Chapter 10:114 days
1793 Words
*CHAPTER 10: 114 DAYS*
The first morning without a threat felt wrong.
I woke up at 6:42am. No buzzing phone. No unknown number. No photo.
Just sunlight through the curtains and Damian breathing next to me.
He was still asleep. One arm thrown over me. Face relaxed in a way I’d never seen before.
No CEO mask. No guard. Just him.
I didn’t move. Didn’t want to break it.
Downstairs, the house was quiet. Guards were still at the gate, but inside it was just us and Tolu.
Tolu was in the kitchen making pancakes. Terrible pancakes. Burnt on one side, raw on the other.
“You’re up early,” she said when she saw me.
“Couldn’t sleep,” I lied.
She pushed a plate toward me. “Try not to die.”
We both laughed. It felt foreign. Good.
Damian came down ten minutes later. Hair messy. Shirt untucked.
He kissed the top of my head. “Morning.”
“Morning,” Tolu and I said at the same time.
He stole a pancake. Made a face. “Who made these, a criminal?”
“Hey!” Tolu threw a spatula at him. “I’m trying.”
For the first time in months, breakfast didn’t feel like a negotiation. It felt like family.
After, Damian took a call in his office. I stayed in the kitchen with Tolu.
“Are you happy?” she asked suddenly.
I looked up. “What?”
“With him. Without the contract. Are you happy?”
I thought about it. About the fire. The press conference. The way he looked at me last night.
“Yeah,” I said. “I am.”
Tolu nodded. “Good. Because he looks at you like you hung the moon.”
My cheeks burned. “He does not.”
“He does.” She grinned. “It’s disgusting.”
---
Zara came by at noon.
“No new messages,” she said, dropping a folder on the table. “Vanessa is in custody. Confessed to the texts and the photos. Said she hired someone to get into the house cameras.”
Relief hit me so hard my knees felt weak. “So it’s over?”
“Pending trial,” Zara said. “But yes. The threat is gone.”
Damian walked in as she said it. He read the report. Then tossed it aside.
“Good,” he said. “Now we can live.”
Zara raised an eyebrow. “You say that like you haven’t been living.”
“I haven’t,” he said. Looking at me.
Zara cleared her throat. “I’ll be in the car.”
---
The next 3 days were... normal.
We went to the grocery store. Damian argued with me over cereal. I won.
We took Tolu to her doctor’s appointment. Damian held her hand the whole time.
We watched bad movies and ate popcorn on the couch.
No cameras. No clauses. No countdown.
On day 4, Damian came home with a box.
“Don’t freak out,” he said.
Inside: dresses. Not for events. Not for the press. Just dresses.
Blue. Green. The yellow one I said I liked once in passing.
“You remembered,” I said.
“I remember everything you say,” he said. “Problem?”
I kissed him. “No problem.”
That night he cooked. Burned the pasta. We ordered takeout instead and ate it on the floor.
114 days had become 110.
And for the first time, the number didn’t scare me.
---
On day 111, everything changed again.
It started with an email.
_Subject: Regarding Adele Morgan_
Damian was in a meeting. I was in his office reading, when his laptop pinged.
I shouldn’t have opened it.
I did.
_Mr. Carter,_
_We are prepared to drop all penalty claims against Carter Group if you agree to one condition: public dissolution of your marriage to Adele Morgan within 14 days._
_Langston Legal_
My stomach dropped.
He walked in two minutes later. Saw my face. Saw the email.
“What is it?”
I turned the laptop to him.
He read it. Once. Twice. His jaw went tight.
“They’re not done,” he said quietly.
“They want me gone,” I whispered. “Or they take billions from you.”
Damian closed the laptop. “They’re not getting either.”
“Damian—”
“No.” He came around the desk. Knelt in front of me. “Listen to me. We burned the contract. We went public. We’re not going back.”
“But the penalty—”
“I’ll pay it,” he said. “Every cent. I’d rather be broke than lose you.”
Tears stung. “You don’t have to—”
“I do.” He took my hands. “Adele. I chose you. In front of the world. I’m not un-choosing you because they sent an email.”
I nodded. Couldn’t speak.
He pulled me into his arms. “We’ve survived Kunle. We’ve survived Vanessa. We can survive lawyers.”
---
Zara called an emergency meeting.
Boardroom. 12 people. All looking at us like we were the problem.
“We have two options,” Zara said. “Pay the penalty. Estimated 1.8 billion. Or dissolve the marriage publicly and keep the shares.”
Silence.
