a life I never thought I could have.

I never asked for this. I never thought I deserved this. I was ready to die in the shadows of my past all alone, but she... she pulled me out. She loved me with a tenderness that terrified me. She saw me when no one else could, even when I couldn’t see myself. And now, standing here, waiting for her, I realize I’ve never been more alive.

Fate took everything from me once, but it didn’t leave me empty-handed. It gave me her.

River. My heart. My salvation.

I’ll never understand why she chose me, but I’ll spend the rest of my life trying to be worthy of the love she’s given me.

River knows the kind of loneliness I’ve felt. She’s not untouched by it either. Her father along with Richard McAllister now stand trial for my father’s murder, a betrayal that’s left her an orphan in all but name. She has no one to turn to—no one but me.

Now, standing at the altar, looking out at the sea of faces, I realize how much has changed. And how despite everything, River and I are not really alone.

We have Summer, Raleigh, their spouses, Archer and Hannah. Not to mention Hal and Vicky. We’re a mismatched family but we fit together.

I glance at Summer who is going to officiate the ceremony. She is dressed in a rainbow-colored evening gown, grinning like a fool. Then at the groomsmen, Hal, my ever-loyal security chief and Archer who catches my gaze and squints his eyes. I ignore him like I always do, looking for my best man, Raleigh.

I glance at the bridesmaids, Hannah and Vicky, both dressed in champagne-colored, floor-length gowns. I want to ask where the hell Raleigh is, but they’re too focused, their attention locked ahead.

The second I look ahead, the world stops.

Because I see her. River.

She’s walking toward me with Raleigh by her side, looking like a goddess, like everything I ever wanted and more. I swear my heart stops beating for a moment.

She’s mine. The thought slams into me with the force of a thousand blows, and the possessiveness surges to the surface like a tidal wave.

I want to move, I want to erase the distance between us and take her in my arms, but I don’t. I stay rooted to the spot, watching her.

She’s glowing, perfect, too perfect. How the hell did I get so lucky?

When our eyes lock, she gives me a smile that makes my chest ache. She doesn’t know what she does to me—what her smile does to me. When she smiles like that, so freely, so purely, it’s as if the world could burn to ash, and I wouldn’t care. She could smile at me forever, and I’d never ask for anything more.

She is so fucking beautiful, it makes me want to lock her away in my private world where no one else can even breathe the same air as her. No one can look at her, not even for a second. If I had it my way, she’d never smile at anyone but me, never give a single glance to anyone but me.

I want to rip her away from this crowd, from the eyes of these people who don’t deserve her—hell, even I don’t deserve her.

But she’s here. She’s walking toward me. Me.

I force myself to take a deep breath. I’m not going to lose control, not now. Not in front of all these people.

She reaches me, and I don’t waste a second. My hand closes around hers, pulling her to my side. I don’t give a damn if anyone’s watching. The only thing that matters is that she’s here, in front of me, and she’s mine.

The entire ceremony passes in a blur. Summer’s words nothing but muffled noise because my focus is on my wife as I refuse to take my eyes off her.

Summer has to prompt me twice before I finally growl, “I do.”

“I do,” River breathes out, her skin flushed under the weight of my stare.

I pull her into me, kissing her like I’ve never kissed her before—because this moment, this love, it’s everything I’ve been waiting for. Every second of heartache, every year of pain has led me to this.

To her.

When I finally break the kiss, I look down at her, my heart still hammering in my chest.

“Did you like the surprise?” I ask her, my voice a little rough, my arms still tight around her.

She nods, shyly. “I did,” she says softly. “But I have a surprise for you, too.”

I raise an eyebrow, unable to hide the smile tugging at my lips. “You do?”

“I do,” she says biting her lip, her face going red.

I lean down, lowering my voice so only she can hear. “I can’t wait, Mrs. Montgomery.” I pull her close, kissing her again, this time with even more fervor, as if I could show her everything I’m feeling in this kiss.

And as I pull away, my eyes lock with hers, filled with something more profound than mere happiness. I already know about her surprise. She’s carrying our baby now. A new chapter in our story.

A story that should have never been this painful, but has turned into something even more beautiful than I ever could have imagined.

In this moment, I can finally say I’m at peace.

I’m home.

And I have everything I could ever wish for.

The End

Curious about Raleigh and Hannah? You can read their story by clicking here.

Want to read Summer and Archer’s story? Click here.

HEY, THERE!

Thank you so much for reading Damian and River’s love story. We can’t believe the Ruthless series is finally over after three long years! It’s been such an emotional ride, and we’re beyond grateful you’ve stuck with us through it all.

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ALSO BY SANJANA NIDHI

THE SINFUL SERIES

Sinful Liaisons

Sinful Lust

Sinful Love

THE RUTHLESS SERIES

My Ruthless Opponent

My Ruthless Neighbor

My Ruthless Husband

ABOUT THE AUTHORS

Sanjana and Nidhi are two sisters who share a passion for reading and writing everything romance.

They love their heroes alpha and loyal at heart.

Being hopeless romantics themselves, their books promise to have no cheating and a fulfilling HEA!

When they are not writing, the duo can be found painting and sketching or swooning over Asian dramas / Netflix shows.

Connect with Sanjana Nidhi to get the latest updates about their work and much more.

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Table of Contents

Copyright

Contents

Dedication

Blurb

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Chapter Twenty-Three

Chapter Twenty-Four

Chapter Twenty-Five

Chapter Twenty-Six

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Chapter Thirty

Chapter Thirty-One

Chapter Thirty-Two

Chapter Thirty-Three

Chapter Thirty-Four

Chapter Thirty-Five

Chapter Thirty-Six

Chapter Thirty-Seven

Chapter Thirty-Eight

Chapter Thirty-Nine

Chapter Forty

Chapter Forty-One

Chapter Forty-Two

Chapter Forty-Three

Chapter Forty-Four

Chapter Forty-Five

Chapter Forty-Six

Chapter Forty-Seven

Chapter Forty-Eight

Chapter Forty-Nine

Chapter Fifty

Chapter Fifty-One

Chapter Fifty-Two

Chapter Fifty-Three

Chapter Fifty-Four

Epilogue

Hey, there!

Also by Sanjana Nidhi

About the Authors