Damien's POV
Evelyn stirred awake, her lashes fluttering against the sunlight that crept through the curtains. Her body was heavy, sore in ways I hated myself for. The memory of last night lingered in her eyes—the moment she cried, the way her shoulders had shaken in my arms, the disgust when she pushed me away.
It was a sight that wouldn't leave me alone, no matter how many times I replayed it. I had been cruel. Too cruel. And yet, instead of walking into her room and apologizing like a normal man, here I was… sitting beneath her feet, hidden away in the cold heart of my underground bunker, staring at her through monitors.
A knock sounded on her bedroom door. The maid slipped in quietly, bowing.
"Mrs. Evelyn," she said softly, "Mr. Vale left early this morning for a business trip in Beijing. He'll be gone for three weeks."
I watched Evelyn's brows rise. She didn't reply, just kept staring blankly at the maid.
The maid hesitated, then added with a small smile, "Since Mr. Vale isn't around… we wanted to invite you to something we usually do—a cooking competition. It's a little tradition of ours when he's away. Would you like to join?"
Evelyn blinked, caught off guard, then tilted her head slightly. I could tell she was debating whether to scoff or laugh. That tiny spark in her eyes—curiosity, maybe even amusement—stabbed straight through me. Even when I wasn't beside her, she was finding her own ways to breathe, to live.
I should've been glad. Instead, it made my chest ache.
Because I hadn't gone anywhere.
No plane to Beijing. No business trip. I was right here, buried beneath the house like a coward. Watching her. Listening to her. Punishing myself by seeing her live without me while I hid in shadows.
The maid left, and Evelyn sat up, running a hand through her tangled hair. That was when she spotted the newspaper on the nightstand.
Her eyes narrowed instantly.
On the front page was my face—Adrian Vale, the so-called "elusive business tycoon," with a headline praising some fabricated deal in Beijing.
I saw the fire spark in her gaze before she even opened her mouth.
"Bastard," she hissed, snatching the paper.
She glared at it like it was me standing there smirking at her.
"Useless peacock in a suit," she snapped, her voice rising. "Going off to Beijing like some almighty businessman—coward. Running away because you can't face me?!"
She shook the paper in the air, as if she could strangle me through the print.
"Son of a bitch! Arrogant, stiff-necked devil!" She slammed it against the bed. "Oh, look at me, Adrian Vale, I wear expensive suits and fake smiles while ruining lives! Trash! You hear me? Trash!"
She flopped back onto the bed dramatically, throwing the paper aside with a sharp flick of her wrist.
On my monitor, I had to cover my mouth to stop the laugh that almost slipped out. Not because I thought it was funny—no, because even when she cursed me with every fiber of her being, she was… alive. Her spirit was blazing, untamed. That same fire that had drawn me to her from the start.
And it killed me, because she had no idea I was listening to every word, bleeding with guilt in the shadows.
I leaned back in my chair, staring at her image on the largest screen.
"You can hate me all you want, Evelyn," I whispered to the silence of the bunker. "But you'll never know how much I…"
I didn't finish. The words lodged in my throat. I wasn't ready to say them. Not even to myself.
Instead, I sat there in the cold, listening to her mutter more insults under her breath. Words meant to cut, to hurt. Words that I deserved.
And all I could think was—when I finally came back upstairs, when she finally looked at me again… would she ever forgive me?
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