Chapter five - Regrettable Footnote
1813 คำ
Damien had called Mara three times already. No answer. Straight to voicemail. Not even a curt text in return. Ivy had warned him. She’d given Mara a heads-up about the photos before they hit the major outlets, an act of grace, really.
Something he should’ve done himself. But between the chaos of Zoey’s unexpected reappearance and the sheer pressure of the looming trial, he’d let the hours slip away.
Now it was too late.
He knew how it looked. The grainy, overly lit shots of him and Zoey at that gallery opening, her red dress screaming scandal, her hand on his arm, his jaw tight from whatever words he’d just told her. It looked like rekindled flames.
But nothing had been further from the truth.
He’d told Zoey clearly, firmly, that there was no going back. He wasn’t interested in playing her PR games. She hadn’t changed, and frankly, he’d outgrown whatever reckless magnetism they once shared.
He was focused now. Focused on Mara.
At least, he had been.
Until she vanished behind silence.
And what twisted the knife deeper was the low-res set of images that surfaced later. Mara, glowing in a royal blue dress, standing in some trendy cocktail bar that wasn’t supposed to be part of their story. She looked confident. Radiant. Like she was moving on without a second thought.
But it was the man beside her that sent fire licking through his veins.
Reinhart.
Of all people.
Damien leaned forward in his chair, jaw locked, the photo pulled up on his phone like a fresh wound. Reinhart’s hand rested on the small of her back, familiar, too familiar. Her face wasn’t clear, but her body language wasn’t recoiling.
It was him.
The snake who’d tried to drag Damien’s name through the mud. The one he'd fired for incompetence and unchecked arrogance. And now he was getting close to Mara?
It didn’t make sense. Unless...
Unless Reinhart saw the photos of Mara and Damien and was playing the only card he had left.
Manipulation.
Target the woman who meant something to him and use her to twist the knife deeper.
But what Damien couldn’t understand, what hurt far worse than he was ready to admit, was why Mara let him get that close. Why she didn’t push Reinhart away. Why she gave up on them so easily.
Did one bad headline really undo everything they shared?
He stood up, pacing across the length of his office, running a hand through his hair. He needed to talk to her.
No more texts. No more calls into the void.
Later that evening...
Damien stepped out of his car, adjusting the cuffs of his black coat as he stared up at the apartment building. Leah had confirmed she was home, after he all but bribed her with overpriced wine and a promise not to cause drama.
He wasn’t here for drama.
He was here for Mara.
He buzzed the door, pulse ticking faster than it should. No answer. He tried again.
Still nothing.
Just as he was about to try Leah directly, the door clicked. Someone must’ve let him in. He took the stairs two at a time, ignoring the curious stares from someone’s neighbor.
When he reached her door, he paused.
This was a terrible idea.
But he knocked anyway.
A few seconds later, it opened, not wide, just enough for Mara to appear behind the c***k. Bare-faced, in a hoodie. Still so beautiful it knocked the air from his lungs.
Her eyes, though.
Cold.
Guarded.
“Damien,” she said, voice flat. “You shouldn’t be here.”
He swallowed. “I know. But I had to see you.”
She didn’t move.
Didn’t invite him in. Didn’t blink.
“I need five minutes,” he said. “Just five. Then you can slam the door and block my number again. But I’m not leaving until you hear me out.”
Her silence stretched.
Finally, with a quiet sigh, she opened the door.
“Five minutes,” she said.
He stepped inside, knowing damn well five minutes wouldn't be enough but it was a start.
She led him into the living room without a word. The space was warm, soft. Muted pastels, carefully chosen textures, an atmosphere that had her all over it. He glanced around briefly but didn’t let himself linger. He wasn’t here for comfort. He was here to fight for something he already feared he might’ve lost.
He’d gone through Leah to get here. Not ideal, but Mara had left him no choice. She’d blocked him like he didn’t even exist. That kind of silence, that erasure, cut deeper than he expected.
“I know you’ve seen the photos,” he said, keeping his voice low, even. “Whatever it looked like, it wasn’t real. Zoey ambushed me. She wanted a conversation. I didn’t realize she’d staged the whole damn thing to make it seem like something it wasn’t.”
Mara turned, arms folded, her expression ice-cold. The same face he’d once watched melt into laughter now showed nothing but disdain. He hated it. Hated that he put that distance there.
“How perfect,” she said. “You’re a lawyer even in your personal life. Always defending your position.”
