Chapter Thirty-Eight

Past

I sneak a glance at Damian, sitting beside me in the back of his Rolls Royce. He’s so breathtaking, every angle of his face chiseled like a masterpiece I could never tire of studying. I could spend hours tracing every curve, every hard line of his face, letting my fingers memorize the places my lips crave to touch.

I bite my lip, fighting the urge to reach out, to close the space between us and touch him. I ache to mold my body against his, resting my head on his broad chest, where I know the steady beat of his heart would soothe me. My fingers itch to trace the sharp line of his nose, then glide down to his lips, soft yet strong, before cupping his now stubbled jaw.

But sadly, I can’t. He’s on a business call, his deep voice vibrating through the confines of the car, authoritative and cool.

He’s dressed impeccably, as always, in a perfectly tailored suit that fits him like a second skin. Even sitting still, he’s every bit the man who holds the world in the palm of his hand. He doesn’t even have to try, and yet he dominates every space, every moment.

I squint playfully and lift my hand, letting my finger hover in the air as I trace his sharp nose, the sweep of his brow, the curve of his lips, all without touching him. It’s my own private indulgence, knowing he can’t feel me, but I still get to drink him in. My smile is soft as I reach his mouth, imagining the feel of it under my fingertips.

My eyes drift over my hand, catching the glint of the diamond on my finger, the eight-carat cushion-cut ring and the wedding band sitting right beneath it.

The platinum band is soft and beautiful. But the diamond ring is massive and kind of overwhelming, but it’s mine. Because he gave it to me. And what’s more, it means I belong to him now, in a way no one else ever could.

I’m his.

I’m his wife.

The thought sends a warm shiver through me, a slow heat that settles in my chest and wraps around my heart. That makes him my husband.

My husband.

Damian Montgomery, the love of my life, my first kiss, my first and only crush, the man of my dreams is my husband.

Never in my wildest dreams did I imagine this moment—me, married at twenty-one, sitting next to the man who now owns every inch of me, body and soul. And it happened so fast. Yesterday, I turned twenty-one. Today, I’m wearing a ring that marks me as his forever.

A soft smile blooms onto my face as I slide off my sandals and tuck my legs beneath me. Once comfortable, I lean back against the leather seat, staring out the window. Even the afternoon sun seems brighter today.

I’d always thought my wedding would include a stunning white dress, a long aisle, Dad walking me down it with tears in his eyes, leading me toward a smiling groom who looks at me like I’m his entire world. I thought there’d be flowers, vows exchanged, a moment that felt like a fairy tale.

But there was no dress. No flowers. No aisle. There was no bouquet, no bridesmaids, no tearful farewells.

Instead, I wore jeans and a light green sweater. Because we had a civil ceremony. And though it wasn’t the wedding I envisioned, this is so much more than that fantasy. His presence alone is more than I ever thought I could have.

I glance at him again, my heart swelling as the truth settles deep within me.

I know, without a doubt, I wouldn’t trade this reality for any dream wedding. Not for the grandest gown, the most extravagant bouquet, or the aisle lined with roses. Because this... this is what we fought for. Every painful moment, every tear, every battle that nearly tore us apart, led us here. And I wouldn’t change a single thing.

I touch the rings and shudder as I remember what happened last night. Because last night was war.

After leaving with Damian last night, everything spiraled into chaos. He brought us back to the mansion, where the paparazzi were already swarming, their cameras flashing.

Hal and his team had to push through, forming a shield around us as we made our way inside. The weight of their stares was suffocating, their words crass but Damian, with his hand gripping mine, anchored me. He was my strength.

But even their cutting remarks couldn’t compare to what came later.

My father.

He showed up an hour later, his expression colder than ice. In the past ten days when I was forced to live with him, I witnessed his disappointment, anger and even bitterness. But last night? Last night was different. When he saw me sitting beside Damian, his hand possessively draped over my knee, Dad’s eyes were full of disgust. As if I’d tainted myself just by choosing him.

That’s when I knew, he didn’t come to wish me well or to offer peace. No, he came to try and pull me back, one last time. His voice was hard, unyielding as he stared down at me. “This is your last chance to fix this, River. You’re making the biggest mistake of your life.”

I couldn’t speak. I just sat there, silent, my heart aching, knowing he wouldn’t understand, that nothing would change even if I tried. I was scared. I was trembling, couldn’t really meet dad’s eyes because I knew he was capable of dragging me back and locking me up.