Damian stood. “Option 3. We pay the penalty and we stay married.”
“Sir,” one of the board members said. “With respect, that’s irresponsible.”
Damian leaned on the table. “With respect, you work for me. And my wife is not negotiable.”
Another silence.
Then one by one, they nodded.
“Fine,” the CFO said. “We’ll liquidate assets.”
Meeting ended.
In the elevator after, Damian was quiet.
“Hey,” I said. “You okay?”
“Yeah,” he said. “Just thinking. About how I almost let a contract decide my life.”
“You didn’t.”
“No,” he said. “I didn’t.”
---
That night we didn’t go home.
We drove. No destination. Just the city lights.
We ended up at the beach. The same one from the safe house.
Damian took off his shoes. Walked into the sand in his suit pants.
I followed.
We sat. Waves in front of us.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “For dragging you into this.”
“You didn’t drag me,” I said. “I signed.”
“Because you needed the money for Tolu.”
“Because I believed you when you said ‘for better or worse,’” I corrected.
He looked at me. “And do you still?”
I nodded. “For better.”
He smiled. Tired. Real. “For better.”
We stayed until the sun came up.
No phones. No emails. No lawyers.
Just us.
---
The next morning the news broke.
_Carter Group Pays Record Penalty. CEO Stands By Marriage._
The comments were wild.
“King behavior.”
“She’s so lucky.”
“Is this real or PR?”
Damian didn’t read them.
He was too busy making me breakfast. Terrible breakfast. Worse than Tolu’s.
“110 days,” he said, sliding a plate to me.
“110 days of what?” I asked.
“Of us,” he said. “No contract. No deadline. Just us figuring it out.”
I took a bite. Burnt. “We’re terrible at this.”
“Yeah,” he said, grinning. “But we’re terrible together.”
Tolu walked in. “What are you two whispering about?”
“Nothing,” we said at the same time.
She rolled her eyes. “Gross.”
---
Two weeks passed.
No texts. No photos. No threats.
The lawsuit from Langston was moving through courts. Slow. Boring.
Damian threw himself into work. But he came home every night.
We fell into a rhythm.
Coffee in the morning. Dinner together. Walks after.
One night, 98 days in, we were on the balcony again.
“You ever think about before?” he asked.
“Before what?”
“Before the contract.”
“All the time,” I said. “I think about the first day. How scared I was.”
“I was scared too,” he admitted. “That you’d see me and run.”
“I almost did.”
“Why didn’t you?”
I leaned my head on his shoulder. “Because you looked at me like I mattered.”
He kissed my temple. “You do.”
My phone buzzed.
Not unknown. Tolu.
_Come downstairs. Now._
We ran.
Tolu was in the living room. On TV.
A press conference. Langston Industries.
The CEO was speaking. “Due to recent events, Langston is withdrawing all claims against Carter Group. We wish Mr. and Mrs. Carter the best.”
The screen cut.
Silence.
Then Damian laughed. One short, shocked sound. “They caved.”
“They gave up,” I said.
Zara called. “It’s done. No penalty. No lawsuit. It’s over.”
Damian hung up. Looked at me. At Tolu.
“It’s over,” he said again.
Tolu screamed and hugged us both. “No more bad guys!”
Damian picked her up. Spun her. Then set her down and pulled me to him.
“98 days,” he whispered. “And we made it.”
“98 days,” I whispered back.
He kissed me. Deep. Like he’d been holding it in.
When we broke apart, Tolu was covering her eyes. “I’m traumatized.”
We all laughed.
---
Later, after Tolu went to bed, Damian and I sat on the couch.
No contract on the table. No ashes in the fireplace.
Just us.
“Do you want to do something?” he asked. “To celebrate?”
“Like what?”
“I don’t know. Something stupid. Something normal.”
I thought about it. “Dance?”
“In the living room? Now?”
“Yeah.”
He stood. Held out his hand. “Okay.”
He put on music. Something slow. No lyrics.
And we danced. In the living room. In our pajamas.
No cameras. No audience. No reason.
Just because we wanted to.
Halfway through, he stopped. Looked at me.
“What?” I asked.
“Nothing,” he said. “Just... I like this. Us. Like this.”
“Me too,” I said.
He pulled me closer. “So what now?”
“Now,” I said, “we keep going. Day by day.”
“Deal?”
“Deal.”
He kissed me.
Outside, the city was quiet.
Inside, there were no more countdowns.
Just 98 days. And however many came after.
---
*END OF CHAPTER 10*
- Writer
