Chapter Twelve

Past

I try to control the involuntary tremors in my legs as I walk inside the quaint little café not far from my campus. My heart flutters inside my chest like a fragile little butterfly trapped in a cage.

The scent of freshly ground coffee beans envelopes me. Warm light from pendant lamps softly illuminates the wooden tables. Intricate artwork and vintage photos line the walls. It’s the perfect spot for my first date.

A few heads turn my way, and my smile wavers for a moment. I glance down at my outfit, nervously smoothing a hand over my pink floral cami dress. The soft fabric ends a few inches above my knees, and though the delicate spaghetti straps sit just fine, I can’t help but adjust them slightly.

Is my makeup the reason they’re staring? I pull my phone and check my reflection in the glossy black screen.

My makeup is light, highlighting my pale green eyes and soft lips. A faint blush colors my pale complexion. My curls are tied in a half ponytail, with loose tendrils framing my face. A dainty gold necklace rests above my neckline, drawing attention to my collarbone, while stud earrings catch the sunlight, adding a subtle sparkle.

I was pretty happy with my look but I’m not so sure now. The glances make my chest tighten, and doubts creep in. What if I’m overdressed? What if they’re judging me? I anxiously fiddle with the strap of my bag as I scan the area. Then hurry over the vacant table at the far corner facing the glass floor length window.

Dumping my bag on the table, I sit down. The time on the phone screen reads 12:50 pm. I’m early, but I keep glancing at the entrance every few seconds.

My fingers trace the edges of the table in jitters. At twenty, I’m about to experience something I’ve only heard about. A first date.

My gaze slides across my table to the vacant chair. In a few minutes, he is going to fill it. A giggle escapes me, drawing curious glances from nearby tables.

I roll my lips between my teeth.

Silly, silly, River . I chide myself.

Relax, River. He’s not even here yet, and you’re already like this. What are you going to do when he actually walks in?

And then it happens, the moment I’ve been waiting for the past three months. The moment I’ve dreamed about. My heart stops for a second then starts beating again. I didn’t even see him but I know he’s here. I can feel it. Feel him. Slowly, I glance at the entrance again. And there he is.

I watch as he enters, his presence commanding attention even without a smile. My heart skips a beat, and for a moment, the world narrows down to just the two of us.

I can’t help but marvel at the way his confident stride carries him forward.

Dressed in a full black suit, his olive skin stands out against the dark fabric, accentuating his sharp features. His thick ink- black hair is slightly tousled as if the breeze dared to flirt with it. He’s as beautiful as ever, tall and broad, a striking figure that draws gazes without him even trying.

As he steps further inside, I notice heads turning, and I can’t blame them. The girls around me can’t help but stare. Whispers and soft giggles ripple through the café. His impassive face says he’s used to the attention, but it still ignites a fierce, possessive burn inside me.

He hasn’t seen me yet, so I stand up instead of calling out his name to get his attention. I don’t want any of these girls knowing his name.

Before I can wave him over, he turns his head, and his eyes lock onto mine. The noise of the café disappears, as if the world has shrunk down to just the two of us, bound by the intensity of our gaze. My knees go weak, and I grip the back of my chair, struggling to steady myself.

His eyes, like pools of ink, hold familiarity and something far more intense.

In those seconds, I feel seen, truly seen, as if he’s studying every emotion etched on my face. I swallow the nervous lump in my throat, a rush of emotions flooding through me.

As he approaches, our gaze doesn’t break. I can feel the heat spreading all over my neck and up my face. I have this sudden urge to run and erase the space between us and throw my arms around his neck. But he beats me to it by wrapping an arm lightly around the middle of my back and pulling me closer to his solid frame in a half hug. “River,” he murmurs in my ear and tingles shoots along my skin.

“Damian,” My breath hitches. You might be wondering how I went from getting his number to landing a date with him. It’s kind of a long story. And… I might’ve exaggerated a little.

He pulls back and my smile freezes when I see he is not alone. A Caucasian man with dark blond hair wearing a dark suit is standing tall behind.

“This is Hal. My personal bodyguard.” Damian introduces the man in question.

Hal nods at me, “Ma’am.”

“River please. Nice to meet you.” I give a small smile.

Okay, maybe calling this casual meeting a “first date” was a bit of a stretch. The fact that Damian brought his bodyguard along says it all—he definitely doesn’t see me romantically. Still, a little dreaming never hurt anyone, right?

After Damian and I started texting during my Paris trip, I found myself wanting to share everything with him. There was this constant urge to show him what I was experiencing, so I started sending him pictures of the places I visited. It started like this:

Me: Hey Damian! I just went to this amazing little café in Montmartre. The pastries are incredible, and the buildings are gorgeous. Wish you were here!

Damian: Sounds nice. Have fun.

