CHAPTER 7: He Draws You In Every Picture
617 Words
Damon couldn’t stop staring at the tiny boy curled up beside him.
Ezra had fallen asleep mid-sentence, a toy dragon clutched in his hand and crayons still scattered on the rug. His breathing was soft, even. Innocent.
Too innocent for a world that had stolen five years of his father’s life.
Damon brushed a hand over Ezra’s curls—dark and wild like his own. And something inside him burned. Not just regret. Not just pain.
Rage.
Not at Arielle.
But at the people who made her run.
From the kitchen doorway, Arielle watched him. And for the first time in five years, Damon Black didn’t look like a cold, ruthless CEO.
He looked like a man completely, utterly shattered.
“He talks about you,” she said quietly.
Damon looked up. “He doesn’t even know me.”
“No,” she whispered. “But he draws you.”
She stepped forward, holding a worn-out sketchbook.
Damon took it in trembling hands and flipped through the pages.
Dragon after dragon. Star after star.
And in the corner of nearly every drawing—a man. Tall. Dark. With gray eyes.
Him.
Ezra had been dreaming of Damon for years.
“I didn’t tell him who you were,” Arielle said, her voice cracking. “But he always drew you anyway.”
Damon closed the sketchbook, jaw tight.
“Vivienne did this.”
Arielle froze. “What?”
“She made you disappear. She lied to both of us.”
Arielle said nothing.
Damon stood slowly, setting the book down.
“I’ll fix this,” he said, his voice low. “I don’t care what it costs.”
He turned to her.
“And I’m taking care of him. Starting now.”
Arielle’s eyes widened. “Damon—”
“He’s my son.”
“He’s my everything.”
They stood inches apart, eyes locked in pain and fire and something dangerously close to love.
“Don’t push me out,” he whispered.
“Don’t hurt him.”
“I won’t,” Damon said, voice cracking. “But I will hurt the people who did this to us.”
Meanwhile… at the Black Estate
Vivienne sipped her wine and narrowed her eyes at the news update flashing on her phone screen.
“Damon was seen entering a lower-income building tonight. No official statement yet.”
Her lips curled.
So. Arielle had told him.
She set her glass down just as Veronica stormed into the room.
“You said she was gone.”
Vivienne raised a brow. “She was.”
“She’s not. She’s back. And Damon—he’s slipping away.”
Vivienne stood, her calm turning icy.
“Then get him back.”
Veronica clenched her fists. “He doesn’t even look at me anymore.”
“Then make him.”
Veronica flinched. “How?”
Vivienne stepped closer, voice venom-soft.
“Simple. Remind him of what he can lose.”
Back at Arielle’s Apartment…
Damon stood in Ezra’s room, watching his son sleep.
Arielle stepped beside him.
“You can stay,” she whispered.
He turned to her. “I don’t deserve that.”
“No,” she agreed softly. “But he does.”
Their eyes met.
So much pain. So much history. So much unfinished.
And then—without thinking—Damon reached for her hand.
Arielle didn’t pull away.
For the first time since they were nineteen… they just stood there.
Silent. Still.
A father. A mother. And the truth between them—finally breathing.
But outside…
Someone watched from a black car across the street.
Snapping photos. Recording every movement.
And sending them straight to Vivienne Black.
The war had just begun.
- Writer
