Crumbling Walls
534 Words
The following days felt different — lighter, warmer, as if the ice that had encased their marriage was finally beginning to thaw.
Damon wasn’t suddenly open or affectionate, but his small gestures spoke volumes: he lingered at breakfast, asked about her day, even smiled — not the tight, controlled ones he wore for the public, but real ones, just for her.
Eliana found herself falling into the dangerous rhythm of wanting more.
One evening, after another long board meeting, Damon found her on the penthouse balcony.
The city glittered below them, a sea of lights against the dark velvet sky.
He leaned against the railing beside her, his shoulder brushing hers.
“You’re quiet,” he observed.
“Just thinking,” Eliana murmured.
“About what?”
She hesitated, then decided to be honest.
“About how easy it is to pretend this is real.”
Damon was silent for a moment, then turned to face her fully.
“It doesn’t have to be pretending,” he said, his voice low and rough.
Eliana’s heart stumbled.
She searched his face, finding something raw there, something unguarded.
“But you said—” she started, but he cut her off.
“I know what I said,” he muttered. “I thought I could keep everything separate. Business. Marriage. Feelings.”
He laughed bitterly.
“I was wrong.”
Eliana’s breath hitched.
“You feel something?” she whispered, barely daring to believe it.
Damon stepped closer, so close she could feel the heat radiating off him.
“You terrify me,” he said, his eyes searching hers. “You make me want things I thought I buried a long time ago.”
Her throat tightened painfully.
“Then stop running,” she whispered.
He cupped her face, his hands trembling slightly — the great Damon Blackwood, untouchable billionaire, shaken not by business rivals or hostile takeovers… but by her.
“I don’t know how to do this,” he admitted, voice hoarse. “I don’t know how to be… what you deserve.”
Tears burned at the back of Eliana’s eyes.
She placed her hands over his.
“Just stay,” she said. “Stay and try. That’s enough.”
For a moment, Damon stared at her, as if weighing the risk.
Then, slowly, he leaned in.
The kiss wasn’t rushed.
It wasn’t fevered or desperate.
It was slow, reverent — a silent promise that maybe, just maybe, they could rewrite the rules of their marriage.
Eliana clutched his shirt, grounding herself as his lips moved against hers, soft at first, then deepening as months of restraint and longing melted away.
When they finally broke apart, Damon rested his forehead against hers, breathing hard.
“I want to be different for you,” he said against her skin. “If you’ll let me.”
Eliana smiled through the tears sliding down her cheeks.
“I’m already yours,” she whispered.
Damon pulled her into his arms, holding her so tightly it felt like he was trying to fuse their broken pieces together.
And for the first time since signing the contract, Eliana realized —
this marriage wasn’t a prison anymore.
It was becoming home.
- Writer
