The Billionare's Redemption

CHAPTER SIX: SWEET REMINDER

Days passed, but my mother’s words refused to leave my mind.

Not just about the debt.

They lingered like an echo, replaying when I least expected—while I was doing the dishes, folding the laundry, or lying awake at night.

I kept telling myself she probably only said that to give me hope… to make me believe this marriage could turn into something more.

Maybe it was her way of softening her guilt, because in the end, they had sacrificed me to pay for my father’s mistakes.

Still, the thought was exhausting. I didn’t want to keep circling around it like a moth trapped around a flame.

So I forced my mind somewhere else. And that’s when it hit me—over the past few days, every single dish I prepared… Damien had eaten. Every bite. He never said anything, never gave a compliment, but nothing was left on his plate.

It was such a small thing, but it made my chest feel oddly warm. I didn’t even know why.

He was still distant, still keeping walls between us, yet knowing he ate my food without complaint… it felt like a quiet victory I couldn’t explain.

The more I thought about it, the warmer that feeling grew. Maybe it didn’t mean anything—maybe he just didn’t want to waste food—but still… it mattered to me.

And for the first time in days, instead of overthinking my mother’s words, I found myself wondering what else Damien might actually enjoy eating.

A thought popped into my mind so suddenly it almost made me laugh—baking.

I hadn’t baked in a long time, not since before the wedding.

The kitchen in this house was always so quiet, so pristine, that I never dared mess it up with flour dust and sugar spills.

But maybe… maybe I could make something just for him.

Not because I was trying to win him over, I told myself. Just… because I wanted to.

And maybe, if I saw that same clean plate afterward, I’d know that—at least in this one small, silly way—I could reach him.

Without wasting another minute, I tied my hair up and got to work in the kitchen. Flour dusted my hands, the sweet smell of vanilla filled the air, and for the first time since the wedding, I felt a spark of excitement.

When the cupcakes were finally done, I carefully placed them in a neat white box.

Before closing it, I slipped in a small folded note I had written in neat, careful handwriting:

(Sweet things remind me of kindness,

and I hope this brings you a moment of peace today. —Elena)

I didn’t know why, but the words had come naturally, like something comforting I’d want someone to tell me.

It was simple but it felt right.

I tied a ribbon around the box, took a deep breath, and decided to surprise Damien at work.

I took a deep breath before heading to Miranda Global Incorporation.

I felt small walking into the tall, glass building that almost touched the clouds. People in sharp suits hurried around, their shoes clicking against the marble floor.

I clutched the small box of cupcakes tighter, my fingers brushing the ribbon tied around it.

I walked toward the reception desk, clearing my throat softly. “Excuse me, I’m looking for—”

“Elena?”

I turned quickly, startled. A tall man in a sharp gray suit stood behind me, his warm brown eyes filled with surprise.

He looked familiar, though I couldn’t place him at first.

“I… I’m sorry,” I said softly. “Do I know you?”

He smiled kindly, extending his hand. “Not really. We only met at your wedding. Marcus Alvarez. Damien’s best friend.”

“Oh,” I said, shaking his hand. “Right. I remember you now.”

His eyes dropped to the box in my arms, and his brows rose. “Are those… cupcakes?”

I nodded shyly. “Yes. I, um, made them for Damien. Isabel mentioned he has a sweet tooth, so I thought… maybe it could make his day a little lighter.” My voice trailed off, embarrassed.

For a second, Marcus looked stunned, then he laughed softly, not unkindly. “That's thoughtful and... unexpected.”

My cheeks warmed. “Is it a bad idea?”

“No,” Marcus said quickly, shaking his head.

“Well,” I said, lowering my gaze, “I just wanted to do something nice. Even if he doesn’t notice.”

“He will,” Marcus said firmly, his tone so sure it startled me. “He may act cold, but trust me, Elena, Damien notices more than he lets on.”

