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Chapter Thirty-Seven

Present

I hit call again and wait. Come on. Pick up. Please. My leg bounces in a restless rhythm as the silence drags on, the ringing growing louder in my ear. When it cuts off with no answer, disappointment presses down on my chest. I lower the phone slowly, staring at the name on the screen like it might magically change something if I just keep looking.

Summer.

Just seeing her name stirs something warm in me, something that makes the emptiness hurt a little less. But she’s probably busy. She’s always got her hands full—juggling jobs, racing from one thing to the next. I know that, but still, it doesn’t stop the ache that settles in deeper. I needed this. I needed her.

It’s hard. Especially when the memories creep back. They hit me out of nowhere sometimes, these jagged, painful shards of the past that cut me open and leave me bleeding. They hit hard, especially when I least expect them.

Summer doesn’t know about the wreckage of my past. About Damian. My marriage. But talking to her always makes it easier to bear. There’s a comfort in her voice, even when she’s just rambling on about her day or singing praises of her cute pup. She doesn’t need to know the details of my heartbreak to soothe it. Her words, her voice help quiet the storm inside me, at least for a little while.

I stare across the room, my gaze settling on Vicky as she moves between a group of teens, guiding them through the preparations for the upcoming art fest this weekend. Every few seconds, I notice her gaze flick over to me, assessing, making sure I’m okay. Always on alert, even when she is engaged in an activity.

Vicky’s become more than just someone tasked with my protection. She’s earned my trust. I know I could share anything with her, let her in on the darkest corners of my life, and she’d guard it as fiercely as she guards me.

But even with that trust, I can’t talk to her about my past. As much as I want to confide in her, I hold back. I have to. Not because I doubt her loyalty, but because I care about her too much to put her in that position.

I’ve seen how Hal operates. I know she’d never spill a word of what I tell her, but if Hal or my husband ever found out we are close, they wouldn’t hesitate to make her life hell. Interrogations. Accusations. The constant threat of being dragged into something beyond her control. She’d be caught in the crossfire, facing consequences she doesn’t deserve.

The last thing I want is for her to become a target of their wrath just because of her loyalty to me. I refuse to let her be put in a position where her silence could cost her.

I walk over to Vicky. “I’ll be downstairs,” I tell her.

Immediately, her brows knit together, and she steps forward like she’s about to follow me. But I stop her. “I’m safe, Vicky. I’m not leaving the center, I promise. Trust me?”

She hesitates before she relents. “Keep your phone on you, okay?”

Right. The phone. I glance at it. One might think, I am free. After all, I started going out. Have a phone I can use anytime. Right? Wrong. The device is being monitored, tracking my every move. The only reason I still have it is because I’ve played by Damian’s rules, only ever contacting Vicky or Summer. No outside calls, no internet access. Just a false sense of freedom in the palm of my hand.

“Ring me if you need anything. I’ll be down to check on you in a few anyway.”

I roll my eyes playfully, trying to lighten the moment. “You don’t have to check on me every five seconds, Vicky. I’m not going anywhere.” As I say it, I can’t shake the tightening in my chest by how real those words are.

I turn to leave, the forced smile slipping from my face as soon as I’m out of her sight.

Love makes you foolish. How na?ve I was to believe his grand gesture on my engagement day was a token of love?

My father might have been wrong to lock me away, but in the end, wasn’t he right? Choosing Damian has brought me nothing but heartache. And that truth is hard to swallow.

In the span of a few days after my wedding, I went from being the happiest woman alive—married, glowing, utterly in love to becoming a hollow shell of a woman whose life had been reduced to waiting.

Waiting for her husband to return from yet another business trip. Waiting for more than just his fleeting attention in the bedroom. Waiting for him to follow through on those date nights I used to plan with so much excitement, only to watch them slip by, one by one, because he never showed.

I blink rapidly, fighting the sting of tears threatening to spill over. No. Not here. Not now. I force myself to focus on helping the volunteers to manage the group gathered downstairs for today’s art session. Maybe if I dive into the task at hand, the memories will stop gnawing at me.

For the next few minutes, I busy myself by distributing the supplies to everyone. In my haste, I drop the brushes I was carrying. I bend to pick them up. Just as I am about to straighten, a small hand tugs on a strand of my curls. I glance up and see a sweet little boy, no more than three, with dark hair and wide innocent eyes staring up at me, a playful smile tugging at his lips.

Instantly the community center around me vanishes and I am back at the mansion. In front of me I see my past-self standing in front of Damian. I see myself, shyly asking him. “When do you think we’ll try for kids?”

He had insisted on the birth control shots as soon as we were married. And I wanted kids. I always adored them. And now that I was married, I didn’t want to wait. So I approached him with the subject.

