One Breath Away.
Meanwhile, in his office, Damian sat behind his massive, desk, but his mind was miles away. He felt, very strange today. Light, weird even, like he was floating on a cloud. His usual steely composure had softened into a rare calm. Every employer who crossed his path noticed something was different about the boss, he seemed at peace, radiating an energy they'd never seen before. For the first time in years, Damian felt, alive, there was this strange happiness deep within him threatening to explode. And he couldn't quite place why.
At one point, he had given instructions for a grand and lavish party to be organized for all his staff, with permission to bring along their families. When the news spread, excitement buzzed through the entire company, everyone was counting down to the weekend.
Some wondered what had prompted such generosity, while others guessed that something wonderful must have happened to their boss.
As afternoon settled in, the odd calm twisted into restless anticipation. His mind kept drifting, what was she up to? Was she eating well? Did she like the villa?
He'd tried to bury the thoughts beneath paperwork all day, but by now, they clawed at him until he couldn't resist any longer. He snatched up his phone and dialed Gina, his chief maid.
After the second ring, Gina answered crisply.
"Hello, sir."
"How is my wife?" he asked, his voice low and urgent.
"She is fine, sir," Gina replied.
"What's she doing right now?"
"She had her breakfast as you instructed, then enjoyed a bath. Now, she's taking a stroll around the house."
Damian exhaled, a surge of relief flooding his chest.
"Oh..." he murmured, a sudden impulse sparking in him, he wanted to see her.
"Keep a close watch on her," he ordered abruptly before cutting the call. He shot up from his chair and crossed to a hidden room adjoining his office. There, he pulled out a slim laptop and a compact gadget, quickly connecting it to the villa's surveillance system. His fingers flew across the keys, cameras flicking through rooms until, there she was.
His breath caught at the sight: Eva, walking serenely through the sunlit passage, her hair brushing softly against his shirt, his shirt. The very one Tyler had worn back then in Singapore. From behind, she looked so much like Tyler his heart nearly stopped. He zoomed in, swallowing hard. No, it was her, Eva.
A frown creased his brow. He remembered trashing her old clothes, refusing to let his wife wear cheap, worn-out things. But in his haste, he'd forgotten to replace them immediately. And now she had chosen this particular shirt. Why?And why does she always seem so natural, so free whenever she is in his space? His chest ached with a confusing mixture of fondness and frustration. Is it just with me or does she treat any other person like this?
Then he noticed her feet, she'd slipped into his big slippers, making her look impossibly small and endearingly cute. His lips twitched, betraying a reluctant smile.
Damian watched intently as she paused before a certain door, his private room, and just stood there, staring. He squinted at the screen, following her gaze. That's when he saw it: the sticker. The one he'd carried along with him everytime he changed house all his life. His pulse kicked up. A flood of memories surged back, Ana Clarkson, the little girl who had pressed that sticker onto his bag with trembling hands on his birthday. He'd gotten dozens of expensive gifts that day, but that sticker, won by Ana in a fierce math competition, was his most cherished. Even back then, something about it had felt important, precious.
A soft, almost boyish smile tugged at his lips. How strange that she was staring at it now, like she, have an affiliation with it as well, or maybe he was just sprouting nonsense.
Eva's hand drifted to the doorknob. Damian held his breath.
On the screen, he saw the maid step forward quickly.
"Ma'am, I'm afraid the boss doesn't allow anyone into his private room. It's his personal store room, and he is very particular about it."
"Oh..." Eva said and was about quickly walking away, but she suddenly stopped abruptly, her head tilted gently to the maid.
"Anyone?" she repeated softly. Her eyes flashed with sudden fire. "But I am not anyone. I am his wife. Rules don't apply to me, does it? If he has issue with that then let him come and tell me that himself."
With a defiant huff, she twisted the handle, swung the door open, and stepped inside, shutting it firmly behind her. Damian gaped, half amused, half terrified of what she would find.
Eva's eyes widened in shock. The room felt like stepping into the pages of Damian's life. Every wall was lined with shelves overflowing with childhood trophies, medals, old report cards. Glass cases displayed antique toys and baby shoes. Framed photos showed a boy growing into a man — all of it carefully preserved like a shrine. Her heart squeezed painfully.
A corner of the room drew her in. Hidden beneath a shelf, she found a small photograph: a chubby-cheeked Damian in a pink gown, hair pulled into a ponytail, grinning like the sweetest little cherub. Eva burst into soft laughter, her heart swelling. He looked so adorable she thought she might melt.
She turned, eyes flitting greedily from one piece of his past to another. But then her gaze landed on a slim folder tucked in the cabinet. She pulled it free, and she saw a strange signature signed like writing 'Ana' at the back of the folder, and curiosity got the best of her.
The folder fell open, and her breath stilled. Photographs spilled out. Pictures of her very self, when she was younger and in college, she was perhaps twelve years then, although she really looked older than her age, but then it felt gross, to actually see your childhood pictures in someone elses shelves.
It was even more strange, because they were pictures of her in school uniform, reading in her yard, laughing with friends, celebrating medals, licking a lollipop, snapshots of milestones she barely remembered herself. Her head spun.
When were these taken? How did he get them? Why... why did he keep them?
Eva's hands trembled as she traced the edges of each photo, a million questions flooding her heart.
"How gross… what is Damien doing with my pictures?" Eva muttered, her eyes narrowing in disbelief.