I looked up at him, curiosity flickering. “You seem to know him very well.”

He gave a small smile. “We’ve been best friends since college. I’ve seen every side of him—good, bad, and worse.”

His words warmed me more than I expected. I smiled faintly. “Thank you, Marcus. That… means a lot.”

He grinned. “Anytime. And for the record, those cupcakes won’t just make his day. They’ll remind him of something important.”

“What do you mean?” I asked.

Marcus’s gaze flicked briefly to the box, then back to me. “His mother used to bake for him when he was a kid. Sweet things always reminded him of her.”

My breath caught. “I… I didn’t know that.”

“Now you do,” Marcus said gently.

"Thank

"Come on, I’ll walk you up to Damien’s office.”

“Come on,” he offered with a smile. “I’ll accompany you to his office. This building’s a maze—you’ll get lost if you go alone.”

I let out a quiet breath I didn’t know I’d been holding and nodded. “Thank you. I was actually afraid I might end up wandering the hallways forever.”

As the elevator doors closed behind us, a silence settled before Marcus glanced at me. “So… how’s married life treating you so far?”

The question made my chest tighten.

I looked down at the box of cupcakes in my hands, choosing my words carefully. “As expected for someone who married without love.” My voice was calm, but inside, it ached to admit it.

Marcus chuckled, shaking his head. “You know, when Damien told me he was getting married, I almost didn’t believe him. I actually thought he meant Selene.”

“Selene?” I echoed, my brow furrowing.

He smirked faintly. “Yeah. Those two have been around each other for years. Selene’s been in love with Damien for as long as I can remember. But Damien… he never took her seriously. He let her stay by his side, sure, but he was never looking for anything real with her. To him, it was just… playing a role. She wanted more, but he wasn’t willing to give it.”

I blinked, processing that. My mind tugged at the thread of curiosity before I could stop myself. “So… before me, did Damien ever have a girlfriend? A real one?”

Marcus shook his head slowly. “No. Not before everything changed.” His gaze drifted toward the elevator doors as if remembering something far away. “Damien wasn’t always like this, Elena. He wasn’t cold or careless. Back then, he was focused, grounded… the kind of guy who didn’t need distractions.”

“What happened?” I asked softly, almost afraid of the answer.

Marcus’s voice dropped slightly, his tone carrying a weight that matched the sudden heaviness in the air. “His mother died.”

I swallowed hard.

“That’s when everything shifted,” Marcus continued. “Losing her… it broke something in him. He stopped caring the way he used to. Became reckless. A playboy, if you want to call it that. But…” Marcus glanced at me, his eyes holding a quiet understanding, “I can’t blame him. I know him too well. He’s hurting inside, Elena. Still is.”

The elevator chimed softly, the doors sliding open to reveal a sleek hallway bathed in muted light.

Marcus stepped forward first, but his words lingered behind him, following me like a shadow I couldn’t quite shake.

And as we walked toward Damien’s office, the box of cupcakes in my hands felt suddenly heavier—not because of their weight, but because now, they weren’t just a sweet gesture.

They were something that might reach a part of him no one else could.

Marcus pulled out his phone as we walked, dialing a familiar number. His grin had that playful, slightly wicked edge.

“Hey, man,” he said once the call connected. “Guess what? Your wife’s here to visit you.”

A pause. Marcus’s smile only grew. “Nope, not joking. She’s in the building. You’re a lucky guy, you know that?”

By the time we reached Damien’s office, Marcus had hung up but was still wearing that smirk like he was about to witness something entertaining. Without knocking, he pushed the door open and waved me inside.

Damien was at his desk, pen gliding over documents.

The moment his eyes landed on me, the pen froze mid-line.

Something flickered in his gaze—quick, unreadable—but it vanished almost instantly, replaced by that cold, guarded expression I’d grown used to.

“What are you doing here?” His voice was clipped, each word deliberate.

“I… came to see you,” I said softly.

