Chapter Nineteen: The Distance Between Them
1923 Words
The next morning came too quickly.
Sara woke with the same heaviness sitting inside her chest — like sleep had done nothing but pause the weight, not take it away.
Her body felt off. Tired. Unsteady.
When she sat up, the room tilted slightly. She stayed still for a moment, breathing through it. Then slowly, she stood.
The bathroom was small. Familiar. Quiet.
She brushed her teeth, staring at her reflection longer than she meant to.
Her face looked… different. Not weaker. Just… worn. Like someone who had lived too many days in too little time.
After bathing, she moved to the kitchen. If it could be called that. A small space. Barely enough for one person.
She made something simple. Bread. Tea.
She sat down. Took one bite. Stopped.
Her stomach turned slightly. No appetite.
She pushed the plate away. Her hand moved to her stomach. Paused there. Then dropped.
"I have to tell him," she said quietly.
The words felt heavier out loud. More real.
But how?
She didn't have his number. Didn't know where he lived. Didn't even know if someone like her could just walk into his world and ask to see him.
Still —
She had made her decision. And Sara had never been the kind to turn back once she decided something.
She picked up her phone. Opened Google. Her fingers hesitated for a second before typing:
Blackwood Group Headquarters.
The result appeared immediately. A location. An image.
She stared at it.
The building stood tall against the sky — all glass and steel, reflecting light like it belonged to another world entirely. Clean lines. Sharp edges. The kind of place that didn't just exist in the city — it dominated it.
Power lived there. People like him lived there.
Sara swallowed. Then stood.
She moved to her wardrobe. Opened it.
Not many clothes. But enough.
Her fingers brushed past worn fabrics before stopping. She pulled out a simple dress. Soft beige. Fitted just enough to follow her shape without drawing attention. The sleeves were light. The fabric clean, though not new.
She changed slowly. Carefully.
When she stood in front of the mirror again, she paused.
She looked… beautiful.
Not in a loud way. Not the kind that demanded attention. But quiet. Soft. Strong in a way that came from endurance, not decoration.
Her hair fell naturally around her shoulders. Her face still carried traces of everything she had been through — but somehow, it made her look more real. More… unforgettable.
She picked up her bag. Walked to the door. Locked it with a padlock.
Her house stood small behind her. A single-room space. Faded walls. A roof that had seen too many seasons. The kind of place that held memories instead of comfort.
She had lived there with her mother. Laughed there. Cried there. Survived there.
Now — it felt quieter. Too quiet.
She didn't look back.
The walk to the roadside took time. Almost thirty minutes. The path uneven. Dust rising slightly with each step. Her body still weak, but she kept moving.
When she finally reached the roadside, she raised her hand.
A taxi stopped.
"Blackwood Group," she said.
The driver nodded.
The journey felt long. Longer than it should have. Her thoughts moving faster than the car.
One hour later — the taxi slowed. Then stopped.
Sara stepped out. And froze.
The gate alone was enough to remind her where she was. Tall. Wide. Metallic. Guarded.
Security men stood at different points. Watching. Alert. Nothing casual about it.
This wasn't just a company. It was a controlled space.
She walked forward.
Before she could reach the entrance, one of the guards stepped in front of her.
"Where are you going?" he asked. His voice firm. Not rude. But not welcoming either.
"I — I need to see someone," she said.
"Who?"
She hesitated. Then —
"The CEO."
The man looked at her properly this time. From head to toe.
"Do you have an appointment?"
"No."
"Then you can't go in."
Her chest tightened. "Please… it's important."
The guard studied her for a moment. Then gestured to another officer. "Check her."
Sara frowned slightly. But didn't argue.
They used a handheld scanner — moving it across her body carefully. Checking. Ensuring.
Only after that — they stepped aside.
"Go in. Reception will handle you."
Sara exhaled softly. "Thank you."
She stepped inside. And everything changed.
The space opened up around her. Large. Bright. Glass everywhere. Polished floors that reflected movement. People walking with purpose. Voices low. Controlled.
And it wasn't just one building. There were several. Each standing with its own purpose.
Sara slowed. Unsure. Which one was his?
She turned — and saw a woman approaching. Elegant. Well-dressed. Confident in a way that didn't need to be proven.
"Ma," Sara called softly.
The woman turned. Smiled. Warm.
"Yes?"
"Please… which building is the CEO's office?"
The woman looked at her for a moment. As if understanding more than the question.
"The largest one," she said gently. "You can't miss it."
She paused.
"Though… he's not there right now."
Sara's heart dropped.
"He's at the executive residence," the woman added. "Private building. Just across."
Sara nodded quickly. "Thank you so much."
She didn't wait.
The building stood apart from the others. Not louder. But more… intentional. Designed for privacy. Control. Power that didn't need witnesses.
She entered.
A receptionist sat at the front. Sharp. Composed. Unsmiling.
Sara swallowed. Said a silent prayer.
"Ma… I need to see the CEO."
The woman looked up slowly. "Who are you?"
"I — please, it's important."
"No one sees him without clearance."
"Please…"
The woman reached for the phone. "I'm calling security."
