The mansion was quieter than usual, but not in a peaceful way. It was the kind of quiet that came before a storm—thick with expectation, ripe with things left unsaid.
Sunlight streamed through the tall windows of the breakfast room, glinting off silver cutlery and the polished surface of the mahogany table. Fresh white lilies had been arranged in a crystal vase, filling the air with a soft, almost maternal scent. The servants moved briskly yet silently, preparing for the day with an urgency that mirrored the energy in the house.
Eliana stood at the window, arms crossed as she watched the estate's grounds with a pensive expression. She was dressed in a soft lavender blouse and white pants, hair pinned back in an elegant twist, a reflection of the woman she was becoming. Poised. Measured. A far cry from the disoriented woman who'd first arrived.
But beneath the poise, confusion stirred. Anticipation clawed at her stomach. Damon had told her the previous night that her parents were flying in. The words had landed with the weight of a bombshell.
Her parents.
Her heart beat faster at the thought.
It should have filled her with joy. And yet, all she could feel was dread laced with a strange sense of distance.
That morning, she had woken from another fragmented memory. This one more intense than before. A man had been gripping her arm tightly, his face a blur—but the rage in his voice, the intent to hurt, was clear. Then another man—a voice she couldn't quite place, but that sounded hauntingly like Damon's—had pulled her away.
"You're safe now," the voice had said. "I'll protect you."
The moment she woke up, the warmth of those words lingered. It had shaken her. Could Damon truly have been her protector? Or was her mind playing tricks on her? She hadn't told him about this one. Something told her not to—not yet.
She turned from the window as the door creaked open.
Damon stepped inside, every inch the brooding businessman in his tailored charcoal suit. He stopped short when their eyes met, and for a moment, something flickered in the space between them.
"They'll be here by afternoon," he said.
She nodded, her fingers tightening slightly against her arms. "I remember my mom's perfume," she said softly, as if to herself. "Vanilla and something floral. She used to kiss my forehead every morning."
Damon gave a faint nod, his gaze thoughtful. "I'm glad some things are returning."
There was a pause.
Then, with a shift in his tone, he added, "Jimmy's stopping by later. I want to introduce you properly."
—
The drawing room felt cozier than usual, the fireplace unlit but the atmosphere warm. Eliana sat on one of the couches, sipping tea while skimming through a book she couldn't focus on.
The door opened again, and Jimmy Langston stepped in, wearing a light grey suit and his signature charming grin.
"Mrs. Blackwood," he said with a dramatic bow, grinning. "A pleasure."
Eliana smiled cautiously. Damon appeared behind him, watching their exchange.
"Jimmy has been a longtime friend," Damon said, coming to stand beside her. "He's the only one I trust enough to call when everything falls apart."
"Sounds like you keep him busy," Eliana replied, a hint of amusement in her voice.
"You have no idea," Jimmy said with a chuckle. "It's a full-time job."
They chatted for a few more minutes—surface-level pleasantries, hints of camaraderie—but soon, Damon motioned for Jimmy to follow him to the study. Eliana watched them go, her brows furrowing slightly. Something told her the conversation wouldn't just be about catching up.
—
In the privacy of the study, Damon leaned against the edge of the desk, his expression grim.
"They'll be here in a few hours. I need to prepare her."
Jimmy folded his arms. "Are you finally ready to tell her the truth?"
"Part of it," Damon said. "I'll explain the debt. Her father's business falling apart. The deal he struck with me to protect his company."
"The marriage proposal," Jimmy added. "Which wasn't entirely noble."
Damon exhaled slowly. "It started as a transaction. I won't sugarcoat that. But it's changed. I want her because I love her—not because I'm trying to settle old debts."
Jimmy's gaze darkened. "And the rest of it?"
"What rest?"
"Don't play dumb. Jimmy's voice lowered. "You know what I'm talking about".
Damon's eyes narrowed. "That's not relevant."
"It's everything. You're banking on selective truth, Damon. But if she digs far enough—and she will—she'll find the pieces you left behind."
Damon's jaw tightened. "If she finds out everything, I lose her."
"If you don't tell her everything, you'll still lose her. Just slower."
The silence that followed was thick with the weight of too many secrets.
Jimmy finally placed a hand on Damon's shoulder. "You're playing with a time bomb. Handle it right. Before it blows up in both your faces."
With that, he left.
—
Later that afternoon, Damon found Eliana in the garden.
She was barefoot on the grass, her sandals forgotten by the bench. The breeze tugged gently at her braid, and she looked… peaceful. For once.
"You look like you're trying to find something in the wind," he said softly.
She turned to him, shielding her eyes from the sun.
"Maybe I am," she replied. "Or maybe I'm just trying to remember who I was before all this."
He walked toward her, slowly.
"Whatever happens," he said quietly, "I need you to know something. I've made mistakes. Plenty of them. But I've never done anything to hurt you deliberately. Everything I've done was to protect you—even if it doesn't feel that way."
Eliana studied him, searching for the lie. But all she saw was pain. And sincerity.
"You really believe you're protecting me?"
"I do," he said. "And somewhere along the line… I started caring. Not just as someone trying to fix a mistake. But as your husband."
The word felt heavy between them.
She looked away first. "It's hard to believe anything right now. But… thank you. For trying."
They stood there in silence as the wind rustled the hedges around them.
—
By evening, the household was abuzz again.
A sleek black car pulled into the circular driveway. The driver stepped out and opened the rear door.
Eliana stood by the entrance, heart pounding, palms sweaty.
Her father stepped out first—Daniel Moore, a tall, dignified man in his early sixties with a graying beard and tired eyes that once radiated warmth. He was followed by her mother—Isabelle Moore, graceful in her movements, her posture regal even in exhaustion. And finally, a teenage boy tumbled out of the car—Lucas, her younger brother, now taller than she remembered, with shaggy dark hair and a nervous grin.
The moment Isabelle's eyes met Eliana's, they filled with tears.
"My baby," she whispered, stepping forward.
Eliana froze.
Then, in a rush of motion, she ran to her mother.
The moment they embraced, it was as if a door opened in her mind.
Flashes.
Her mother singing to her. Her father fixing her bike. Her brother chasing her around the yard.
And then—another memory. More recent. More vivid.
She remembered crying in her mother's arms.
"I don't want to marry him, Mom," she had sobbed. "Please—find another way."
The memory hit her like a wave.
She stepped back from the hug, eyes wide.
Damon, standing at a distance, saw the shift in her expression.
She remembered something.
Her hands trembled.
Isabelle reached for her again. "Eliana, are you alright?"
But Eliana wasn't listening. She looked up—first at Damon, then at her father.
And suddenly, the question she had buried deep in her heart rose to her lips.
"Why did you let this happen to me?"