His jaw tightened. “Who told you it was alright to just walk into my office? This is work, Elena—not your living room.”

The sharpness in his tone made my stomach knot, but before I could respond, Marcus stepped between us like a referee.

“Whoa, calm down,” Marcus said, his brows lifting. “She’s here because she wanted to surprise you. That’s called effort, Damien—most guys would kill for that.”

Damien’s gaze didn’t leave mine.

For a moment, I thought I saw something there—a flicker of surprise, maybe even something softer—but it was gone before I could name it.

Marcus grinned and gave me a light nudge. “Come on, give him the cupcakes. Maybe they’ll make him sweet for once.”

I swallowed and stepped forward, holding out the small box I’d spent the morning perfecting.

Damien’s eyes flickered down to it, and though his face remained unreadable, I caught the almost imperceptible pause—the way his hand hesitated before taking it from me. He didn’t say thank you, but he didn’t push it away either.

That was enough to make my heart skip.

Marcus leaned casually against Damien’s desk, folding his arms.

“Well? Aren’t you going to try them?”

Damien didn’t even look up as he set the box down beside his papers. “I’m not into sweets.”

I almost frowned, because I’d seen him eat the desserts I made at home—quietly, without a word—but I stayed silent. Marcus, however, wasn’t having it.

“Oh, please,” Marcus scoffed, leaning over to flip open the lid. “That’s an obvious lie. Just take a bite. She didn’t come all the way here just to watch you glare at a cupcake box.”

Damien’s gaze slid to me, cool and unreadable. “If you’re done here, you can go now.”

Marcus raised his brows. “Not until you taste it first. Come on, don’t make me look like the only gentleman in this office.”

I straightened a little, forcing my voice to sound steady. “Taste it… then I’ll go.”

For a heartbeat, the room was silent except for the faint hum of the air conditioner.

Then Damien reached out, picked up one of the cupcakes, and took a slow bite.

He didn’t react—not a flicker of emotion—but I saw the brief, almost imperceptible stillness in him, the way his jaw moved slower, like he was savoring it.

He set it back in the box as if nothing happened.

“You can go now,” he said, his voice calm, almost bored.

Marcus rolled his eyes and pushed away from the desk. “Alright, alright. Elena, let me walk you to the lobby—”

I shook my head. “It’s okay. I know the way.”

Marcus rolled his eyes and pushed away from the desk. “Alright, alright. Elena, let me walk you to the lobby—”

“I’m fine, really,” I said with a small smile.

Marcus frowned. “Come on, it’s not a problem—”

“I said I’m fine,” I insisted gently.

He studied me for a moment, then sighed in defeat. “Alright. Take care, and thanks for the visit.”

I glanced at Damien, but he didn’t say anything—just sat there, expression unreadable. Still, I found myself saying softly, “I hope you enjoy the cupcakes.”

With that, I turned and stepped out into the hall. But instead of heading straight for the elevator, my feet slowed near the office door.

I don’t even know why, but I stopped—quietly, carefully—just outside.

Through the slight gap, their voices drifted out.

“Give me one,” Marcus said, his tone playful.

There was the scrape of a chair, then Damien’s curt reply, “No, it's mine” followed by the sound of something sliding—pushed across the desk, away from Marcus.

The corners of my mouth lifted without permission. I turned slightly, about to walk away—

When a voice, sharp and feminine, cut in behind me. “What are you doing?”

I glanced over my shoulder to see Damien’s secretary standing a few steps away, one eyebrow raised, her perfectly manicured hand resting on her hip.

Her eyes flicked to the closed door, then back to me, suspicion dripping from her tone.

“I’m visiting my husband,” I said, making sure to emphasize the last word.

Her lips tightened, but she said nothing. I didn’t give her the chance.

I walked past her with measured steps, heading for the elevator.

As the doors slid shut, I let a small, satisfied smirk curve my lips—one I didn’t bother hiding.