Episode 4
1251 Words
CHAPTER FOUR
Arabella
“Let's discuss business.”
Damien closed the distance between us by a single step.
“Of course.”
I gestured toward the chair opposite my desk. “Sit.”
He didn't.
Instead, he looked around my office.
The glass walls. The photographs. The awards arranged neatly on the shelves. The framed magazine covers bearing my name.
His gaze finally settled on me.
“You've done well.”
“Thank you.”
“I heard you built MONTÉ from nothing.”
“Not nothing.”
His expression shifted.
“Right. The Montgomery name.”
I stiffened.
“My company has nothing to do with my family.”
“I know.”
“Do you?”
“Yes.”
His answer was immediate enough to irritate me.
“You don't know anything about my life anymore.”
“No,” he said quietly. “I don't.”
Something in his voice made me look at him.
There was no arrogance in his face now.
Only something I couldn't name.
“You shouldn't be here.”
“I know.”
“You shouldn't have contacted me.”
“I know.”
“You shouldn't have looked at me last night like—”
I stopped.
His eyebrow lifted.
“Like what?”
“Forget it.”
“No.”
He moved closer.
“What did I look at you like?”
I stepped back.
“Like you still had a right to.”
His expression hardened.
“I never stopped feeling like I had a right to you.”
My breath caught.
“You lost that right seven years ago.”
“I didn't leave because I wanted to.”
“You left.”
“Yes.”
“You disappeared.”
“Yes.”
“You didn't call me.”
“I tried.”
I laughed bitterly.
“No, Damien. You didn't.”
“I did.”
“Then why didn't I hear from you?”
His jaw tightened.
“Because someone made sure you didn't.”
The room seemed to tilt.
“What does that mean?”
“I don't know yet.”
“You expect me to believe that?”
“I expect you to let me explain.”
“You had seven years to explain.”
“I know.”
“Then why now?”
“Because I finally have the freedom to.”
I stared at him.
“What happened?”
He hesitated.
That hesitation hurt more than I expected.
“I can't tell you everything yet.”
I shook my head.
“Then we're done.”
I turned away.
His hand closed gently around my wrist.
I froze.
“Don't.”
He released me immediately.
“Sorry.”
The apology was quiet.
Real.
I turned back.
We were too close.
Close enough that I could see the faint scar near his eyebrow. Close enough to smell his cologne. Close enough to remember exactly what it had once felt like to have his body against mine.
Seven years had changed his face.
Apparently, they hadn't changed the effect he had on me.
“Why are you looking at me like that?” he asked.
“I'm not.”
“You are.”
“I hate you.”
His eyes searched mine.
“No, you don't.”
The certainty in his voice made my chest tighten.
“You don't get to tell me what I feel.”
“Then tell me.”
“I don't feel anything.”
He looked at my mouth.
The room became painfully quiet.
“Then why are you shaking?”
I looked down.
My fingers were trembling.
I hated him for noticing.
I hated myself more.
“Damien…”
“I've imagined seeing you again for seven years.”
His voice had dropped.
“I imagined you screaming at me. I imagined you slapping me. I imagined you walking away.”
He took another breath.
“I didn't imagine you standing this close.”
I should have moved.
Instead, I stayed.
His hand lifted slowly, giving me every opportunity to stop him.
His fingertips brushed my cheek.
My eyes closed.
That was the mistake.
Because the moment his lips touched mine, seven years of anger collapsed beneath seven years of memory.
The kiss wasn't gentle.
It wasn't careful.
It was desperate in the way only something long denied could be.
My hands found his jacket before I could stop them.
His arms came around my waist, pulling me closer.
For one breath, there was no Max.
No engagement.
No MONTÉ.
No abandonment.
There was only Damien.
The boy I'd loved.
The man I'd never stopped remembering.
Then reality came crashing back.
I tore myself away.
My breathing was uneven.
Damien looked at me, equally shaken.
I stared at him.
Then at the hand that had just touched his chest.
Then at my engagement ring.
“Oh my God.”
The words came out barely above a whisper.
I stepped backward.
“No.”
“Arabella—”
“No.”
I wiped my mouth with the back of my hand, as though I could erase the kiss.
“I can't do this.”
He didn't move toward me.
“Bella—”
“Don't call me that.”
My voice cracked.
He stopped.
I looked at him, furious now.
At him.
At myself.
At the seven years I'd spent convincing myself that I'd moved on.
“I am engaged.”
“I know.”
“I love him.”
The lie sounded wrong the second it left my mouth.
Damien heard it too.
His eyes changed.
“You don't have to convince me.”
“I wasn't convincing you.”
“Then who were you convincing?”
I couldn't answer.
He took a slow breath.
“I won't apologize for kissing you.”
I stared at him.
“But I will apologize if I made you feel like you couldn't say no.”
My anger faltered.
“I should never have let it happen.”
“You kissed me back.”
“I know.”
“And?”
“And that's exactly the problem.”
He looked at me for a long moment.
Then he nodded.
“I'll leave.”
He walked toward the door.
I expected relief.
Instead, panic rose in my chest.
“Damien.”
He stopped.
I didn't know why I'd called his name.
I didn't know what I wanted him to do.
Turn around?
Stay?
Forget me?
Love me?
The questions frightened me.
He looked over his shoulder.
“If you want me gone, say it.”
I opened my mouth.
Nothing came.
His expression softened.
“That's what I thought.”
Then he left.
The door closed behind him.
I stood alone in the middle of my office, staring at nothing.
My fingers touched my lips.
They were still tingling.
I pulled my hand away.
“No.”
This time, I was begging myself to believe it.
My phone buzzed on the desk.
MAX: Dinner tonight. Seven. Don't forget.
I stared at the message.
Then at my reflection in the glass.
My lipstick was slightly smudged.
My breathing was still uneven.
And for the first time since I'd put Max's ring on my finger, I wondered whether I'd been lying to myself about what it meant.
I grabbed my phone.
ME: I'll be there.
I pressed send.
Then I deleted Damien's email.
I stared at the empty inbox.
It didn't make me feel better.
Not even close.
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