Chapter 13
1203 Words
*Early Morning*
Damian's POV
Damian had always woken before the sun.
It wasn’t discipline anymore. It was survival. A habit he had honed over years of managing crises before breakfast, time zones, and locking away grief before anyone could notice it still lingered.
But today, he lay still.
Eyes open, jaw tense, the weight of something unspoken pinning him to the mattress.
Not numbers. Not the corporate threats.
Her.
Elena.
The image of her sitting in the garden with Emma with their heads close, fingers entwined had etched itself so deeply into his mind that not even sleep could erase it.
He sat up slowly, swinging his legs to the floor, resting his elbows on his knees as he rubbed his hands down his face.
This wasn’t about logic anymore.
He knew what it was and it terrified him more than it should.
*
The scent of toasted bread drifted through the hallway.
Damian followed it, steps slow but deliberate, led by his instinct rather than hunger.
He found her in the kitchen.
Elena stood barefoot, hair loosely tied back, dressed in a soft robe that barely reached her knees.
She was buttering toast slowly.
She didn’t hear him enter at first.
“You’re up early,” he said, voice gentler than usual.
She turned slightly, caught off guard, but composed as always. “Habit.”
He stepped further inside, the marble floor cold beneath his feet. “Couldn’t sleep?”
“Couldn’t stay asleep,” she replied softly, eyes flicking to him before returning to the slice of toast.
They stood in that silence, two people who had learned not to disturb each other unless absolutely necessary.
“I used to do this every morning,” she murmured, holding the butter knife loosely. “Back when the space was mine.”
He watched her hands. Calm, practiced and precise.
“You’re not watched here,” Damian said.
Her lips tilted, not quite a smile. “Aren’t I?”
He frowned slightly. “Not by me.”
“I wasn’t talking about cameras,” she added, voice barely above a whisper.
Another pause.
“Then let me pretend that, just for today.”
Before he could answer, soft footsteps padded in.
Emma appeared in the doorway, hair a sleepy halo around her face, dragging her rabbit toy behind her. She rubbed her eyes, then silently walked to Elena, tugging gently on her robe.
Without a word, Elena poured her a glass of milk and slid a plate of toast toward her. Emma took it quietly, climbing onto a stool.
Damian stood across the kitchen, watching the two of them. The quiet exchange, the invisible thread tying them together.
He felt something stir in his chest. A warmth that had nothing to do with the sun.
Elena's POV
Beatrice had insisted on breakfast outside.
The sky was cloudy and a gentle breeze swept through the garden, carrying the scent of lavender and bread.
The table beneath the umbrella was set with polished cutlery, slices of fresh fruit, coffee still steaming in the pot.
Elena sat between Beatrice and Emma.
Damian had postponed a meeting. She could tell by the way he checked his phone beneath the tablecloth, then tucked it away like it didn’t matter.
Across from her, his gaze lingered. It wasn't possessive, not invasive. Just… attentive
Elena turned toward the roses climbing the fence, but Vivian’s voice echoed in her head.
“You'll have to excuse my son. He lacks tact.”
“Given your background… and your condition.”
They saw her as a ticking clock. A placeholder and an inconvenience.
Damian didn’t look at her that way.
Not today.
Beatrice lifted her teacup. “To the ones who show up when everyone else expects them to disappear.”
Elena blinked.
Damian raised his coffee slightly, his voice soft. “To resilience.”
They drank.
Emma mimicked them, raising her small glass of milk with both hands and for a fleeting moment, Elena let herself feel it…
The possibility that this strange, patchwork arrangement of theirs could one day resemble something whole.
*Veronica Longard’s Penthouse*
The skyline glittered beyond Veronica’s floor to ceiling windows but she didn’t glance at it.
She stood barefoot, silk robe brushing her ankles, one hand holding her wine glass while the other pressed her phone tightly to her ear.
A voice filtered through, crisp, masculine, nervous.
The report was thorough.
Name; Elena Morgan.
Status; Recently divorced.
“She’s residing at the Blackwood estate. We can’t access her medical files fully. They’re restricted. But flagged in hospital database”
Veronica smiles slowly
“Security?”
“Highly digital and physical. Nearly unbreachable.”
“Nearly,” she echoed. “Unless from the inside.”
A pause.
“Find me a c***k,” she said coldly. “Everyone has one. Even the dying.”
She ended the call.
Across the room, her assistant quietly shut the office doors behind him.
Veronica turned back to the window, her eyes sharp.
Elena Morgan
If the girl thought she could slip into Damian’s world and swim in silk robes and sympathy, she was mistaken.
No one took what Veronica had claimed, not without a fight.
*Evening*
Damian's POV
The board meeting had dragged on, filled with politics and veiled threats.
By the time Damian returned to the estate, the hallways were silent.
He loosened his tie as he approached the east wing, the silence soothing until he reached her door.
It was slightly ajar.
He knocked once, then opened it.
She sat near the window, wrapped in soft lamplight, a book open on her lap. She looked peaceful but her eyes betrayed her, heavy with unspoken thoughts.
“I wanted to check on you,” he said.
She looked up. “I’m fine.”
He stepped inside, closing the door behind him. “You don’t have to say that.”
“I know.”
He sat across from her, hands folded loosely. “Elena…”
She raised her brows slightly, waiting.
“You never told me what stage it is.”
“You never asked,” she said calmly.
“I’m asking now.”
A long silence
“Stage IIIB, the last time I checked,” she said at last. “Liver, unresectable.”
The words landed heavily.
He swallowed. “Are you… getting treatment?”
“Yes.”
Another pause.
“I want you to know,” she added softly, “that whatever happens, I didn’t come here to die.”
He leaned forward, elbows resting on his knees.
“I don’t want you to.”
Their eyes locked.
For a moment, there were no contracts. No conditions. Just the truth.
Then soft footsteps echoed in the hallway
Emma appeared in the doorway with her rabbit in hand, blinking at the two adults.
Elena opened her arms wordlessly.
The girl padded in, climbed onto her lap, and nestled into her without a sound.
Damian watched as Elena wrapped her arms around Emma, her eyes meeting his once more.
And for the first time in years, he didn’t feel like a man standing alone at the edge of loss.
He felt like he was protecting something real.
Something worth fighting for.
- Writer
