Elira stood by the mirror the next morning, brushing Amira’s curls with soft fingers. The child hummed a quiet tune, unaware of the emotional minefield that stretched outside their bedroom door.
Downstairs, the world waited.
Damien.
Soren.
And the decision Elira still hadn’t made.
A knock came. Quiet. Gentle.
She opened the door to find a note on the floor.
Dinner. Just us. One hour.
—D
No guards. No signature. Just Damien’s ink. And his nerve.
Elira sighed. “He doesn’t give up.”
Behind her, Amira giggled at a purple crayon she smeared across the mirror. “He shouldn’t,” she said brightly.
“Why’s that?”
Amira turned, serious as a queen. “Because love doesn’t quit.”
Elira’s throat tightened.
—
Damien didn’t set the table like a billionaire. He set it like a man on his knees.
