Chapter Fifteen

Present

H is revelation hangs in the air like dark smoke, blinding me, suffocating me, betraying every belief I had up until now.

Because your dad ruined my life!

My head is pounding, and my heart feels like it’s been torn apart. This can’t be real.

Dad can’t… he is the sweetest man I know. He might’ve cut ties with me, but he could never stoop so low by hurting Damian. He just disapproved of my relationship with Damian because he wanted me to marry his business partner’s son, Edward McAllister.

It had strained my dad’s decades old friendship with Richard McAllister. I had humiliated him publicly. Because I was so much in love with Damian that I blindly went where my heart wanted me to go. And now I’m finding out that my marriage was never about me. It was about him and his agenda that somehow involves my dad.

I take an unsteady step back, swaying. And after a beat, I feel his touch on my upper arms.

Even in the shock, the feeling of his fingers against my skin stands out. I can feel his touch, hear his voice but it feels distant, like I’m floating in a sea of confusion.

I try to free myself but end up pressed against his chest. It feels like a stranger is embracing me. Is this the same man who I was so crazy about?

Now everything is clear. I finally understand why he changed after our marriage. Why he’s been so distant, so cold. Damian’s words echo in my mind again. He said my father ruined his life. But if that’s true, does it mean he married me to destroy mine in return? Was I just another way for him to punish both me and my father?

I don’t even know what to believe anymore. I’m left with so many questions, so much heartache.

I think I’m in shock. It’s the only explanation for the sudden numbness and the heavy silence that wraps around me. I can see Damian’s lips moving, but the words don’t register—everything feels muffled, like I’m underwater. My head spins, and if it weren’t for Damian’s grip on me, I would have crumpled to the floor.

The cool glass presses against my lips and water slides down my throat.

Tears blur my vision as I try to make sense of the chaos inside my mind. My entire world has crumbled, and I’m left with nothing but shards of a broken mirror who all but shows a distorted reflection of my life.

My husband’s voice grows sharper, more agitated. What’s happening?

His words echo in my ears again.

Because your dad ruined my life!

A heavy weight settles upon my chest, and I find myself struggling to draw in a full breath. It feels like the air has turned to lead, and each inhalation is a battle.

The door slams open, and a tall figure storms in—it's Hal, I think.

He is met by Damian’s gruff admonishment.

Why is Hal here? What’s happening? My mind is spinning, trying to process it all, but everything feels distant.

I see Hal’s mouth moving, his eyes wide with concern, but the words don’t reach me. Damian’s jaw tightens, his expression darkening by the second.

Then, suddenly, as if someone hit unmute, Hal’s voice slices through the haze. “Let me get her, sir. She is having a panic attack and she’s bleeding.”

I feel Damian’s arms tightening around me.

“She is my wife. I can take care of her.”

“But she is sweating—”

Why are they arguing? Why won’t they just let me be?

As they continue their tense exchange, my confusion deepens. A sharp throb pulses through my arm where I had torn the drip out earlier.

“Get the doctor.” Damian snaps as he wipes the sweat off my brow.

“Already on it,” Hal mutters, his voice tense. “But what I don’t get is what happened to make her—” He trails off.

Damian must’ve shot him his icy glare. The tension in the room grows palpable and I feel the remaining strength ebbing away. In the blink of an eye, my body slackens, and my eyelids grow heavy as the world fades into darkness.

◆◆◆

My head throbs with a persistent ache as I open my eyes. The sharp pain in my arm draws my attention, and I gingerly lift it to find it wrapped in clean, white bandage.

The memory of a doctor’s presence flickers in my mind, but the details remain elusive.

A sick feeling settles in my stomach as everything that happened earlier comes rushing back. I sit upright and find myself alone. It does nothing to ease my anxiety. Too hurt to even cry, I decide to go in search of Damian.

My body protests with every movement as I try to push myself off the bed. I wince but force myself forward, my hand trembling as it reaches for the doorknob. A breath of relief escapes me when it twists open without resistance. He hadn’t locked me in.

The door creaks as I step into the hallway, my gaze locking with Hal, who’s leaning against the wall, arms crossed.

He straightens upon seeing me. “Mrs. Montgomery, did you need anything?”

“Where’s Damian?”

