Sarah took a tentative step, then another. Her injured leg protested with a dull ache, but her spirit was undeterred. The nurse, a kind woman with gentle hands and encouraging words, held her hand, offering both physical and moral support. "That's it, Sarah," she murmured. "Just a little further. You're doing so well."
Sarah gritted her teeth, her brow furrowed in concentration. Each step was a victory, a reclamation of a skill she feared she had lost forever. She was determined to walk again, to regain some semblance of control over her body, over her life.
Just then, the door to her room opened, and Damien entered. He paused in the doorway, his heart swelling with pride as he watched Sarah's determined struggle. He saw the effort etched on her face, the flicker of pain in her eyes, but he also saw the unwavering resolve that fuelled her every step. He didn't want to interrupt her, to break her concentration. He simply stood there, a silent observer, his presence a quiet encouragement.
The nurse noticed him standing there and offered a warm smile. "Good afternoon, Mr. Sterling," she greeted softly. "Sarah is doing so much better than the last time you visited. She's been working so hard."
Damien returned the smile, his gaze still fixed on Sarah. "She's amazing," he said, his voice filled with admiration.
Sarah, hearing his voice, turned towards him, her face lighting up with a radiant smile. The pain momentarily forgotten, she took a few more steps, then stopped, her breath catching in her throat. "Damien, look," she said, her voice filled with triumph. "I can walk and stand firmly now. My leg is healed."
Damien walked over to her, his heart filled with a warmth that spread through his entire being. He took her hand, his touch gentle and reassuring. "You're doing great, Sarah," he said softly.
Sarah smiled, her eyes sparkling with happiness. "Thank you, Damien," she whispered.
They sat down on the edge of the bed, the nurse excusing herself with a discreet smile. A comfortable silence settled between them, a silence filled with unspoken emotions and a growing sense of connection.
Sarah reached for something she had been hiding behind her back. It was a wrapped object, its shape hinting at something flat and rectangular. She held it out to Damien. "I… I wanted to give you something," she said, her voice hesitant.
Damien took the gift, his brow furrowed with curiosity. He carefully unwrapped it, revealing a painting. It was a portrait, done in soft, muted tones. It depicted a man holding a woman's hand. The man's face was clearly Damien's, his features captured with a remarkable level of detail. The woman's face, however, was turned away, only her back and long hair visible. She was looking behind her, as if searching for something, while Damien's gaze was fixed firmly forward, his hand holding hers securely.
Damien was speechless. He had no idea Sarah could paint, let alone with such talent. The painting was beautiful, evocative, capturing a moment of connection, of trust, of unwavering support. Since the very first meeting, he was there for her. He had been holding her hand, guiding her, encouraging her, while she had looked back, her eyes searching, questioning.
"I… I painted this for you," Sarah said, her voice barely audible. "I've been working on it for two weeks now."
Damien looked at her, his heart overflowing with emotion. He saw the vulnerability in her eyes, the tentative hope that he would like her gift. He reached out and took her hand, his touch gentle and loving.
"It's beautiful, Sarah," he said, his voice thick with emotion. "Thank you." He meant it. The painting was more than just a gift; it was a testament to their connection, a tangible representation of the trust that had blossomed between them. It was a piece of her, a piece of her heart. And he would treasure it always.
"Have you made up your mind?" he asked. "Will you be going home with me?"
Sarah squeezed his hand and smiled. "You said home..." she murmured.
Damien gently pinched her cheek. "Yes, your home."
A flicker of disappointment crossed her face. She had hoped he would say "their" home. But then, as if he had read her mind, he said, "That's going to be your home, and wherever you are, that will be my home too." He then kissed her. Sarah kissed him back. The kiss spoke of the love, trust, and safety that Damien was giving her, and she knew in that moment that she would never stop loving him.
After Sarah agreed to go with him, Damien couldn't contain his joy. The house was in a wealthy, well-guarded community. Only Sarah, Mrs. Blue, and Johnny would live there, and Damien would occasionally spend time with Sarah. He didn't want her to feel pressured or doubt his honesty; he would give her time to adjust to being the mistress of the house, and gradually she would accept him. He wants this house to be their home, a safe, warm, loving place, while he is trying to figure out how to break the engagement with Penelope.
In the Wellington family's grand mansion, everyone was busy planning the engagement ceremony. Thomas Wellington agreed with Don that they would hold the engagement in a month, but before that, Damien needed to spend more time with Penelope. Thomas firmly spoke, "Penelope is not satisfied with how he's treating her at the moment. She needs more time with him so they can cultivate their feelings." Don agreed with him. He then called Damien and told him to go shopping for the engagement dress with Penelope and also find the wedding dress. Damien reluctantly agreed.
He picked Penelope up, and they drove to the wedding dress store. On the drive there, a heavy tension hung between them. Neither wanted to engage in conversation. Don, who went with them, spoke first. "Penelope was busy planning your engagement, but you, you brat, were nowhere to be seen. I know work is important, but making your future wife happy is even more important."
Damien just gave him a look that said, "You're the one who wants this marriage to happen, not me." Don understood and just sighed. Then Penelope spoke, "It's okay, Grandpa, Damien is busy. His work is important." She was right. The reason she wanted to marry Damien was precisely because he was a leader in the industry. If he were just a rich heir who did nothing, she wouldn't want him. The only thing she was worried about now was Sarah and her relationship with Damien. She thought she could get rid of her, but Chloe ended up behind bars and that plan failed. But she wasn't worried; she had Don's support, and what Don said, goes. Even if Damien was in love with another woman, there was no way to escape the marriage with her; she was the future Mrs. Sterling.
Meanwhile, Sarah's memories were slowly starting to surface, like fragments of a dream. She remembered the big house, the garden, the swing set. She remembered the golden dog, its fur soft beneath her fingers. She remembered the woman's voice, calling her Isabella, a voice filled with love and warmth. But the woman's face remained elusive, a blurry image in the fog of her amnesia.
In the evening, after sitting and watching Penelope pick dresses for hours, Damien was finally free. He went to see Sarah, bringing her a small, antique music box. He had found it in a local antique shop, and something about it had reminded him of her.
"I thought you might like this," he said, handing her the music box.
Sarah took it, her fingers tracing the delicate carvings on the lid. She opened it, and a gentle melody filled the room, a sweet, melancholic tune that seemed to tug at something deep within her.
Her eyes widened, a flicker of recognition in their depths. "This… this music," she whispered, her voice trembling. "I… I've heard this music before... I remember."
Damien watched her, his heart pounding with excitement. "What do you remember?" he asked softly.
Sarah closed her eyes, her face etched with concentration. "I… I see a woman," she said, her voice barely audible. "She's… she's dancing. She's holding me in her arms. She's singing this song."
Tears welled up in her eyes, a mixture of joy and sadness. "It's… it's my mother," she whispered, a sob catching in her throat. "She's gone, Mama? Mama, come back." She started sobbing.
Damien's heart ached for her. She was so close, so close to reclaiming her past. He reached out and hugged her firmly.
"It's okay, Sarah," he said softly. "Take it easy."
Sarah nodded, her eyes still closed, tears streaming down her face. "Isabella," she murmured, the name now filled with a newfound warmth and familiarity. "My name… is Isabella."
Damien smiled, a wave of relief washing over him. She had found her way back to herself. The puzzle was finally starting to come together. But he knew there were still pieces missing, pieces that could reveal a truth far more dangerous than either of them could have imagined.