His replies were often late and brief, but he never stopped replying so it motivated me to keep going.

Me: Guess what? It started raining out of nowhere, and I got completely soaked. But weirdly, it feels kind of romantic, like something straight out of a movie.

Damian: Make sure you don’t catch a cold.

I did obey him but only after dancing in the rain with a huge smile on my face. That one text had made my entire month. Beneath the terse words, there was an underlying concern that made my heart smile. I loved that he was looking out for me, even if he didn’t express it in the most overt way.

By then I became greedy so I texted him one day with:

Me: Navigating the Metro today. Let’s just say my French isn’t as good as I thought!

It wasn’t exactly true. I can speak French, but I was dying to know what he’ll say. My excitement dwindled when his reply came.

Damian: You’ll survive. Just follow the signs.

He probably knew I’d be with Dad and his army of guard. While it wasn’t what I hoped it would be, it did make me chuckle. Then as a form of punishment, I began spamming him with tons and tons of pictures of art and paintings.

Me: Stumbled upon a local art market today. The paintings are breathtaking . Like you . I wanted to add. They are breathtaking just like you, Damian.

But I didn’t. So far, our exchanges were friendly. And I didn’t want to disrupt it. I didn’t want to ruin our friendship by confessing my feelings. So I continued talking to him casually.

My trip to Paris was unforgettable, but what stayed with me the most wasn’t the sights or the pastries.

It was Damian’s gruff yet caring replies.

They reminded me, in his own understated way, that he was part of my journey, even from miles away. He wasn’t overly expressive, but his words held a quiet reassurance that made me feel seen and cared for.

Then came a point where we slowly eased into calls. I remember being tongue tied the first time I heard his deep “hello?”

I thought texting him was fun but it didn’t compare with the experience of talking over phone calls.

We mostly talked at night because during the day, he was busy with work and I was spending time with dad.

And although our calls consisted of me talking the entire time with his occasional grunts, I was still over the moon. He never once ignored my calls. Ever. It was like we were in a long-distance relationship.

When I returned to L.A. after my summer holidays, I kept waiting for him to make the first move—not romantically, just to hang out. But he didn’t. And that silence had me replaying every interaction we’d ever had.

From the very beginning, I was the one to initiate everything—exchanging numbers, starting the texts, and eventually moving to phone calls. Sure, he went along with it, but it was always me taking the lead.

That realization made me stop and think. After a lot of overanalyzing (because let’s face it, that’s what I do), I convinced myself that Damian hadn’t taken the first step because of our age gap. He was the responsible one—older, and clearly wiser. Pursuing me wouldn’t have felt morally right to him. Not that he ever gave any real sign he was interested in me, but even if he had been, I knew he’d never make the first move.

So I decided to do my homework. If I wanted to take things further with him, I had to know more about him. So while I was in Paris, I utilized my free time into researching everything there is about Damian Montgomery.

And before I knew it, I had plunged headfirst down the rabbit hole, consumed by the need to uncover every hidden relic and decipher everything there is about him.

Damian Montgomery—self-made billionaire, visionary, and a master of multiple domains. The search results painted a picture of a man whose journey began as a tech entrepreneur during his college years. An app he developed had skyrocketed to popularity, becoming the foundation of his fortune. But that was just the beginning. What fascinated me was how he seamlessly transitioned from tech into becoming a real estate mogul. I read about his humble yet risky start when he invested all his money in a single property that eventually snowballed into an impressive portfolio.

He was a finance mogul too. As my cursor clicked through more articles, I learned about his ventures in the finance world, the strategic investments that consistently turned impressive profits.

It wasn’t luck; it was pure talent and sharp intelligence, as if he had an innate understanding of market trends others could only dream of.

He had even ventured into launching his own investment fund, a move that cleverly merged his interests in tech and real estate.

This was a man who not only conquered industries but also forced them to evolve.

I discovered that Damian had faced challenges that would have brought most people to their knees—market crashes, regulatory battles in the real estate sector, and the unpredictable shifts in the tech industry.

Then, as if his journey couldn’t be more intriguing, I stumbled upon the fact that he had been adopted around the age of twelve. There wasn’t much information available on the internet about his life before he was adopted. It was like before becoming a Montgomery, Damian never existed.

I learned about the loss of his adoptive parents during his college years and how he had been left to shoulder the crushing weight of his adoptive father’s debts. Despite having no support to fall back on, he managed to rise above it all and carve out a path to success on his own.

The drive, the determination—it was as if he was determined to prove something, not only to the world but to himself.

By the time I was done with my research, I was more curious about him. He was a man who had turned challenges into stepping stones and had rewritten the rules of success.

As I read about his journey, article after article, I couldn’t help but wonder what drove him—what kind of determination had pushed him to carve out such an extraordinary path against all odds.

