The realization hit Damien like a train.
Diana.
Not only did she leave him for some rich bastard, she had also drained their joint account of everything. Damien hissed under his breath, his fists tightening further around the cup of coffee he was yet to even take a sip from.
Why?
"Sir, if you can't pay, I'll have to take back the coffee," he heard the barista say, his voice bringing him back to reality.
Damien glared at the steaming cup in his hands as he thought of what to do. He needed this—something hot, something to ground him, something to keep him on.
"I could actually come back and pay before the end of the day," he said as he glanced back up at the barista. "I just realized the card holding my money isn't with me. I forgot it back at home."
"Sir--"
"I mean, you know me," Damien cut in with a strained laugh. "I used to work across from you at the old firm on the other side of the street."
"Oh, I know you," the barista muttered, his eyes narrowing. "You're the guy that was beaten to a pulp by Richard."
Damien grunted under his breath, his hands reaching for the still healing cut on his forehead. Did everyone know about his fight with Richard?
"And the firm you worked for is already closed down cause of the amount of debt they owe the bank, so how you gonna pay up?" Damien opened his mouth to reply when the barista raised a finger, shutting him back up. "Pay the money or drop the coffee."
Shame gnawed at the back of Damien's throat as his gaze traveled back to the coffee. He could hear murmurs behind him as the empty café began to fill up.
Why did his life have to be so fucking hard?
Damien lifted his head and was about speaking when a voice interrupted.
"Put it on my tab."
Damien turned his head to the left, and his eyes widened when he saw Gerald. "Gerald?" Damien muttered under his breath, shock etched on his face.
Gerald grunted as he pulled out a sleek, black credit card from his wallet and handed it over to the barista. "Put it on that."
The barista hesitated a brief moment before charging the card. The machine made its beep of approval, and Gerald collected his receipt, stuffed it into his coat pocket.
"I'll pay you back," Damien muttered, although his tone was not that convincing.
Gerald scoffed, ruffling his hair as he came out of the door. "I'll believe it when I see it."
************
The morning air was cool, biting into Damien's skin as he walked down the empty neighborhood. The sun still had barely risen, and it painted the street with a bleak grayish hue. If anything, it seemed like the sun would be out for sometime as it looked like it was about raining.
Damien's breath misted before him on each exhale, but he barely even noticed. His mind was elsewhere—Diana.
She had drained their account of everything. Why did she do so?
He had exited the café silently, too dazed to give an answer to his own question, but now that the shock was wearing off, all that remained only a cold anger. He increased his pace, his fists clenched in his coat pockets, until finally he arrived at a familiar house.
Diana's house.
Drawing in a deep breath, he steeled himself and walked up onto the porch, hesitating for some moment before knocking.
He was about knocking for the second time when the door suddenly opened.
Diana stood before him in a silk robe, her dark hair disheveled from sleeping. At first, her lips curled into a sleepy, small smile—until her eyes met Damien's. The warmth in the expression was gone, replaced by a sigh of exasperation. It was as though she was expecting someone else.
"Damien," she muttered, her tone lacking the warmth it usually had. "What in the devil's name are you doing here?"
"I want to talk," Damien answered, his heart tried hard against his chest as he attempted to steady his voice.
Diana let out a harsh breath. "It's too early for this," she muttered as she made to close the door.
Damien put a foot on the doorway, stopping it from closing"It won't take long," he said as he tried his best not to wince from the pain.
She arched an brow before pushing the door back open. "Fine," she muttered with a small sigh. "What do you want?"
His jaw clenched. "Why'd you do it?"
"Do... what?"
"You know what," Damien reploed, his voice coming out gruffer than he'd intended. "Why'd you take everything? Why'd you leave me for some rich fuckhead?"
A small smile played at her lips, but it held no humor, only arrogance. "Wow," she breathed as she crossed her arms. "That's really how you see it? I didn't take anything, Damien. That was our account."
"Our account that you drained?" Damien completed with a snort.
Diana exhaled, tilting her head. "Most of that was my money, Damien. Let's not act as though you were the one bringing in the income. I was the one making actual money while you were off following your little pipe dreams, holding out for some miracle."
His fists curled. "That's not fair.
"Isn't it?" she asked. "Do you even remember how many times I paid the rent? The bills? The groceries? Whenever one of your 'business schemes' failed, who covered the gap?"
He swallowed hard.
She shook her head, taking a step forward. "I waited, Damien. I waited for you to get your life together. I believed in you. But belief sometime somewhere along the line has to be realistic. And I was exhausted from trying and fighting and you making excuses."
His chest tightened. "I was trying to—"
"No." she cut him shirt, her voice was flat. "You were hoping something would happen, changing your life. And I was exhausted from waiting."
There was a long silence between them.
Damien fought to keep his gaze on her. "So that's it?" he asked, his voice gentler now, almost hollow. "You just walked out?"
"I didn't just walk out, Damien," Diana muttered as she exhaled, rubbing her temples. "I moved on."
"With Richard?"
She shrugged, not even trying to lie. "Richard can offer me something you never could—stability. Security. A future."
Her words cut deep into Damien, but seemed worse was the way she had answered him—so calm, as though she had long ago thought about making such a decision, as if he meant nothing to her anymore.
Something inside him snapped.
Diana glanced over her shoulder into the depths of the house before looking back at Damien. "Don't return here."
And with that, she shut the door.
Damien stood there, staring at the chipped paint on the wooden frame, his breathing heightened. He wanted to knock again, wanted to ask her that she take everything she had said back, to scream at her for betraying him.
But it would all be for what?
She had made her choice. And maybe it was time he made his too.
With a heavy sigh, he turned and walked away.
As his feet echoed down the empty street, memories flooded his mind—memories of a younger Damien, standing in front of his peers at school, loudly declaring that one day, he'd be a CEO, that he'd build something no one would ever be able to take away from him.
Why did he lost sight of that?
He let out a loud sigh as he turned to the cars driving past him. Maybe it was time to make that right. Maybe it was time to show Diana she was wrong.
But he would not do it for her but for himself.