But Damian’s thumb stroked my knee softly, grounding me, reminding me that I was safe. That I was doing the right thing by choosing him.

“He’s using you to get to me!” Dad’s voice had thundered in the room.

I jumped but Damian didn’t even flinch. His response was a soft, mocking drawl. “Pretty rich coming from the man who tried to sell his daughter off in a business deal.”

Dad’s face had twisted in rage at that. He lunged forward as if he wanted to hit Damian. But Hal was there, his solid frame standing between them before Dad could even get close.

I dropped my gaze, unable to look at him being manhandled and disrespected like that.

“You’re going to regret marrying him,” Dad spat, as he turned his fury on me.

“I love him,” I whispered.

Dad scoffed, his eyes narrowing as he stared at me like he didn’t even recognize me anymore. “And does he love you?” His words are sharp enough to cut. “Did you ask if it’s love that brought him to you, or was it my empire? You’re my sole heir, River. Don’t you think it’s a little too convenient?”

For a moment, I couldn’t breathe. It stung, even though I knew it wasn’t true. But that’s how Dad saw it—everything through the lens of business, of power. I wasn’t his daughter anymore. I was a pawn that he thought Damian had taken from him.

That’s when Damian stood, his stance radiating danger. “I think it’s time for you to leave, Mr. Gibson,” he said, his voice full of authority.

Dad’s face hardened. He turned toward me one last time. “If you marry him, you’re dead to me.”

I broke. The tears I’d been holding back fell, hot and fast.

I could barely breathe, my heart tearing apart at the finality of his tone. My throat burned as I forced myself to speak. “Don’t do this, Dad. Don’t make me choose. Please…”

His eyes flickered for the briefest of moments, and for a second, I thought I saw pain in them. But it was gone just as quickly. “You already have,” he said, turning away, his back rigid as he walked to the door and just like that, the man I once called my father walked out of my life.

That night, I cried myself to sleep. My heart felt like it was splitting apart, one half clinging to Damian, the other bleeding for the father I’d lost. But Damian’s surprise this morning lifted up my spirits. We were to marry today.

And now, here we are, driving back to the mansion. The civil ceremony is done, and I’m his wife. But the heaviness in my chest hasn’t left. I have no family, no friends, no one to share this moment with. There’s no one to offer congratulations, no one to celebrate with. But somehow, despite all of that, I don’t feel alone.

I steal another look at Damian, my husband. My family. Because that’s what he is now. All I have left.

As if sensing my gaze, Damian turns his head and our eyes meet. My heart lifts, the sadness momentarily forgotten, and I offer him a soft smile.

He doesn’t smile back.

It wouldn’t be the first time he didn’t, given Damian rarely smiles. But something about the coldness in his gaze makes my smile falter.

Is he still upset about the paparazzi? They were relentless outside the registrar’s office, hurling cruel accusations at us. Questions about how Damian and I supposedly carried on a ‘forbidden affair’ behind Edward’s back.

They were merciless. Disgust dripped from their voices when they asked me how it felt to be disowned, reduced to nothing because of my rebellious move. And worst of all, the insinuations that Damian was a gold-digger, that he’d seduced an heiress for power, for wealth.

The memory makes me wince.

I scoot closer, ignoring the way his body stiffens as I lift his heavy arm—the one holding the phone—and wedge myself between it and his chest. I need to feel him, need to hold him.

“I’m sorry,” I murmur into his chest, hoping he’ll feel how much I mean it. “I never wanted you to go through all that. It’s not fair.” My arms wrap around his waist, trying to pull him in, to offer some kind of comfort, but his body remains stiff, unmoving. I wait, expecting him to hug me back to give me some sort of reassurance, but nothing comes.

I pull back just enough to glance up and see his phone is no longer to his ear. He’s not even on a call anymore.

“What can I do?” I ask softly, my hand gently cupping his jaw. I lean in to nuzzle the familiar warmth of his neck, needing the connection, but before I can get too close, his hand comes up, firm yet gentle, pushing me back.

I blink, surprised by the gesture, my chest tightening.

His hand retracts, but I reach for it, holding on. When I feel his bare ring finger, my heart drops. He removed his wedding band.

“It was tight,” he says, pulling his hand free from mine. “I need to get it resized.”