Panic rose. "Ma please — just help me —"
Too late.
Security arrived fast. Strong hands. Firm grip. They started dragging her.
Sara struggled. "Please! I just need to see him!"
But they were stronger. Too strong.
They pulled her toward the exit —
"Stop."
The voice cut through everything. Calm. Controlled. Cold.
Everyone froze.
Sara turned.
And saw him.
Damien Blackwood.
Tall. Composed. Dressed in dark precision. Every line of him sharp and deliberate. His presence alone shifted the air.
The guards stepped back immediately.
"What's going on?" he asked.
One of them started explaining. But his eyes had already found her.
Recognition flickered. Then hardened.
"You again," he said.
Sara's chest tightened. She dropped to her knees.
"I need to speak with you, sir."
Silence.
A moment passed. Then —
"Leave her," he said.
The guards obeyed instantly.
He turned. "Follow me."
He didn't wait.His office was quiet power.
Large.The office was nothing like the rest of the building.
It was quieter. Not empty — but controlled. Every detail deliberate. Every surface clean. Glass stretched from floor to ceiling, letting the city pour in without ever touching him. Dark wood. Steel edges. Power, without noise.
Sara hesitated at the door. Then stepped in.
Damien didn't sit immediately. He walked past her, unhurried, removing his jacket with the ease of someone who owned every second of the room. He placed it down, then turned to face her fully.
His gaze moved over her. Not kindly. Not cruelly. Just… assessing.
"You caused quite a scene downstairs," he said.
His voice was calm. Low. Controlled. Like none of it mattered.
Sara swallowed. Her hands felt cold. Her heart hadn't slowed since the moment the guards grabbed her.
"I needed to see you," she said.
"You've seen me."
A pause.
"That's not enough."
Something in his expression shifted — not much. Just enough to show he had noticed the tone.
"And what," he asked quietly, "makes you think you get more than that?"
Her fingers tightened around her bag.
For a second, the words disappeared. All of them. The fear, the exhaustion, the weight of everything pressing down on her at once.
Then she remembered.
The clinic. The test. Her mother. The silence she went home to.
She reached into her bag. Her hands weren't steady.
Damien's eyes dropped briefly to the movement — alert now, sharp in a different way.
She pulled out the paper. Folded. Slightly creased from being held too tightly for too long.
She stepped forward. Not close enough to touch him. Just close enough that she couldn't pretend this wasn't real anymore.
"Read it," she said.
He didn't take it immediately. He looked at her first — searching her face, not the way he had before. This time, there was something more deliberate in it. Something trying to understand why she was still standing here instead of breaking like he expected.
Then he took the paper. Unfolded it. His eyes moved across the page once. Stopped. Went back to the top. Read it again.
The room didn't change. But something inside it did.
Silence stretched. Longer than it should have.
When he finally spoke, his voice was lower than before.
"You're pregnant."
Not a question. A statement. Flat. Controlled.
Sara felt the words land — heavy, unavoidable.
"Yes."
Another silence.
He looked at the paper again. Then at her.
For the first time since she had met him — he didn't look indifferent. He looked… focused. Sharp in a way that made something in her chest tighten.
"How far?" he asked.
"Early."
"And you're certain it's mine?"
The question was clean. Direct. Almost clinical. It hit harder than anger would have.
Sara's fingers curled at her sides.
"I've only been with one person," she said quietly. "You."
He held her gaze. Long enough to make it clear he was measuring the truth of it.
The room felt smaller now. Or maybe it was just the weight of what had been said.
Damien exhaled slowly. Not frustration. Not disbelief. Calculation. Always calculation.
"This changes things," he said.
Sara's chest tightened. "What things?"
His eyes returned to hers fully.
And whatever she had expected — it wasn't what she saw there.
Because there was no panic. No softness. No warmth. Only something colder. More dangerous.
"You shouldn't have come here," he said.
The words were quiet. But they carried something heavier than volume.
Sara felt it immediately. "Why?" she asked.
A pause. Then —
"Because," Damien said, his voice dropping slightly, "you just made yourself visible."
Her breath caught. "What does that mean?"
He didn't answer immediately.
Instead, he walked past her. Picked up his phone. Dialed a number.
"Cancel my next meetings," he said. "And tighten security."
A pause. Then, more deliberate —
"No one gets in or out without clearance."
Sara turned slowly. Something cold was spreading through her now. Not fear. Not yet. But close.
He ended the call. Looked at her again.
And this time — there was no distance left in his gaze. Only awareness.
"You don't understand the position you're in," he said.
Her voice came out softer than she intended. "Then explain it to me."
Another pause. Longer this time. Measured. Like he was deciding something.
And whatever decision he came to — she didn't like the look of it.
"From this moment on," he said slowly, "you're not walking around alone anymore."
Her heart skipped. "What?"
"That wasn't a suggestion."
Silence crashed between them.
Sara took a step back. "I didn't come here for that."
"No," he said. "You came here because you thought this would make things simpler."
His gaze sharpened. "It doesn't."
Her chest tightened. "Then what does it do?"
He held her eyes.
And for the first time — there was no room left for misunderstanding.
"It makes you a target."
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