“Mr. Montgomery is in his home office. I’ll inform him that you’re awake. In the meantime, have something to eat.”

“Is having something to eat a condition for me to see him?” I ask quietly.

He slowly shakes his head, eyeing my bandage and haggard face. “Consider it my plea, ma’am.”

“Growing soft on me, Hal?” I manage a small smile.

“You shouldn’t harm yourself like that.” I feel him eyeing my arm again.

When I remain silent, he speaks. “Mr. Montgomery is upset, seeing you like that was hard for him.”

I find it very hard to believe. Is it possible that Damian is truly affected by my fainting?

No. I don’t think so. It’s hard for me to believe that he cares after what just happened. Shaking my head, I maneuver around him to proceed down the hall when he stops me.

“Don’t go looking for something you might regret finding. Some things are better left uncovered.”

I’ve always known Hal’s loyalty is unwavering, but could it be that his loyalty is blinding him? Is it possible he can’t see that Damian could be wrong, too? From the way he spoke, it seems like there’s more he knows—things that directly involve me. Things that, according to him, could make me regret digging too deep.

“I have nothing left than regrets. It’s only fair to know than to be in the dark.”

With that, I descend to the first floor.

I walk through the long hallway toward his office. As soon as I reach it, my feet halt of their own accord.

The intimidating door stands before me, a formidable barrier made of dark, polished mahogany. I raise my fist to knock but then pause before it could connect the hard surface. I’ve never interrupted him whenever he was in the office and often waited for him to come out. He doesn’t like to be bothered when he’s in his space, working.

But this is a different circumstance and I have the right to demand some time from his tight schedule to have a serious conversation that involves our future.

So I take the bull by the horns and open the door.

The luxurious office that stretches before me exudes power. The walls made entirely of glass offer uninterrupted views of our sprawling estate beyond.

In one corner, the glass walls reveal the motor court, where his sleek, expensive collection of cars stand like works of art. Damian is sitting behind the desk that occupies the center of the room. Its polished surface gleams under the soft, warm glow of LED lighting built within Italian lacquer-finished cabinetry that lines one wall.

The familiar scent of the smoke reaches my nose and I frown. I had no idea he’d started smoking again, or maybe he never really stopped.

He’s studying a file with a deep frown on his face. He still hasn’t noticed me. Watching him smoke stirs a memory within me, making me squirm.

Damian takes a final drag then kills the half-finished cigarette in the ashtray on the desk distractedly. The way he does it, with a certain kind of intensity, is captivating in itself. Then, as if he can’t resist the urge for another drag, he pulls out another cigarette and slides it to the corner of his lips with a smooth, almost seductive motion.

My breathing changes and before I could suppress my reaction, his eyes snap up to me. With the cigarette still hanging from his lips, he finally breaks the silence. “What are you doing here?”

“You have my phone.”

Instead of answering me, he reaches for the lighter on the desk, never breaking eye contact with me. The flame flickers to life, casting a warm glow on his face as he leans in to ignite the fresh cigarette.

He’s doing this on purpose, deliberately making me wait, intentionally dragging out the silence, delaying the conversation just to get under my skin.

After he lights the cigarette, he takes a long, slow drag, allowing the tip to glow a bright orange before he exhales. The smoke billows out from his lips as he leans back in his chair, still watching me.

Despite his relaxed and nonchalant posture, I can’t ignore the cold fury lurking in his eyes.

When I ask about my phone again through gritted teeth, he just watches me. After several beats, he finally lifts his hand, cigarette still between his fingers, and gestures toward the desk.

I quickly notice my phone, its lavender case clearly visible on the desk.

My brow furrows. I pause for a second, unsure of what he’s playing at. After everything that went down earlier, why would he give me my phone back so easily? But I don’t waste time questioning it—I reach for it and grab it.

There are several missed calls and text messages from Summer, all filled with concern about my safety. Without hesitation, I start typing a message to let her know that I’m safe and sound.

“Are you really?” My husband’s voice startles me from behind, and I jump in surprise. I hadn’t even noticed him leave his chair, let alone come over to stand behind me and read what I’d typed.

He snatches my phone from my hand.

I freeze, my heart sinking. “What are you doing?” I demand, panic creeping into my voice as I watch him type on my phone.