“Oh, okay.” The absence of that ring feels more significant than it should. As if I belong to him, but he is still not entirely mine. As soon as the thought creeps in, I shake it off, reminding myself what he’d done for me. The rings, arranging the civil ceremony—it was all planned while I was trapped at my father’s, held against my will. If that’s not love, then what is? He couldn’t wait to make me his wife. He loves me, I remind myself. He wouldn’t have gone through all that if he didn’t.

I offer another smile, desperate to change the mood. “Are you hungry?” I ask, my voice lighter, almost hopeful. “I could make something for you. I’ve been learning, you know… I might even surprise you with—”

The car slows to a stop, the familiar sight of the mansion coming into view.

“Go inside. I need to go to the office. The PR team needs to be handled. Damage control.”

I blink, stunned by his tone. Damian had never been like this before. But then again, he’s never been accused of being a gold-digger in front of the entire world. My heart aches for him.

“I…” I hesitate, unsure of what to say. He’s already focused on his phone, his mind miles away from me.

“And pack your things in the meantime,” he adds, not even glancing my way.

I remember how last night, when we returned, I found everything waiting for me. Damian had thought of everything—a brand-new wardrobe, jewels, even cosmetics stocked in the vanity. The master bedroom redecorated, security doubled, new staff hired. I was stunned, seeing how much he’d done in the ten days I’d been gone. As if he was preparing for a life with me, securing everything while I was locked away by my father.

“Pack for what?”

“We’re leaving for Scotland tonight.”

Scotland. A foreign place, far from this mess. The thought of getting away, of escaping this chaos, brings a smile to my lips. A few days in a foreign land could be just what we need. It could help him relax. It could give us time. This could be our honeymoon.

When I begin to smile at the prospect, he adds, “We need to get away from this scandal,” he says, his voice still detached. “It’ll blow over, but we need time. I have a few properties there. We’ll return when it dies down.”

“That sounds perfect,” I say, clapping my hands attempting to lighten up the mood. “Do you go there a lot? I’ve never been to Scotland before.”

When he doesn’t answer, I go on, “Should I pack light? How long are we staying?”

Still, Damian says nothing. I smile again. “I won’t pester you with silly questions.” I reach for the door handle and step out, the cold air hitting me. I turn, ready to wave him goodbye, but before I can even raise my hand, the car speeds off, leaving me standing there.

◆◆◆

I survey the rolling hills of the Scottish countryside through the window of the car, the world outside blanketed in a delicate layer of frost that glistens under the muted winter sun. It’s a breathtaking view.

As we drive further into the heart of this serene expanse, the gentle curves of the road wind around low stone walls and quaint farmhouses that seem almost magical, their chimneys curling wisps of smoke into the chilly air. I take it all in, hoping to capture this moment forever, but my heart feels heavy with unease. My thoughts are stuck somewhere else.

Damian is sitting next to me. The silence between us is suffocating.

Since we boarded the private jet yesterday, Damian’s impenetrable silence has only deepened with each passing minute. I wanted to know where exactly we were staying, how the situation with the press was, and the most important thing, how he was doing. But I dared not ask any questions; his mood has been cold since we got married yesterday and it didn’t change a bit during the entirety of the flight, his attention was focused solely on the glowing screen of his laptop.

I didn’t see Damian until I boarded the jet. Hal was the one to pick me up. As I boarded, I found Damian hunched over his laptop, completely absorbed in his work, oblivious to my presence when I was standing right beside his chair.

I stood there for what felt like forever and had to move when the flight attendant gently urged me to take a seat.

I had hoped that once dinner was served, Damian would finally break free from his screen, that I might have a chance to talk to him. Yet, as we ate, he remained silent, my questions unanswered.

After dinner, he insisted I rest. When I hesitated to leave his side, he ordered the flight attendant to guide me away. My heart ached at his indifference but I clung to the hope that maybe some distance would be helpful.

I thought sleep would evade me, but it enveloped me and I was grateful. When I finally awoke, I returned to the main cabin, only to find him sleeping in the chair.

Tiptoeing, I went back, gathered the blanket from the bedroom and returned to drape it over him. But my gesture startled him awake, his body tensing. I watched in dismay as he shoved the blanket onto the empty seat beside him, lifting his laptop again.