Instead of the warmth I’d imagined, I got coldness. “We’re newlyweds. And you’re still too young.” His words were clinical, detached, like I was making some foolish request. And though I accepted his answer back then, I now know it wasn’t just about timing. It wasn’t about us being newly married. He simply didn’t want it.

Because after that day, he made sure to personally keep track of the shots. Now that I think back, I can’t help but conclude he simply never wanted me to have his kids. Maybe that was another one of his rejections.

I’m brought back to the present when the boy tugs at my curl again. His chubby fingers hold onto my hair like it’s the most fascinating thing in the world.

My breath catches in my throat, my heart seizing with an intensity I can’t control. The dam I’ve been desperately trying to hold back shatters.

His mother appears, rushing over to scoop him up. “I’m so sorry! I knew bringing him here wasn’t the best idea. He’s always getting into trouble—” Her voice fades into nothing as a loud ringing fills my ears. I can’t hear her anymore, can’t see anything but the little boy she holds in her arms.

A wave of grief crashes over me, too strong, too sudden. The ache of wanting something I know I’ll never have claws its way through my chest. I try to speak, to offer some polite excuse, but my throat is tight, strangling any words before they form.

“Excuse me,” I manage, my voice barely above a whisper. I turn on trembling legs, stumbling away as fast as I can, the tears spilling freely now.

I barely make it to the storage room before I’m sobbing. I push farther into the storage room. I find a corner and sink to the cold floor, my back hitting the wall with a dull thud.

I cover my face with my hands, as if I can somehow block out the memories that don’t just hurt, they shred me from the inside.

Why does it hurt so much? My chest feels like it’s caving in. I swallow hard, pressing my palms against my chest as if I could somehow stop the ache.

The sobs come harder, shaking my body as I sit there, curled up in the dark.

I wipe at my cheeks, but the tears keep falling. I’m so tired of being this version of myself. This broken, hollow thing. I used to be someone. Someone who believed in love. Who believed in happiness. And now, I’m someone who cries all the time because the past refuses to fade.

Most of the time, it’s anger that keeps me standing. It’s sharp and burns through the pain, making me feel like I’m still in control of something, anything. Bitterness. That too gives me purpose, strength. But then, grief sneaks in, slipping through the cracks of my heart when I’m too tired to fight it. And that’s when I fall apart. That’s when I’m weak all over again.

It’s grief and the heartbreak that make me feel small, pathetic even. Like now, sitting here, crumbling under the weight of the questions that always come back.

Why can’t he love me? Was money and power all Damian ever cared about?

Was I just another piece on his chessboard? A pawn he could use without a second thought in his rivalry with my father?

If I keep pretending, if I keep letting him use me, if I keep sharing his bed, letting him take everything from me without asking for anything in return, not even the chance to have his child, would that change things? Would he come to love me then?

I hate myself for even considering such bargain. Such questions rip my dignity to shreds. They make me feel pathetic. Like I’m not worth anything.

I’ve cried so much it’s become second nature. But the ache in my chest? It never heals. It always feels fresh, like it’s cutting me open for the first time, over and over again.

“River…”

The voice snaps me out of my spiral, and my body goes rigid. Slowly, I look up, finding Matt standing there, his eyes full of concern. “Hey, what’s going on?”

Shame floods my veins. I quickly wipe at my eyes, trying to pull myself together, but it’s too late. He’s already seen everything.

“I-I just needed a minute,” I glance at the shelves filled with supplies, hoping to find some sort of excuse, but nothing comes.

Matt doesn’t buy it for a second. He kneels down in front of me, his gaze searching my face, worry etched into every line of his features. “River, talk to me. What’s really going on? Is this about that waitress from last night?”

Melissa didn’t even cross my mind. Her attack, and her words didn’t really get to me because she was always like that. How do I tell him I am crying over my husband, my marriage?

“I don’t know, Matt,” I whisper, lowering my head. “I don’t know where to start.”

Matt lets out a long breath, sitting down beside me. He stretches his legs out, leaning back against the wall. He’s quiet for a moment, giving me space. I can feel his blue eyes on me.

“Stop staring,” I mumble.

“How do I do that when you look so beautiful even when you cry?”

I lift my tear-drenched eyelids and stare at him. Expecting to see his signature smirk but all I find is sincerity. He reaches out and gently wipes my tears. My throat tightens. The action makes me cry again.

Matt swears under his breath before pulling me into his side, wrapping an arm around my shoulders as he rests his chin on top of my head. His voice is soft as he speaks soothing words while I cry silently.

I close my eyes, leaning into his warmth, letting his words wash over me. For the first time in what feels like forever, I allow myself to be comforted. To let someone else take some of the weight off my shoulders.

“Do you want to talk about it?” he asks quietly.

I shake my head. But somehow, things pour out of my mouth the next second, “I just don’t want to feel like this anymore,” I whisper, my voice cracking.

Matt tightens his arm around me. “Then you have to get it out.”

