The sleek black Mercedes pulled up in front of an upscale restaurant tucked away in one of the quieter corners of the city—exclusive, discreet, and a known haven for high-profile clientele seeking privacy.
Damon stepped out, eyes shaded behind dark sunglasses, his features set in the same controlled mask he wore during hostile business negotiations. But this wasn't business—at least, not the kind he was used to. This was personal.
As he entered the restaurant, a man in a tailored grey suit rose from a corner booth and waved him over.
"About time," the man said, half-smiling as he adjusted the cuffs of his shirt.
Damon slid into the booth across from him and removed his glasses, revealing the storm behind his eyes.
"Jimmy," he said curtly.
James "Jimmy" Langston had been many things to Damon over the years—his legal counsel, his crisis manager, his devil's advocate. But more than that, he was Damon's closest friend. The only person who knew every skeleton in his closet—and helped keep them buried.
Jimmy's easy charm masked the razor-sharp intellect beneath. With salt-and-pepper hair that made him look older than his 35 years and a reputation for always being ten steps ahead, Jimmy had pulled Damon out of more disasters than he could count.
And this one, Damon feared, was the most volatile of them all.
"So," Jimmy began, signaling the waiter with two fingers, "how's the blushing bride?"
Damon didn't answer right away. His jaw flexed as he looked out the window, watching as the city passed by like strangers in a rush.
"She's… asking questions."
Jimmy's brow arched. "Well, that was bound to happen eventually. She's not exactly the type to sit quietly and smile pretty."
Damon gave a humorless laugh. "You're telling me."
Jimmy leaned forward. "And what have you told her?"
"Nothing." Damon's voice was tight. "I gave her a new phone, told her her old one was damaged."
Jimmy raised both eyebrows, unimpressed. "No contacts? No access to anyone from her past? Damon, are you trying to light the fuse faster?"
"I panicked," Damon admitted, voice low. "I didn't want her stumbling across things I'm not ready to explain."
"Right." Jimmy gave a short chuckle and picked up the menu, more out of habit than hunger. "You do realize that the more you try to keep her in the dark, the more determined she'll be to claw her way to the truth. That's who she is."
Damon looked down at the table, fingers drumming softly. "She said I treat her like a possession. Like something I'm trying to keep hidden."
"Is she wrong?"
Silence stretched between them.
Jimmy set the menu down. "Look, Damon. I was with you when this whole thing started. told you it was a bad idea, remember?"
"I was doing her a favor " Damon snapped, finally meeting his gaze. "You know that."
"I know," Jimmy said quietly. "But it doesn't change what's happening now. Whatever your reasons were back then, you brought her into your world against her will. Now she's here, broken, confused, and you're still playing puppet master."
"I'm not—" Damon ran a hand through his hair, then sighed. "I didn't expect this. I didn't expect to feel…"
Jimmy's lips twitched. "Don't tell me. You've actually fallen for her."
Damon didn't respond immediately. But the faint flush on his cheeks spoke louder than words.
Jimmy leaned back, stunned. "Damn. You're serious."
"I didn't mean to," Damon said, almost defensively. "It just… happened. She's different now. Softer in some ways, stronger in others. The fire is still there. But she looks at me like I'm a stranger, and I deserve that. Hell, I built this entire mess on lies."
Jimmy exhaled deeply and folded his arms. "Then come clean."
"I can't."
"Why not?"
"Because if I tell her the truth, I lose her," Damon said, voice strained. "She'll hate me. And this time, she won't forget."
Jimmy shook his head slowly. "You already are losing her. One piece at a time. She's slipping, Damon. You saw that this morning, didn't you?"
"She looked at me like I was the villain," Damon murmured. "And maybe I am."
Jimmy's voice softened. "You're not a villain. You're just a man who made a bad deal and tried to protect someone in the wrong way."
Damon scoffed. "Sounds worse when you say it out loud."
The waiter arrived with their drinks—espresso for Jimmy, black coffee for Damon—and they both went quiet until he walked away.
"I'm not saying you dump everything on her all at once," Jimmy said after a beat. "But you need to give her something. A glimpse of the truth. She deserves that much."
"I just… need time."
Jimmy nodded, though his face remained serious. "Time is a luxury you don't have. Not with someone like Eliana. The more she recovers, the more she remembers, the more dangerous the silence becomes."
Damon stared into his coffee, as if it might offer answers he didn't have.
"What if she walks away?" he asked quietly. "What if I lose her for good?"
"Then at least you gave her the freedom to choose. Right now, you're holding her in a cage built from your fear."
Damon didn't answer. But the tightness in his shoulders, the flicker of dread in his eyes—it said enough.
Jimmy stood and threw a few bills on the table. "You know where to find me when you're ready to stop running."
Damon looked up, eyes shadowed. "Thanks."
"Don't thank me yet," Jimmy said as he adjusted his jacket. "You've still got a mess to clean up."
With that, he left, and Damon remained seated for several minutes more, nursing cold coffee and colder thoughts.
---
The evening sun cast long, honeyed rays across the estate grounds as Damon's car pulled into the driveway. The driver opened the door, and Damon stepped out, jacket draped over his arm, his expression unreadable.
He didn't know what to expect inside. Another argument? Silence? Eliana's icy glares or worse—her indifference?
The front door creaked open, and the familiar scent of jasmine and old books greeted him as he stepped into the grand foyer.
It was quiet.
Too quiet.
Then he saw her.
Eliana was sitting in one of the armchairs near the fireplace, her legs crossed, hands folded in her lap. She was wearing a simple blue dress, her hair pulled back in a loose braid. A book lay forgotten on the side table, her eyes fixed on the floor like she'd been waiting.
Waiting… but not for him.
When she sensed his presence, she looked up. Their eyes met across the vast silence.
Neither of them spoke.
Something passed between them—something heavy and unspoken. A dance of emotions too tangled for words. Regret. Hurt. Fear. Longing. Even love, buried beneath all the pain.
Damon's grip on his jacket tightened.
Eliana stood slowly, smoothing her dress as if bracing herself.
She didn't say anything. Just turned and walked toward the staircase, her steps graceful, almost detached.
Halfway up, she paused and glanced back at him.
For a second, Damon thought she might speak. Ask him where he'd gone. What he'd done. Why he was doing any of this.
But she didn't.
Instead, she simply held his gaze for a heartbeat longer—eyes filled with questions she hadn't yet found the courage to ask—and then turned away, disappearing down the hall.
Damon stood in the center of the room, the silence pressing in around him.
He had never felt so close to her… and yet so far.
The walls he had built to protect her were now the very ones keeping her away.
And if he didn't tear them down soon, he might lose her forever.