The line hit him harder than it should have. Not because it wasn’t true but because coming from her, it felt like a betrayal. Like she’d reduced every part of him to tactics and ego.
He set his jaw, pulling back just enough to keep control. “What exactly do you mean by that?”
She didn’t flinch. “You’re not apologizing, Damien. You’re just explaining. Wrapping it up in a nice little bow to make yourself look like the victim.” She tilted her head. “And I bet you believe it, too.”
He narrowed his gaze, wounded pride and guilt clashing like fire under his skin. “I’m not feeding you some polished excuse, Mara. I’m telling you what actually happened.”
“Fine,” she said, sharp and sudden. “Let’s pretend for a second I believe Zoey cornered you and that you had zero control over how it looked. That still doesn’t explain why I heard nothing. Not a text. Not a call. Not even a half-assed excuse. You left me waiting and then watched the clock run out.”
He opened his mouth, but she wasn’t done.
“The next time I see your face,” she continued, her voice shaking just slightly, “you’re with her. All dressed up like nothing ever happened. And now you just show up here like we’re still... whatever the hell we were.” She scoffed, eyes burning. “You really must think I’m desperate.”
Her words hit with surgical precision.
Damien let out a slow breath and sat down on the edge of the couch, his hands steepled in front of him, elbows on his knees. He didn’t speak for a long moment.
“I don’t think you’re desperate,” he said, voice low. “I think you’re hurt. And you should be. I messed this up, Mara. I got distracted. I got tunnel vision on the case, on Zoey showing up and stirring s**t. I should’ve reached out. I should’ve made time. That was on me.”
He looked up at her then no charm, no mask.
“I don’t have a speech. I’m not here to clean this up and make it pretty. I’m here because I didn’t want to be the man who let you walk away and never fought for it.”
She said nothing. Just stared.
He stood, closing the distance between them, slower this time.
“I want to fix this,” he said. “If it’s too late, if you’re done, say it. I’ll leave. But don’t think for a second I’m not willing to do the work.”
Her expression faltered for the first time, something uncertain flickering in her eyes.
But she didn’t speak.
When she spoke again, it wasn’t what he wanted to hear. He’d seen the flicker, something in her eyes that looked like the softening of old affection. But whatever warmth lingered behind them, her voice crushed it on arrival.
Cold.
Sharp.
Final.
“I’m done with the rollercoaster kind of relationships,” she said. “And that’s exactly what this would be with you. But…” Her gaze cut to him, unwavering. “I’ll indulge you. If what you said is true, if you need Zoey off your back and the public to think you’re in a committed relationship, fine. I need my mother to finally leave me alone.”
He stepped in, frown creasing his brow. “What are you suggesting?”
Her face didn’t twitch. She was all business now. He hated it.
“We can be of use to each other,” she said. “And when we reach our goals, we walk away. Clean break.”
He stared at her, the words crawling under his skin like a slow burn. He recognized what she was doing, self-protection wrapped in logic. Weaponized detachment. She was making a clean, controlled plan so he couldn’t hurt her again.
And if he didn’t agree?
He wouldn’t see her again.
Mara would vanish from his life like he was nothing more than a regrettable footnote. No drama. No tears. Just silence. And that terrified him more than he wanted to admit.
She went on, as calm as ever. “We occasionally meet for your little photo ops. You boost your credibility, and I get a break from my mother’s hourly sermons about wasting my youth. Win-win.”
Damien shifted, letting the heat drain from his expression. If she wanted cold, he could give her cold. His business face slid on like armor.
“That won’t work,” he said. “I need more than occasional check-ins if we’re selling a serious relationship. The press would sniff out a staged setup in under a week. And I’m not putting myself through that.”
She folded her arms. “Then write up a contract,” she said coolly. “Isn’t that what you’re good at?”
His jaw tensed, but he kept his posture loose, casual, like this wasn’t cracking him down the middle.
“I’ll send you a draft tomorrow morning,” he said, tone flat. “We’ll hammer out the terms and conditions. You’ll get exactly what you’re asking for.”
“Perfect,” she replied, already turning away. Dismissive. Like none of this had ever touched her.
He stood there for another second, staring at her back as she crossed the room.
He wanted to say something, anything to pull her back from that edge. But instead, he grabbed his coat, set his jaw, and walked out the door.
He could still feel her scent clinging to his skin.
- ผู้เขียน