A wave of unease surged through her, pressing down on her chest like a weight. The temptation to storm up to him and demand answers burned hot in her veins, but she couldn't. She wasn't Ana anymore. She couldn't afford the risk of blowing her cover. Her fingers curled into a fist, then moved to her lips as she bit her thumb, worry clouding her face.
Her body turned to leave, but something stopped her.
Just as she reached the door, her eyes caught a glimpse of a folder resting on the corner of the table. There was something about it. Her instincts flared. Without thinking, she turned back and approached the table, her heart hammering in her chest. She picked up the file and began flipping through it.
Her breath caught in her throat.
"So... it's true?" she whispered, her eyes widening in shock. "Victor wasn't lying?"
She scanned the pages, each line confirming her worst fears. Damien wasn't just trying to protect his legacy, he was waging war. A calculated, ruthless campaign aimed at destroying Victor's company. Larvae Group's shares had been plunging, and this file revealed a final, devastating blow Damien planned to strike, one Eva feared the company would never recover from.
Her hands trembled.
She dropped the file back on the table as if it burned her and spun on her heels.
When she stepped into the passageway, Gina stood nearby, as if anticipating her. Eva's voice was sharp, eyes gleaming with a stormy fire.
"Please prepare another room for me," she said coldly.
Without waiting for a reply, she walked away, her anger simmering just beneath the surface.
Moments later, Gina had the room ready, and this time, it was stunning.
The curtains were a luxurious blend of lavender and deep plum, casting a soft royal hue across the room. A dainty crystal chandelier sparkled overhead like a constellation, and in the center sat a bed that looked like it belonged in a fairytale, canopy and all. The sheets were silky smooth, the pillows fluffed just right, and the headboard was carved with delicate floral details.
It was a princess room. And in that moment, Eva felt like a misplaced queen.
A sigh escaped her lips, and without undressing, she collapsed into the plush bed. Her body sank deep into its embrace. Despite everything, her fury, her fear, her confusion, the exhaustion won.
Within moments, Eva drifted off, the scent of lavender and faint hum of the chandelier lulling her into an uneasy sleep.
When Damian returned from work, the last thing he expected was to hear that she'd moved into the room next door. His brows knit in surprise, and before he could think twice, he was striding down the hallway, each step long and deliberate.
He reached her door, hand poised to knock but then he froze.
A vivid image flashed in his mind: her bad sleeping habits. That unnerving event and torture he went through in her hands the day he shared a bed with her, the odd way she chewed at his ear, his ears still tingle at the thought alone, the unpredictable movements, how she trashed about on his bed, how she aroused him all through the night. His lips tightened.
On second thought... perhaps not.
With a quiet exhale, he lowered his hand and pivoted sharply, taking a detour straight to his own room instead.
The moment he stepped inside, her scent caught him off guard.
Strawberries. Soft, sweet, unmistakably hers, and it lingered in the air like an invisible caress. His gaze swept to the bed where she sleeping earlier this morning, when he had her brought back from wherever she was trying to escape to; and his pulse gave a slow, steady thud.
But then, what would he have done if he had found her asleep on his bed right now? He wasn't sure. He couldn't say with absolute certainty, couldn't beat his chest a hundred percent, that he would last until morning without touching her, without doing things to her he'd only dared to imagine.
Then came the pictures of the day he made love to her, he had tried so hard to bury that thought deep inside his heart, because the thought alone aroused him so much he always ends up going for a cold shower everytime he thinks of it.
But despite how he fought hard not to think about it tonight he couldn't, perhaps because she was next door to his.
He knew what he did may not be totally right, to had married her like that in the spur of the moment, but then, if he hadn't, Victor would have taken her away, he needed her around him, he needed to take his time to decide what he wants to do with her. Whenever he was sure about his feelings, he believes he sure can always divorce her if he was wrong about her.
But he doubted that he was wrong about her, because, Damian is a very wise person and apart from the issue with Tyler he had never once faltered in his decisions. His father often praised him for that unwavering wisdom.
He remembered the moment she told him she was getting married. A sharp, unexplainable ache had pierced deep inside him, as if the very thought of losing her could kill him. Something powerful like a strong pull had undeniable stirred within, a force warning him to hold unto her firmly and never let her slip away, and he did just that.
Damian pushed the thought to the back of his mind and turned toward the bathroom for a quick night shower. On his way, he stopped at the wardrobe to grab a fresh pair of pajamas, but the moment he opened it, his eyes caught on the small drawer inside. It was ajar.
One of the shirts he had deliberately set aside, kept pristine, was missing.
A memory hit him like a blow. Her, earlier that day, wearing it. The fabric draping over her frame, making her look both infuriatingly out of place and yet, perfect. He inhaled sharply, almost a gasp, before another memory followed, her voice, defiant and sure, in front of the maid:
"Anyone?" she had repeated softly, eyes flashing with sudden fire.
"But I am not anyone. I am his wife. Rules don't apply to me, does it? If he has issue with that, then let him come and tell me that himself."
A low scoff escaped his lips.
"Defiant, huh? ...Interesting."
He closed the wardrobe with a decisive click and headed to the dining room.
When the maids served dinner, the table was a feast, every dish plated to perfection. But the moment Damian glanced over the spread, his expression soured. Not a single plate tempted him.
His jaw flexed. Without touching the food, he reached for the glass of water, took one slow, sharp sip, and set it down with more force than necessary.
A muscle ticked in his cheek.
Without a word, he pushed back his chair and left the table, retreating to his bedroom. The untouched meal remained, a silent testament to his irritation, as he shut the door on the world and lay down, still tasting strawberries in the back of his mind.