The whole silent treatment made me so uneasy that I was reluctant to get off the jet. But Damian hurried me down and toward the waiting car with impatience.

What made his behavior unbearable was the painful realization that he hadn’t looked at me for more than two seconds since we got married yesterday.

Is he having second thoughts? Damian has always been the quiet type, but after months of being together, I know this silence is different. Even without words, I could usually feel his warmth, his care. Now, all I see in his eyes is a chilling glimmer. The absence of connection deepens my fears and insecurities.

This tension between us, this never-ending silence, I can’t take it anymore. Tentatively, I reach out and touch his arm, the coolness of his black shirt sleeve sending a shiver through me. “Damian…”

Turning his head, he looks at me blankly. His silky dark hair is a bit rumpled, and without thinking, I reach out to smooth it down, grateful when he doesn’t flinch away. But I crave more. My hand trails down to cradle his jaw. “I love you.” The words tumble out of me in a rush, hoping he could hear the sincerity in my voice. I am so frustrated of not being able to break through the wall he’s built around himself. If only he would let me in he would see, as long as we’re together, everything will be okay.

When he grabs my hand and lowers it, my heart plummets. I look at him, my eyes pleading for reassurance. “Do you regret marrying me?”

The silence stretches painfully, each passing second breaking my heart further. “No, I don’t,” he says, finally putting me out of my misery.

I exhale a long breath before throwing myself into his arms. “I’m so sorry I asked that. I was just afraid…” That you began to dislike me because of the bad press, my father and everything .

“I’m just pre-occupied with work,” he says and when I nod against his chest, he continues, “River, I need to make a phone call.”

I swiftly pull back, reddening. “Of course, sorry.” I scoot to the other side of the seat, smiling, yearning for him to return it or, at the very least, to see a glimmer of softness in his eyes. But I get nothing.

I refuse to wallow in my disappointment; instead, I content myself with staring at his profile.

He is so beautiful that I almost reach for my purse to snap a picture, but then realize Dad took it and never returned it.

When he finishes the call, I say, “I don’t have a phone.”

“You won’t be needing it anymore.”

For a heartbeat, his words sound ominous, sending a shiver down my spine. I shake the thought away, scolding myself for being so foolish. What is wrong with me? Just one day into our marriage, and I’m already having doubts about my husband’s intentions.

“We’re here.” His voice breaks through my thoughts, and I glance out of the window. My jaw drops. “You own a… castle?”

The awe in my voice feels justified as I take in the scene before me. The castle is magnificent, its vast stone walls rising majestically against the open sky. Turrets, adorned with intricate carvings soar above.

Set amidst rolling green lawns that seem to stretch endlessly, the estate is grand, with large windows. Gardens are meticulously kept, the kind you’d only see in luxury magazines, with fountains and statues adding to the sense of grandeur. Every inch of it screams wealth and royalty beyond imagination.

“I do.”

“But how? How did you manage to buy something so incredible?”

“I didn’t leave the previous owner much of a choice.”

I turn my head to look at him, my mouth falling open in shock. His words send a chill down my spine. Damian meets my startled gaze with an unsettling calm as if he’s simply stating a fact. “Let’s go.”

He steps out of the car, then clasping my hand, he helps me out.

Hal emerges from the passenger side, his demeanor all business. He immediately begins issuing commands to the men who traveled in the cars behind us.

We stand in the middle of nowhere, I last saw a town hours ago and the nearest village is also several miles away yet Hal’s behaving as if we’re in the middle of a warzone.

Damian begins leading me with his hand still clasping mine. Totally fascinated, my head keeps straining in every direction to take in the castle.

As we reach the entrance, an old man dressed in a classic black suit, crisp white shirt, and a bow tie steps forward. He looks impeccably sophisticated with neatly combed silver hair and a well-groomed mustache.

“Welcome back, sir,” he says, his Scottish accent strong.

“This is Archibald, my butler, and Morag, the housekeeper,” Damian introduces.

Beside Archibald stands the housekeeper, Morag in her late fifties with warm hazel eyes and a welcoming smile. Her gray hair is pulled back into a neat bun, and she’s dressed in a modest yet stylish navy dress adorned with an apron. “It’s a pleasure to see ye, sir,” she adds, her tone respectful as her gaze shifts to me. “And this must be Mrs. Montgomery. We’re delighted to welcome ye to the Valewood castle.”