He doesn’t answer, his focus entirely on the screen. I try to grab the phone back, but he steps back out of my reach.

“What the hell, Damian? Why are you acting like a child?”

In an instant, he’s right there, he grips the back of my neck, forcing my head to tilt up. “And what the hell were you doing earlier, hmm?” His voice is icy, his expression colder.

He leans in closer, his breath a chilling whisper. “You know what’s really childish, angel? Ripping the drip from your arm and making yourself bleed just because things weren’t going your way. Now, that is childish.”

The area covered in bandage begin to throb at his reminder. “I didn’t mean to,” I murmur, my voice tinged with regret. “I wasn’t in my senses. But you don’t care, so it doesn’t matter anyway.”

In a cutting tone, he says, “Impulsive as always.” He releases me as if touching me contaminated him. “Some things never change, do they? You were never the one to think things through. Like going after me even when I showed no interest.”

I flinch at the reminder of how crazy I was for him. Something inside me aches as he mocks my love.

“Don’t tell her. I don’t want to worry her,” I admit quietly.

“Oh, how noble of you,” he taunts, and I tremble at the open contempt on his face. “Always thinking of others.”

“Please stop.”

Throwing my phone on the desk, he takes hold of my upper arms and yanks me toward him. “Stop what?” His grip tightens painfully, and I flinch as fingers bite into my skin. “Why did you hurt yourself?” he interrogates, his face inches from mine. His eyes blaze with fury, scanning my face.

When I don’t say anything, he shakes me.

I swallow hard, struggling to find the right words. How can I make him understand the pain I’ve been going through? How do I tell him that when it comes to him, I completely lose myself and become this woman who’s forever starved for his adoration? How do I tell him that I love him more than life itself? So much so that my wellbeing doesn’t matter.

When he accused me of jumping to conclusions and running away without talking to him first, a small hope ignited inside me.

I thought maybe my suspicions were baseless. That maybe, just maybe, there was a glimmer of the man I used to love left in him.

But all I see now is the man who despises me.

Tears well up in my eyes as I struggle to explain, “I wasn’t... I thought—”

He cuts me off. “You thought what? That hurting yourself would solve anything?”

He doesn’t get it. He never will. “Why do you even care?” I finally snap, my voice filled with frustration.

“I don’t,” he declares coldly, releasing me. His icy tone sends shivers down my spine.

The man I married is gone, replaced by this heartless stranger. Or maybe he was like this from the beginning but I was blind.

“Then give me a divorce,” I say, weakly. A plea for freedom, for a way out of this suffocating relationship.

A dangerous glint shines in his black eyes. “That’ll never happen in this lifetime.”

My heart sinks. He’s not going to let me go, and the realization is like a lead weight pressing down on me.

“You can’t keep me here against my wishes!”

With a chilling certainty, he says, “I can, and I will.”

I stumble back, the words rattling through me.

“How long do you expect me to continue living like this, trapped in a loveless marriage?” Desolation fills me as I utter those words.

“For as long as I see fit. Try to run or harm yourself again, and your best friend—the one you hold so dear? I’ll make sure she suffers, right in front of you.”

My blood runs cold. “Y-you c-can’t do that.”

“Can’t I?” He tilts his head.

He’s literally threatening me with Summer’s wellbeing. Summer, the one person who’s always been there for me, is now a pawn in his cruel game. I have to protect her, even if it means enduring this torment myself.

For now, I have nothing compared to what he has—the resources, the power at his fingertips. Trying to fight him would only leave me and the people I care about hurt beyond repair.

I can only hope that I can shield the people I care about from his malevolence. And in order to attain that, I’ll have to obey him and wait until I can find a way out of this mess.

“Fine. I will stay.”

“That was never an option for you to agree on,” he grips my chin and lifts it. “I mean it, River. If you ever even think about hurting yourself again, I will make your best friend’s life a living hell and enjoy every second of it.”

I pale. I feel a cold sweat break out along my skin as I swallow hard. Then I think of what he said earlier about Dad. So I gather my courage and ask the questions that’s haunting me, “Damian, would you tell me what my dad did to you?”

