Chapter 2
1377 Words
Damon’s POV
She doesn’t remember me.
But I remember everything.
I wasn’t prepared.
For weeks, I tried to convince myself it was nothing.
Just one night.
Just one woman.
Just one mistake.
I told myself I didn’t care.
That forgetting was the logical thing to do.
That forgetting her with her messy tears and trembling lips and desperate grip was the only option.
I almost succeeded.
Until fate punched me straight in the chest.
Because the moment I turned around and saw her standing there polished in a sleek black dress, lips calm in a business smile, her name clipped from the mouth of someone else I forgot how to breathe.
Camille.
I’ve said her name in my head a thousand times.
Sometimes louder than I meant to. Sometimes at night when silence was too loud.
Althea Camille Ignacio.
She stood just a few feet away, her hand extended like she’d never touched me. Like she’d never cried in my arms. Like she didn’t fall asleep with my name on her breath.
Her fingers brushed mine.
And the same jolt rushed through my spine.
I remembered how soft she was. How warm. How fragile.
She didn’t flinch.
But I did.
“Camille,” I murmured, too low, too quick before I could stop myself.
She tilted her head, her smile never faltering. “I’m sorry… have we met?”
That should’ve stung.
But it didn’t.
It f*****g burned.
I nearly laughed, bitter and dry.
God.
She didn’t remember.
“No,” I said. “I must be mistaken.”
Chelsea her friend, my HR team’s consultant interrupted with a cheerful babble, reintroducing Camille like fate hadn’t already shoved her back into my life.
Camille for short.
As if I didn’t know that already.
As if I hadn’t memorized the way she whispered that name into my chest. As if I didn’t still hear her voice in my head, soft and uncertain, saying it while my fingers drew circles on her back.
She sat down across from me, legs crossed, posture composed.
Untouchable. Controlled. Cold.
But I knew better.
I knew what she sounded like when she broke.
I knew how her breath hitched before she gave in to need.
“Are you okay, sir?” Bianca, my assistant, leaned in.
I didn’t answer. Just nodded once, the universal sign for “stay out of it.”
I couldn’t take my eyes off her.
She had armor now. Her clothes. Her expression. Her voice.
But I remembered her without it.
I remembered her stripped of fear, trembling under the weight of loss, clinging to me like I was the only thing anchoring her to the world.
She flipped through the presentation calmly, pen in hand, every motion elegant. Measured.
But I remembered those hands on me.
I remembered the way she clung to my wrist when she shattered.
And the cruelest part?
She didn’t even recognize the man who made her fall apart.
I should’ve let it go.
Should’ve let her walk out of that room with her pride, her clean slate, her sweet ignorance.
But I wasn’t that noble.
I stood just as she turned to leave. My voice stopped her.
“Miss Ignacio.”
She turned, brows lifting slightly. “Yes, Mr. Altamirano?”
Her voice. God.
It shouldn’t still sound like that.
I stepped closer. Just close enough to see the flicker in her eyes the confusion, the guarded courtesy.
“Are you…” I cleared my throat. “Are you happy now?”
It wasn’t what I meant to say.
But it was the only thing I could force past my lips.
Her brow furrowed. “—I-I’m sorry?”
“Nothing,” I said. “I must’ve mistaken you for someone else.”
She gave a polite smile. “I get that a lot.”
Then she turned and walked away.
Like I was nobody.
And maybe I was.
To her, I was just a stranger she couldn't remember.
But to me…
She was the one night I never forgot.
I stood there long after she left, the echo of her heels vanishing down the corridor like a memory I never asked to keep.
Camille Ignacio.
The name burned at the back of my throat.
I said it again in my head, quietly this time, as if it had the power to make me forget. As if anything ever could.
She didn’t remember me.
Didn’t remember the stormy night she let a stranger in.
Didn’t remember how she cried without saying a word, or how her body shook when I kissed her tears.
I remember all of it.
And now she’s here. Polished. Unbothered.
Carrying my ghost like it was never real.
I clenched my fists inside my pockets, jaw ticking.
I wasn’t supposed to see her again.
I wasn’t supposed to feel again.
But fate has a wicked sense of humor.
“Sir?” my assistant whispered as we moved out of the boardroom. “You looked… tense. Should I reschedule the next call?”
I nodded absently. “Give me ten minutes.”
He left without another word.
I turned into my private office, shut the door behind me, and stood still. The silence in here was my sanctuary, but today it was loud. too loud.
Her voice replayed in my head.
“Yes, Mr. Altamirano?”
So polite. So detached. So unaware that I was the man who once undid her in ways no one else ever had.
I walked to the bar cart near the bookshelf and poured myself a double scotch. The burn grounded me, but it didn’t numb the memory.
Camille.
I should've done a background check that night.
I should’ve asked for her name.
But she didn’t want to be known.
And I… respected that.
Until now.
Because now she’s back.
And she’s not alone.
I pulled out the folder from my drawer the one forwarded to me this morning by my team, long before I knew she’d be sitting in my boardroom today.
It wasn’t business. It was personal.
A quiet file sent to me by a trusted private investigator. The result of a curiosity I tried to bury.
Her name was on the tab. Althea Camille Ignacio.
I reviewed the file again that night every line, every timestamp.
One month pregnant.
And the night we spent together?
Exactly five weeks ago.
Coincidence?
I’ve built empires on less than a hunch. This one feels like a goddamn thunderstorm brewing behind my ribs.
She doesn’t know I know.
And I sure as hell don’t plan to tell her not until I’m certain.
But ever since that meeting, I’ve been haunted. Not just by the memory of her... but by the possibility.
She looked calm. In control.
But I saw it that one split-second when she paled as the room shifted. She reached for her water more than once. Pinikit niya sandali ang mga mata niya, at para bang may pinipigil na pagkahilo.
Then she bit her lower lip.
Soft. Familiar. Like the first time she did it in the dark, when she was trying not to moan too loud.
Goddamn it.
I should walk away. I should let her go.
But I’ve never been good at letting go.
I called Chelsea to my office the next day. She’s been Camille’s friend for years, and if anyone knows something… it’s her.
“Kamusta na si Camille?” I asked, acting casual while flipping through documents I wasn’t even reading.
Chelsea tilted her head. “She’s fine. Bakit, sir?”
“Nothing,” I said coolly. “Napansin ko lang… parang matamlay siya.”
Chelsea smiled, pero may halong pag-aalala sa mata. “Hindi mo siya kilala sa ganyan, 'no? She’s usually sharp, pero lately parang lutang. Siguro pagod lang.”
Or something else.
I dismissed her with a nod and leaned back in my chair.
Camille was keeping a secret.
And if my instincts are right if that one night we shared changed both our lives more than we expected then I deserve to know.
But how do I ask her without scaring her away?
Because this time, I won’t let her vanish into the night.
Not when she might be carrying a part of me.
Itutuloy...
- Writer