“Thank you.” I manage to say while trying hard not to blush so much. I still can’t believe I’m Mrs. Montgomery.

Behind them, a line of maids and manservants stand in orderly rows. The youngest maid, her cheeks flushed with excitement, glances at me and gives a shy smile. I smile back.

They lead us inside, where the grand hall awaits. The space is breathtaking. The interior had been modernized but not entirely. The high ceilings are adorned with intricate work, while large windows bathe the area in natural light, illuminating the magnificent marble floors. A massive fireplace dominates one wall, framed by stunning tapestries. Antique furnishings are tastefully arranged.

“Get some rest. Morag will take you upstairs,” Damian commands, his tone leaving no room for argument.

Morag steps forward. “If ye would follow me, Mrs. Montgomery. Your room has been prepared, and I trust it will meet yer expectations.”

As she leads me away, I glance back at Damian, hoping for a glimpse of warmth in his expression. But his focus remains distant as he converses quietly with Archibald.

The stairs are a sight to behold—wide and sweeping, made entirely of gleaming white marble that glints under the light from the chandeliers above. The handrails are wrought iron, intricately designed, winding elegantly upward toward the second floor.

Morag guides me down a long passageway, her soft footsteps nearly silent against the thick carpeting. “This way, Mrs. Montgomery,” she says, her voice gentle.

At the end of the hall, we stop in front of a tall, carved door, the intricate patterns etched deep into the frame.

Morag opens it. “Yer room,” she says, stepping aside to allow me to enter.

I step inside, and a rush of awe washes over me. The bedroom is so big and beautiful. The marble theme continues with the floors, smooth and white while the polished mahogany furniture adds a touch of rich warmth to the space. In the center stands a massive four-poster bed, draped in deep, royal blue silk. It looks like something out of a dream.

Morag gestures to a side door. “The bathroom is through there.”

The bathroom is nothing short of a masterpiece. The highlight is the large soaking tub, positioned right by a window that offers a view of the vast grounds below. The shower is sleek and modern, with rainfall features, and the gold fixtures gleam under the soft lighting.

I thank Morag. She informs me about the dinner time before leaving. Then I allow myself to indulge in a long, luxurious bath, letting the warmth ease away the exhaustion of the day.

When I finally step out, wrapped in a towel, I notice my clothes have already been neatly unpacked and hung in the spacious wardrobe. But I had packed light so the full wardrobe takes me by surprise.

I open one of the drawers to find delicate new silk lingerie, which makes me flush. The realization that tonight is our first night together as husband and wife, makes me red all over.

Well, technically our first night was spent on the jet. But tonight, I get to be with him.

I move to the gowns Damian had somehow managed to arrange for me. My hands run over the delicate fabrics, feeling the smoothness of silk, the richness of velvet. I take a moment, fingers lingering on a soft champagne-colored gown. Perfect.

I’m going to surprise Damian. I am going to dress up for him for our dinner. Tonight, I’m going to dress up like the new bride that I am.

I pull the gown out and slip into it, its fabric cool against my skin, gliding down effortlessly. It hugs my body in all the right places.

Moving to the vanity, I carefully pick out jewelry. My fingers trace over a dainty golden chain, and I clasp it around my neck. Simple matching earrings follow.

I brush a light dusting of blush onto my cheeks and apply a nude gloss to my lips.

By the time I’m ready, the sky has darkened completely. My pulse quickens as I glance toward the door, hoping that Damian would be waiting for me downstairs. I smooth my hands over the gown, take one last look in the mirror, and head toward the door, excitement and nerves twining in my chest.

As I descend the grand staircase, the hall below is silent. My heart races with anticipation. Archibald greets me at the bottom of the stairs. “Mrs. Montgomery, I was just about to come up and inform ye that Mr. Montgomery won’t be joinin’ ye for dinner tonight.”

I stop in my tracks, the words hitting me harder than they should. “He’s... not?” I ask, my voice laced with disappointment. “Why?”

“He’s gone out.”

“Where did he go?” I ask weakly.

“I’m afraid I dinnae know, ma’am. He left earlier and... didnae say when he’d return.”

A dull ache forms in my chest as the excitement I’d felt moments ago drains away. I spent so much time getting ready, imagining what it would be like to share our first romantic dinner together as husband and wife, and now... he’s gone.