Chapter Five: Yours, If You’ll Have Me
1010 Words
Three days passed.
Three long, silent days after Damien ordered the paternity test, and Elara reluctantly agreed to participate—though not without delivering a dramatic sigh and a venomous glare in my direction.
I didn’t blame her. The entire situation felt like a soap opera come to life. But there was no time to fall apart. Not with the media sniffing around and rumors already flooding celebrity gossip blogs.
“Blackwood Billionaire Engaged to Mystery Woman—But Is There a Baby Scandal?”
It was the kind of headline I would’ve laughed at before. Now, it made my stomach turn.
Damien had kept a low profile at the office, opting to work from home while everything settled. I spent most of the time in the guest room, giving both of us space—not just physically, but emotionally.
And then, on a quiet Wednesday afternoon, the results arrived.
Damien didn’t open them right away. He just stared at the envelope, his fingers tightening around the edges like it might explode.
“You should read it,” I said softly.
He nodded once, then tore the seal.
I watched his eyes scan the page. Watched the tension build in his jaw, his throat tightening as he read.
And then—he exhaled.
“She was lying,” he said. “The baby isn’t mine.”
Relief washed over me so suddenly I almost staggered.
Damien looked up at me. “You okay?”
“I… Yeah. Just didn’t realize I was holding my breath.”
He stepped closer. “You believed me?”
“I didn’t know what to believe,” I admitted. “But I hoped.”
He held out the paper to me. “Here. Proof.”
I shook my head. “I don’t need it.”
A long pause.
“I’m sorry you were dragged into this,” he said. “You didn’t sign up for Elara, or scandals, or tests. You were supposed to be safe from all of this.”
“I signed up for the truth,” I said. “And I got it.”
---
That night, we sat on the rooftop garden—the only place in the penthouse untouched by business or betrayal. Just stars above, city lights below, and a warm breeze tugging at my hair.
“I want to cancel the contract,” Damien said suddenly.
I turned to him, startled. “What?”
“I don’t want a paper telling me I’m allowed to love you. I want you to choose me, not because of some legacy clause or publicity stunt, but because you want to.”
I studied him. The vulnerability in his voice. The slight shake in his hand as he reached for mine.
“You were right,” he said. “I’ve been hiding behind control my whole life. It’s easy to run companies. Much harder to risk your heart.”
I blinked back the sting in my eyes. “Damien…”
“I’m not asking you to stay in this mess,” he said. “But if you do… I’ll fight for you. Not as my fiancée. Not as a cover. But as the woman I—” He paused. “As the woman I love.”
The words hung in the air between us.
Slowly, deliberately, I leaned in and kissed him. Soft and sure.
When I pulled back, I whispered, “Then stop making promises and start proving it.”
---
The next morning, headlines changed.
Not because of a scandal—but because of us.
“Billionaire Damien Blackwood Cancels Contract Engagement, Proposes for Real.”
Yes, proposes. For real this time.
He did it at a press conference.
Pulled me onto the stage mid-announcement, took my hand, and told the world he wasn’t marrying for business—he was marrying for love.
My heart nearly stopped when he got down on one knee.
“I’ve made mistakes,” he said to the crowd—and to me. “But falling for you wasn’t one of them.”
It wasn’t polished or perfect.
It was real.
And I said yes.
Not because I was supposed to.
But because I wanted to.
---
The weeks that followed weren’t a fairytale, but they were ours.
Elara issued a statement denying any manipulation. She disappeared from the media—likely paid off by Damien’s legal team, though I never asked.
His mother didn’t show up at our engagement party, but Damien didn’t care.
“She doesn’t get to decide who I love anymore,” he said.
We moved in together—this time, by choice. I redecorated half the penthouse. He let me. We argued over wallpaper once and ended up tangled on the floor laughing.
He started to soften. I started to believe.
And somewhere along the way, the fake became real.
Not because of contracts, or secrets, or crises.
But because we chose it.
Every day.
---
One month later, I sat at my laptop, flipping through wedding venue options, when Damien walked in holding an envelope.
“What’s this?” I asked.
He grinned. “The last piece.”
I opened it—and gasped.
Inside was a deed.
To the bookstore I’d worked at back in Brooklyn. The one that had closed when rent skyrocketed.
“You bought it?”
He nodded. “You told me once that was your safe place. So I bought it. It’s yours now. Reopening under your name. You can run it, or sell it, or just sit in the back room with your favorite tea and write romance novels.”
I blinked, overwhelmed. “Why?”
“Because you gave me something priceless,” he said. “You made me feel like a man again. Not just a Blackwood. Not just a CEO. And I wanted to give something back.”
I threw my arms around him, tears stinging my eyes.
“I don’t need grand gestures,” I whispered.
He kissed my forehead. “I do. Because I almost lost you.”
- Writer
