CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE: THE EDGE OF THE TRUTH
Aria didn't hear Damien's footsteps at first.
She was too overwhelmed, too shaken, too breathless from the moment she'd just lived through—Damien lifting her chin, wiping her tears, holding her like she was something precious instead of someone messy and conflicted.
She stood frozen near the kitchen counter, gripping its edge as if it was the only thing keeping her upright.
Her heart still felt like it was beating in her throat.
I'm not going anywhere.
Let me be here.
Let me carry this with you.
His words had cracked something inside her. Something she had kept locked away for years.
She heard him return before she saw him.
Soft footsteps. A quiet breath. A pause at the doorway.
"Aria…"
She didn't look up.
If she did, she might break again.
He stepped closer. Not touching her this time—he seemed to know she needed space—but close enough that she could feel the presence of him, warm and steady.
"Are you okay?" he asked quietly.
"I'm trying to be."
It was the most honest answer she could give.
Damien exhaled slowly.
"Do you want me to leave?"
She stiffened.
She should have said yes.
She should have needed distance.
She should have wanted him gone.
But the truth slid out of her in a fragile whisper.
"No."
Damien froze.
Not out of shock—he had always known how to read her—but because the softness in her voice told him she was hanging on by a thread.
He stepped closer.
Not rushing her—just closing the gap inch by inch.
"I meant what I said," he murmured.
"You're not alone, Aria. Not in this. Not anymore."
The word anymore pressed deep into her chest.
She swallowed hard.
"You don't get to erase the past just because you feel guilty now."
"I'm not trying to."
His voice stayed calm, steady.
"I'm trying to rewrite the future."
She shook her head. "You make it sound easy."
"It won't be," he admitted. "Not for either of us."
Silence settled between them—heavy, emotional, charged.
Then Damien said the one thing she wasn't ready for.
"We should tell him."
Aria's breath stopped.
Eli.
Her heart lurched painfully.
"Tell him what?" she whispered, though she already knew.
Damien leaned against the counter beside her, close but not touching.
"That I'm his father."
Her chest tightened.
"Damien… he's three."
"And he's smart," Damien said gently.
"He already knows something is different. He asked me today why I wasn't there when he was little."
A fresh stab of guilt shot through her.
"What did you say?" she asked, voice trembling.
Damien looked down at his hands.
"That I should have been."
Aria closed her eyes.
A tear slid down before she could stop it.
Damien didn't touch her, but he shifted closer—not invading, not crowding, but offering presence instead of pressure.
"I don't want to confuse him," she whispered.
"I don't want to make promises he can't rely on. I don't want him to get attached and then—"
"I'm staying," Damien said quietly.
"No matter what happens between us, I'm staying for him."
Her heart squeezed.
It was the one thing she needed to hear…
and the one thing she feared most.
Because if Damien stayed, really stayed—
Aria wouldn't be able to protect her heart from him.
"You don't understand," she said shakily.
"It's not just about Eli. It's about us."
Damien turned, fully facing her now.
"Aria," he murmured, "I know you're scared."
She laughed weakly. "You think?"
He stepped closer—close enough for her to feel heat radiating from him, close enough that her breath caught.
"I'm scared too."
That startled her.
Damien wasn't the type to admit fear. He was confidence and fire, ambition and certainty. But now…
Now he looked almost vulnerable.
"I don't know if you'll ever forgive me," he said.
"I don't know if we can fix what we broke. But I know I'm not running away from it this time."
Tears stung her eyes again.
She whispered, "And what if I run?"
Damien's breath hitched.
He lifted a hand—slowly, giving her every chance to pull away—and gently brushed a tear off her cheek with the back of his fingers.
Then he said, voice barely above a whisper:
"Then I'll run after you."
Aria's breath shattered.
Her knees nearly buckled.
Damien caught her elbow instinctively, steadying her.
Not pulling her close.
Not taking advantage.
Just keeping her from falling.
She looked up into his eyes—dark, determined, full of something she didn't dare name.
"Damien…" she whispered.
His jaw tensed.
"Yes?"
"I don't know how to do this."
"You don't have to," he murmured.
"We'll figure it out. One day at a time."
For the first time, Aria didn't pull away when his thumb brushed her cheek.
She didn't run from the softness in his gaze.
She didn't hide the truth trembling in her heartbeat.
She let herself feel it.
All of it.
The fear.
The hope.
The ache.
The possibility.
Damien exhaled, voice thick.
"Let me be here," he said again, almost pleading.
Her heart finally gave way.
"Okay."
And Damien's eyes closed—not in victory, but in relief so deep she could feel it radiating through him.
This wasn't a promise.
This wasn't a reconciliation.
This wasn't a miracle.
It was a beginning.
A fragile, dangerous, beautiful beginning.
And beginnings were always the most powerful part.