A Fragile Peace.
Eva's footsteps were soundless as she slipped into Damian's private room, making sure no one was watching, her small frame moved stealthily as guilt followed her shadow. She paused by the door, heart pounding, chest tight. A sharp breath escaped her lips.
She didn't want to be here. She shouldn't be here.
Tears welled and spilled down her cheeks, blurring her vision. Not again. Not to Damian, Damian, who had done nothing but love her, cherish her, take her in despite all her flaws, despite her unworthiness.
Her trembling fingers brushed away the wetness on her face. But she couldn't brush away the truth, Victor's threat still rang in her ears. She knew exactly what he was capable of, and she wouldn't, couldn't risk Damian's life. Not for anything in the world.
Especially when she remembered the elevator attack on Damiens life, she felt a chill, Victor was indeed a beast, and she will protect Damien at all costs.
Her decision settled like a stone in her chest. She turned the knob slowly, the door creaking softly, and stepped inside. She prayed, silently and bitterly, that Damian would find this offense unforgivable enough to let her go.
Victor's voice echoed again in her mind: "It's the Falconridge Contract."
Her eyes darted around the room. She didn't need to search long, the folder was right there, deliberately placed in the center of the desk, almost as if daring her to take it.
She reached for it, her hands cold, and slid it beneath her clothing. Then she moved toward the door, each step heavier than the last.
Her fingers closed around the handle, only for them to tremble violently. Anger flared in her chest. In a sudden, self-loathing impulse, she slammed her wrist against the wood, punishing the hand that had betrayed Damian again. The pain shot up her arm, but she forced herself to turn the knob and leave.
Damian returned from work to find the house unusually quiet. His gaze fell on the figure curled up in bed, Eva. She never went to bed this early.
He set down his jacket and began to freshen up, trying not to disturb her, but as he approached the bed, something in her stillness caught his attention. Her back shook, just faintly, but enough.
A deep frown pulled at his brow. She's pretending to sleep, why?
Without warning, he climbed onto the bed and gently flipped her over. The sight that met him nearly stopped his heart, her eyes were swollen, red, and puffy, her lashes clumped from dried tears, her cheeks blotchy. She had been crying, hard.
Fury surged through him, dark and hot. He didn't need to ask to know she'd been crying. But the anger that rose in him was molten, searing. He wanted to find the person responsible and tear the world apart if he had to.
He couldn't explain why her pain got under his skin so much. He thought of that day he'd seen Victor's rough grip on her arm, how he was willing to create a scene despite his guided reputation, how it had kept him awake all night. He also remembered the other day he had accused her of infidelity, resulting to calling her names he now regretted, and how the moment he saw her tears, his fury had dissolved into nothing.
And now, seeing her like this again, a sharp, unfamiliar ache gripped his chest and the tug in his chest was merciless.
"What happened?" His voice was low but razor-edged, his gaze piercing through her.
At that, Eva broke. Sobs tore from her chest, raw and unrestrained. Maybe it was the gentleness in his tone, something she hadn't heard in so long, or maybe the weight of everything finally crushed her in that moment.
She had done everything possible to hide her pain. But somehow, he still saw her.
"Talk to me, Eva. What happened?" His tone was calm, but barely keeping his rage in check for her sake.
"Damian, can you let me go? Please, just let me go!" She cried. "Damian, if it's about the money, I promise to pay back. Damian please... let me go."
Her voice cracked between sobs, each word trembling as though dragged from the deepest part of her soul.
Damian froze, staring at her in disbelief. Earlier that day they had been fine, teasing, flirting, even laughing together in his office. Why was she suddenly saying this?What in Gods name happened?
"I'm not a good person Damien." she choked out. "Please let me go. I beg you Damian. I swear I am not what's best for you" she whispered, her gaze falling to the sheets as if ashamed. "Just, let me go."
"I decide what's best for me, Eva. And right now, that's you."
Her head shook violently. "I can't do this. I'm... I'm going to lose my mind. Damian, I beg you, with everything you hold dear, release me. Let me go. Let's just... get a divorce. I don't want anything. Not your money. Not your name. I just... want to go."
The way she broke on the last word was almost enough to break him. Almost.
Her words had even shredded something deep inside of him. Damian as a matter of fact would have given her the world, if it would make her stop looking that miserable, he would have even emptied his bank account into her hands without hesitation. There was nothing he wouldn't have been capable of giving her at that moment, his entire wealth, his legacy, even the air in his lungs, but this, cut so deep he couldn't even breathe.
His voice dropped into something raw. "Over my dead body, Eva Myles. I will never let you go. So quit this nonsense."
Without waiting for her reply, he stood, grabbed his phone, and stormed out, his footsteps heavy with barely contained rage, the door clicking shut behind him with quiet finality.
Out in the hall, the moment the door closed behind him, his thumb jabbed at the screen, dialing with a speed born of extreme rage and frustration.
"Who did my wife meet with today?" he demanded, his voice low and lethal.
"Mr. Victor Lawson," came the reply.
Damian's jaw clenched. He'd suspected as much, but hearing it aloud made his vision blur with rage.