The moment I mention Dad he shuts down completely, a wall of ice settling over his features. The room feels colder, more oppressive. It’s obvious he has no intention of discussing this any further; his outburst earlier was as much as he’s willing to reveal. But I can’t back down now. I need answers. I don’t know when I’ll find the courage to bring this up again, so I might as well ask now, even if my heart is pounding in my chest.

“I’ve agreed to your demands,” I tell him. “But don’t you think I should know why I am in this predicament to begin with?”

No answer.

“Did you marry me because of my father?” I ask anyway, my voice trembling slightly.

His silence is the subtle, harsh agreement that hangs in the air like a heavy cloud. My lower lip trembles when I see that his expression is filled with distaste.

“But you want me.” I’m sure of that fact. I’ve always seen naked want in his eyes for me. It can’t be faked.

“I have an insatiable sexual appetite and you were always available.” His words hit me like a slap and my eyes fill with tears. Swallowing thickly, I nod in dismay.

It feels like he’s purposely hurting me just for bringing up my father. It’s awful. Just awful and so painful to hear someone you love say such things to you.

I try hard to keep my emotions in check but a tear slides down my cheek. His eyes follow the tear’s progress and his jaw clenches. I wipe it quickly. But I’m horrified when another tear escapes. So I avert my face.

That’s when my gaze lands on a black invitation card resting on his desk. Just to do something with my trembling hands, I reach for it.

The invitation card is sleek, black with elegant, silver embossing. In the upper corner, there’s an intricately engraved emblem representing the mental health charity hosting the gala. Beneath the emblem, in bold silver letters, is Damian’s name as one of the prominent attendees.

I read the date and realize that it’s four days from now. It sparks an idea. I turn back to him, my voice shaking but determined. “Damian, I have one request.”

He’s silent for a moment, likely trying to make sense of how I can go from crying to asking for something in the span of just a minute.

“What is it?”

“I’d like to go with you.” I hold the invitation up.

The room remains tense as I hold his gaze. He studies me for what feels like an eternity, his expression unreadable. Finally, he breaks the silence, his voice gruff, “Why?”

“I want to go because I’m tired of being isolated,” I say. “I want to be a part of the world again, to breathe and live like a normal person. I don’t want to live like a prisoner anymore.”

It’s not just about freedom. I can’t tell him that I need it to find a way out, to plan my escape. I have to be careful with every word I say because I know he's watching, listening closely.

“Do you really think you’re in any position to make demands?”

I meet his gaze with determination. “If this is how you’re going to treat me, I’ll end up being nothing but a hollow version of who I was—just going through the motions, following orders, without feeling a damn thing. I’m already halfway there. Is that really what you want? Because if you keep this up, that’s all you’ll get.”

He strides over to his chair, his shoulders stiff. My words clearly hit a nerve. Damian may hate me, but he’s not stupid. If he really did marry me for revenge, turning me into a hollow version of myself would defeat the purpose—it would ruin his revenge. He wouldn’t find satisfaction in my suffering if I stopped feeling it altogether. And deep down he knows that.

“You want me in your life for as long as you want? Fine. You want me to stop hurting myself? Done. You want me to never run away? All right. I’ll obey. But you’re going to have to agree to a few of my conditions first.”

Leaning back in his chair, he looks at me with a cold, calculating gaze, his voice cutting through the tension. “So, what are your conditions?”

I take a deep breath, summoning all my courage. “I should be given the freedom to talk to my best friend,” I say. “And I want to go out of the house. This could be the start.” I motion toward the invite in my hand.

His eyes narrow. “So you can just run off again?”

I meet his gaze head-on. “How could I possibly do that when you’ve threatened my best friend’s life? And didn’t I make it clear that I won’t run? I remember you saying you’d punish your guards and their families if I did. I won’t ever put others in harm’s way, you know that.”

He studies me for several beats, then finally concedes. “Very well. But you’ll have a security detail following you at all times.”

I nod begrudgingly, knowing it’s the best compromise I can hope for at this point. Then, “And what about the gala?”

“Why are you so pressed about this particular gala?”

I shrug. “This feels like the perfect chance to start.” Then, “Things will change now,” I murmur to myself.

“Is that right?” He stares at me, almost like he’s challenging me.

I hold his stare, not backing down. “Yes. I am your wife .” He treated me like his dirty little secret. Like a mistress. Eager to bed but never willing to show off. “I think it’s time you start treating me like one.”