The Emotional struggle
529 Words
Calla Monroe’s POV
The quiet hum of the refrigerator was the only sound filling my small apartment. Lucas sat cross-legged on the floor, carefully arranging his toy cars in neat rows. He hummed under his breath, completely lost in his own little world, and for a fleeting moment, I let myself breathe.
But it didn’t last.
It never did.
Every time I closed my eyes, Damian’s face haunted me. The sharp cut of his jaw, the icy steel of his gaze, the way his voice could slide under my skin and command me without even trying.
And last night… the way he looked at Lucas.
My chest tightened until it hurt.
He knows.
I wasn’t sure how, but I could feel it in the air around him. That unspoken recognition—the way his eyes lingered too long, too sharply, as if he was piecing together the truth I’d fought so hard to bury.
I forced a smile for Lucas when he looked up at me, waving a tiny red car. “Look, Mommy! It’s racing!”
“That’s wonderful, baby,” I said softly, though my voice wavered. I crouched beside him, brushing a strand of hair off his forehead. He giggled and leaned into my touch, oblivious to the storm brewing outside our little bubble.
How long could I keep him safe?
How long before Damian stormed into this fragile world I’d built and tore it apart?
I stood and moved to the window, pulling the curtain aside. The city glittered beneath the night sky, alive and ruthless. Somewhere out there, Damian was watching, waiting. He had always been a man who got what he wanted, and now… he wanted answers.
He wanted us.
I hugged myself tightly, trying to shake the shiver running through me. Memories clawed their way back no matter how hard I tried to shove them down.
Four years ago.
A night of fire and broken promises.
A love that ended in betrayal.
I had sworn I’d never let him touch me again. I had sworn I would never give him the chance to hurt me a second time. And yet, fate had its cruel sense of humor, binding us together forever through the little boy asleep in the next room.
My phone buzzed on the counter, and when I saw the name flash across the screen, my blood ran cold.
Damian Vale.
My fingers trembled as I silenced the call.
Not now. Not while Lucas was awake.
But a sickening dread curled in my stomach. He wouldn’t stop calling. He wouldn’t stop chasing. Damian never stopped until he had what he wanted.
And I knew, deep down, that he wouldn’t stop until Lucas was his.
My son. My everything.
I pressed my forehead against the glass and whispered a vow only the night could hear.
“You’ll never take him from me, Damian. Not while I’m still breathing.”
But even as I said the words, doubt gnawed at me.
Because I also knew one terrifying truth: Damian didn’t just take. He conquered.
And I was still hopelessly tangled in the chains of the man I had tried so desperately to escape.
- Writer