Victor.
That imbecile.
What game are you playing now? he thought bitterly. What could possibly have passed between you two to make her so desperate to leave me?
He ran through possibilities, he knew they weren't lovers, though perhaps they had a history, but he was certain they weren't in a sexual relationship. She didn't treat him like a friend, she doesn't seem to hate him either, but then, he started to wonder if he had stolen her from her dear boyfriend, but no matter how he thought about it, it didn't seem so. Because from the way she treated him, especially since they got married, it was as though she liked being with him. He remembered how she reacts whenever he makes love to her, the way she becomes so vulnerable and responsive so much that something deep within him tells him Eva probably has feelings for him, the softness, the way her guard always seemed to crumble. It was so confusing. So what was the missing piece? What am I not getting right? He began to wonder.
He wondered what he was missing. The hidden truth. He just couldn't rap his fingers around it, but he was certain there was a missing piece that tied all of this together.
He didn't return back to the bed until she had slept.
Two hours passed before he returned to the bedroom. She was asleep, her breathing soft and uneven, as if the weight of the day still pressed upon her even in dreams, making her features look something heartbreakingly delicate.
Quietly, he slipped into bed beside her. He lay there for a moment, staring at her, And that night Eva made him remember Tyler yet again.
The day Tyler slept in his house, how she'd whimpered in her sleep, tears streaking her face, shivering as if trapped in some silent nightmare. How she cried in her sleep, how she mumbles inuanable words in her sleep, it was so obvious something is wrong.
It was too haunting familiar.
His chest tightened. It was like looking at Tyler all over again.
Unable to resist, he reached out and pull her gently into his arms.
She didn't resist, she just melted against him, her body trembling faintly.
"There, it's okay," he murmured against her hair, his voice softer than he knew it could be. He kissed the crown of her head, his hand rubbing slow, soothing circles on her back, like calming a frightened little child. "It's okay, I'm right here. Everything will be just fine."
And just like magic, it worked. She let out a soft sigh, then nestled into his chest, drifting into a deep, peaceful sleep. For the first time since their marriage, Damien had discovered the secret to taming her wild sleeping habits, no kicking, no nibbling at his ears, no restless tossing. Just calm, still, and utterly serene.
The next morning, sunlight spilled across the bed. She stirred first, yawning softly against his bare skin. Her cheek brushed lazily against his chest as she squirmed and stretched, the movement unintentional yet achingly intimate. When her lashes finally fluttered open, she was met with the sharp, amused gleam in his eyes.
"Good morning, sunshine," he said, his voice softer now, cool as spring. "How are you this morning?"
Her wide, doe-like eyes met his for only a heartbeat before darting away, her voice barely above a whisper.
"Fine," she breathed, sounding for all the world like a little girl unsure of her place.
"Did you sleep well?" His voice was gentle, almost lulling, like a father speaking to a child he cherished.
Eva nodded timidly, her long lashes lowering as though she could hide behind them.
"You're sure you're feeling alright?" he pressed, his tone soft but laced with that quiet, protective concern.
She fidgeted with her thumbs, a small gesture that betrayed her answer before she even gave it, then she gave a slight shake of her head, signaling 'no'.
"Really?" He asked with a small frown. "Why is that? Where does it hurt?"
Wordlessly, she lifted her wrist, almost shy about showing him. The skin was faintly red, the ghost of her own foolishness from last night lingering there. When Damian took her hand in his, he spotted the small, angry blisters and frowned.
"You hurt your hand?" His voice deepened with disapproval, though his touch remained careful.
Eva nodded, lips pushing into a pout so adorably unguarded that Damian felt a tug deep in his chest.
"Alright. I'll get you something for the pain"
The moment he said "painkillers," she let out a dry, mischievous laugh.
"Oh, my hands don't hurt that much. I could take on a boxing match," she teased, lightly jabbing his chest with her tiny fist.
Her blow was so soft, so cushioned, that Damian's stern expression cracked into helpless laughter.
But when his mind replayed her breakdown from last night, the smile slowly faded. He exhaled gently, his voice quiet but steady.
"Eva, about last night, I'm not going to ask what happened. Not now. But I need you to hear me." His eyes locked on hers, unblinking. "I know we didn't exactly start on the right track, like the way normal couples do. Everything happened fast. But for reasons I can't explain, I want to make this work. I want to make it right."
Her fingers worried the bedsheet, refusing to meet his gaze.
"The truth is," he continued, voice thick with honesty, "I've made quite a lot of choices in my life. And I've only ever considered one of them a mistake. But you?" He shook his head slightly. "No, Eva. You don't feel like a mistake. So whatever's going on with you, I want you to know, i am with you all through the way, I want you to know your husband's got you. Okay? And I'm not going anywhere."
His gaze lingered on her, the softness of her bare face, the flutter of her lashes, the vulnerability in her lips. Slowly, he leaned in and pressed a kiss there, gentle, lingering, unhurried.
"Go freshen up," he murmured against her mouth. "I'm taking you on a date."
Heat flushed her cheeks, questions rising but staying trapped behind her lips.