“What?” I ask weakly.

“I can tell something’s eating at you. You shouldn’t keep it buried inside for long. It’s not healthy. You can talk to me.” When I remain silent, he says, “Please, River.”

I pull away slightly, looking up at him with a forced smile. “I wish it were that simple.”

Brushing a strand of hair away from my face, he says, “You smile even when you’re hurting, did you know that? Everyone else might be fooled, but I can see the truth in your eyes.”

I pull away completely and sit straighter. “What do you mean?”

“Your eyes. When you pretend and hide your pain with those smiles, your eyes lose their brightness, turning into a shadowy green. And though it takes my breath away every time with how beautiful they are, it pains me to see you hide like this.”

I gasp. “You’re so direct.”

He shrugs, a rueful smile touching his lips. “It wasn’t easy becoming the person I am today.”

When I keep gazing at him questioningly, he looks away. “Pretending only makes the pain worse.”

Matt’s always been the type to fill silence with easy conversation, the kind of guy who makes everyone around him feel at ease. But there’s something raw in his voice when he said that, something he doesn’t show often.

“You say it as if you’re speaking from experience.”

Silence stretches between us for a beat. I half expect him to change the subject, to try to cheer me up with his usual laid-back charm, but when he speaks again, his tone is different—more serious. “Yeah, you can say that.”

He exhales, leaning his head back against the wall, his eyes distant for a moment, like he’s lost in some old memory. “I was seven when I was sent off to boarding school in London.”

“Why?” I can’t help but ask.

“I was just a kid in the wrong place at the wrong time. My mom raised me on her own, and when her employer offered to send me to boarding school, covering everything, she jumped at the chance. She thought it would give me a better life.”

“Did it?”

He just gives me a rueful smile. “For my first whole year there, I didn’t talk. To anyone. Refused to even take my mother’s calls.”

I don’t know what to say. The thought of young Matt, alone in a strange place, dealing with something that had ripped his world apart. “Was it because you didn’t want to go?”

He shakes his head. “No, it wasn’t that. I was actually relieved to leave the States behind. It felt like an escape.”

“But this isn’t about me,” he says suddenly. “I brought it up to encourage you to share, too. Keeping everything inside will only tear you apart. What saved me was learning to let go, talking to others, and finding support. It helped me move on.”

I try to make up an excuse but he puts a finger against my lips. “I get it, you know? Pretending everything’s fine because it’s easier than dealing with the truth. But it’s not… it doesn’t make it hurt any less.” His voice softens. “You don’t have to pretend with me.”

I close my eyes, the weight of his words sinking into me. “My husband’s back,” I finally whisper, my voice barely audible.

Matt doesn’t react at first, but I feel him shift slightly beside me. “Is that why you’re hiding in here?”

“It’s complicated.”

He doesn’t say anything but I can feel his quiet encouragement in the silence.

I take a shaky breath, my fingers trembling as I clasp them together in my lap.

I share the truth about my marriage, keeping the details vague. I tell him Damian and I aren’t close; how he’s always away on business trips, rarely making time for me. I mention my dad’s rivalry with him, how it ruined everything. How I defied my dad’s wishes by marrying Damian and lost all contact with him.

I finally explain about my connection with Melissa. How seeing her at the club shocked me. As her father was dad’s business partner then my father’s empire is probably falling apart too.

“And now I don’t even know if he’s okay, if he’s healthy, or if everything he built is crumbling. I wouldn’t even know where to start.”

“Do you want to find out how he’s doing? I can help you with that.”

The thought of Matt going out of his way to help me feels comforting.

“I’d like that even though I wouldn’t know what to do even if I had the answers,” I admit, my voice trembling. “It’s not like I can contact him. He hates me.”

Besides, Damian would be very upset if he caught wind of me going behind his back contacting Dad.

He leans in, his gaze suddenly fierce. “Hate? That’s impossible. You’re far too sweet for anyone to hate you. Even if your father is angry, it doesn’t change what you mean to him. Love doesn’t just vanish, especially not for someone as unforgettable as you.” He pauses, his eyes softening. “Trust me, there are people who see your worth, even if you can’t. You’re not just someone who can be overlooked.”

I blink in surprise, my cheeks warming at his words. When he keeps staring, I glance away, trying to gather my thoughts, feeling the heat of my blush intensify.

Probably sensing the tension in the room, he chuckles softly. “You know, your blush is really competing with the color of my shirt.”

I snap my head in his direction and notice his red button up shirt for the first time. I can’t help but let out a soft laugh.

“But seriously, you’re not alone in this,” he continues, sobering. “I’m here, and together we’ll figure everything out. I’ll help you every way I can.”

“Thank you.” I give him a smile, genuine instead of forced this time. And he smiles back.

Matt helps me to my feet and I’m surprised by his hand on my back, steadying me as I step into the hallway.

