Ava Point of Views
The safehouse smelled like lemon disinfectant and old memories. Damian stood shirtless by the window, his wounds newly treated, sunshine illuminating his flesh like a masterpiece.
He seems almost... calm.
But calm with Damian Cross was like spring in New York: beautiful, transient, and never far from another storm.
"Say something," I muttered.
He turned, his gaze finding mine. "I can't stop thinking about what I forgot."
"You're remembering more?"
He nodded slowly. "Bits and pieces." The wedding. Your eyes brightened up when you saw me in that suit. The baby shower. "The fight prior to the crash..."
I flinched. "What fight?"
His jaw clenched. "You asked me to leave my family business. I stated I couldn't. "You mentioned you were pregnant