All that I’d learned left me feeling deeply impressed and proud. Knowing everything he’d overcome only made my feelings for him grow stronger. So when I realized his office wasn’t far from my campus, I took a leap and asked him to meet me. It wouldn’t be a big hassle for him to stop by, and I had made up my mind: if he made any excuse not to come, I’d let it go. I’d stop bothering him altogether. Forcing my feelings onto him wouldn’t be fair. Not to him and certainly not to me.

So when Damian agreed to come, I was thrilled. Hence, I called it a date in my head.

“I’m really glad you could make it. I thought it would be nice to catch up,” I break the silence because Damian staring at me is making me fidgety.

When he just grunts in response, I clear my throat. “I’m sorry, I’m a bit nervous. I… umm… didn’t expect you to bring company.”

It’s super awkward because while we are sitting, Hal just hovers in the background, standing guard.

He nods at Hal and he immediately leaves to stand where he won’t be seen but can guard Damian. I start to protest—it’s rude to dismiss someone like that but they both ignore me.

“He goes everywhere with me,” Damian says, explaining his presence.

“Right. Well, anyway, how have you been?”

He quirks his dark brow. “We just talked this morning.”

That makes me chuckle. “But a lot can happen in a few hours, you know.”

“You’re not wrong.” His eyes dance with amusement and I find myself smiling at him. Then I’m momentarily stumped when Hal returns to our table.

“Raspberry White Mocha with a dash of almond essence, paired with a Chocolate Chip Muffin for Ms. Gibson.” He sets them in front of me. “Black Americano with an extra shot of espresso for Mr. Montgomery.”

“Thanks, Hal.” Damian nods.

How in the world did he figure out my favorite caffeine fix and that I’ve got a secret weakness for chocolate chip muffins? I’m still gawking at his retreating back when Damian speaks, “Eyes on me, angel.”

My heart skips a beat. A smile automatically spread across my face, and I could feel my cheeks turning warm.

He used that endearment often but hearing it again in person does something to me. It feels like a rush of warmth has flooded my senses. It’s strange how a single word can have that effect on you, especially when it comes from someone you care about deeply.

“Why are you smiling?” He asks and I shrug, feeling shy.

He leans forward. “Tell me.”

“I love it when you call me angel,” I say softly.

His jaw relaxes and it makes me question why he was pissed before. “You mad at me?”

He ignores my question. “Don’t stare at my bodyguard.”

I shake my head vehemently. “I wasn’t. Actually, I was shocked because—” My eyes widen when I realize something. “Are you jealous, Damian?”

And in that instant, it hit me—Damian was into me. Instead of irrupting with joy, I try to test him.

“Sorry I didn’t realize I was staring. I just couldn’t help it.” I stifle my smile.

“You couldn’t help it?” He asks, leaning back in a falsely calm posture.

Fighting butterflies, I nod. “He’s good looking.”

“He is around my age, River,” he drawls in a tone that suggests he is barely holding back his anger.

“I can tell.” I turn my head in his direction for good measure all while my legs are trembling. I haven’t done this before. Never tried to make anyone jealous before. It’s not something I ever thought I would do. Not to mention with the man as intense as Damian Montgomery.

“I’m sure there are plenty of guys your age fawning over you. So stop eyeing men who are much older than you,” he says in a neutral tone. But I know it’s just a front.

I know him now. We’ve spent hours talking, almost every day, for months. I know how he sounds when he is irritated. I know how he talks when he is curious. I can tell how his tone changes when he is excited about his on-going projects. And it’s rare, but I have even heard the disappointment in his voice whenever something went against his plans.

“But boys my age don’t interest me.” I lock my eyes with him then with effort turn them in Hal’s direction.

Out of nowhere, a hand seizes my chin and turns my face, revealing profoundly dark and furious eyes. “Do you want to get him killed?”

I inhale sharply. He did not just say that. Did he really say he…. I shake my head.

His gaze intensifies. “Then why are you playing this dangerous game, hmm?”

He cares about me. He is jealous. He is seriously jealous! There’s no denying it. My heart starts beating fast and hard. I cover his hand with mine. A brave move that makes me shiver. “What game?”

“Don’t act coy.” He bites out, further cementing my suspicion.

I reluctantly push his hand away. “I’m seriously not. I wasn’t lying when I said I don’t want to date boys my age.” When he just stares at me with a frown, I start to turn my eyes in Hal’s direction again, a final nail in the coffin.

“Why are you doing this?” He seethes.

I slide my gaze back at Damian and find him watching me intently.

For long moments. His eyes narrow ever so slightly as if he figured out something. I shoot my shot anyway. “I want you to see me again this weekend.”

“Why?”

“Because I miss you all the time.”