When Iris and her group of volunteers spot me, a jolt of tension races through me. I might look somewhat composed, but I’m nowhere near ready to explain my red, swollen eyes.

Matt acts swiftly, stepping in to divert their attention. In no time, they’re heading off in the opposite direction, leaving me relieved.

He catches my gaze and smiles. “Let’s head to the break room. We both need a strong dose of caffeine right now.”

I nod, but curiosity gets the better of me. “What did you say to make them leave so fast?”

He chuckles, his eyes sparkling with mischief. “I told them the art fest banner had arrived, but they messed up the sponsors’ names.”

I stop in my tracks. “You did not…”

He bursts into laughter. “Oh, I absolutely did! Now, come on, let’s find Victoria before she starts accusing me of kidnapping you.”

“Why would she accuse you?” I ask, puzzled.

“Because the moment I walked in, I hunted her down and asked for you. That’s how I ended up tracking you down in the storage room.”

“Thanks again… for earlier,” I say, my voice softening. “I really appreciate it. I—”

“River?”

Both our heads spin around and I freeze at the sight of Damian standing few feet away. Dressed in black sweater and dark wash jeans.

My mouth goes dry and my heart skips a beat. I have no idea what’s more shocking, him coming to the community center or the casual outfit he is sporting.

Laura stands beside Damian, her voice lively as she talks to him enthusiastically. In fact, the entire room is fixated on him. And why wouldn’t they be? Tall, commanding, and exuding an aura that dares anyone to challenge him, he’s impossible to ignore.

“Vicky told me you were with the volunteer group on the first floor. But you were nowhere to be found.”

Just behind him, Vicky, who is ghostly white, looks like she’s about to pass out. She stands stiff as a board, her face turned downward. Her lips are rolled between her teeth like she’s afraid even a breath might set Damian off. Hal stands to her right, stoic and unreadable.

Completely oblivious to the thick tension in the air, Anne—the moody teen—strolls up. “You’re here for volunteering?” she asks, not waiting for an answer as she blathers on. “You can be my partner for today’s session if you want.”

When Damian doesn’t even glance her way, her face turns a deep shade of red. Patricia practically flies over, grabbing Anne by the elbow and pulling her back, saving her from embarrassing herself further.

“What? I was just trying to have a friendly chat!”

A nervous giggle bubbles up my throat but the second I look at Damian, it dies.

Without a word, he extends his hand to me.

After bluntly kicking me out of the home office because I refused sex, he has the audacity to come here and stake his claim.

I want to shove that hand away, to throw his arrogance back in his face and remind him that I’m not some possession he can control on a whim. But I don’t. I can’t. Damian holds my freedom in his grasp, and we both know it. If I push too hard, he’ll tighten his hold. He can clip the wings I’ve only just started to spread, without a second thought.

With hesitant steps, I move toward him. Déjà vu hits me hard when, instead of taking my hand, Damian’s arm snakes around my waist.

When his possessively splayed fingers beneath my breast move in an intimate caress, I shoot him a startled glance and find him already watching me. He holds my gaze with a silent challenge.

My brow furrows in confusion but then it hits me. I start to pull back as he lowers his head but it’s too late. He takes my mouth in a dominating kiss. His tongue plunges between my lips and I tremble violently. His free hand fists my curls painfully, holding me in place as he deepens the kiss, consuming me in front of everyone.

Each and every person I work with can see us. The thought makes me stiffen.

My face turns bright red when Damian breaks the kiss with an unashamed groan of intense satisfaction.

Then he lifts his head and speaks, “Introduce me, angel.”

I swallow hard, my chest heaving, and follow his gaze to where Matt stands. His face is tight with barely concealed fury, his jaw ticking.

And then it all makes sense. Damian didn’t kiss me for me—he kissed me for Matt.

My heart thunders painfully in my chest as I force out the words. “Matt, this is Damian Montgomery.” When his fingers dig into my skin, I add flatly, “My husband.”

Watching the sheer pleasure gleam in Damian’s dark eyes makes my blood boil. How dare he? That kiss wasn’t for me—it was a show. A cold, calculated move to stake his claim in front of Matt and everyone else. Fury surges within me. I want to shove him away, scream at him for using me like that. But I can’t. Not here. Not with everyone watching. So I swallow the anger, letting it settle like a stone in my gut, my jaw clenched so tightly it aches.

Matt holds my gaze for a moment longer, pain flashing in his eyes before he nods stiffly. “Matthew Lane.”

Damian barely acknowledges him, his focus still on me, as if the introduction was nothing more than a formality. With a firm tug, he pulls me closer, steering me toward the door. “River is going home.” He carelessly throws it in the direction of Laura who is only too happy to accommodate him.

“Let’s go,” he murmurs, his voice low and threatening. “You’re in trouble,” he informs me as he picks me up and dumps me inside the car.

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