Chapter Forty-Two

I press my fingers into my aching temples, feeling the pressure beat beneath my skin like a relentless drum.

Everything’s a mess inside my head. Damian admitted he tried to have Melissa killed.

He didn’t even flinch when he said it, just admitted outright that he’d planned to kill her.

I knew he could be ruthless. I knew he wasn’t above manipulating the world to bend to his will, using his power like a blunt weapon to get what he wants, but hurting someone? Taking it that far? I never let myself believe he could be that heartless.

A shudder runs through me, and I can’t help but wonder how he sleeps at night. Then I remember—he hardly does. I’ve watched him doze off only to wake, hours later, as if the weight of his secrets won’t let him rest. He just powers through the days with nothing more than restless naps, as if he’s running from something even in his sleep.

But the most ridiculous part is that he actually compared himself to my father. Damian had the nerve to twist my father’s image into something unrecognizable. The thought makes my chest ache with a sickening disbelief and fury.

How could Damian even think that my father, who always acted with my best interests at heart, could be capable of doing something so monstrous? Dad might be overbearing, controlling even, but every act was coated with the bitter sweetness of love. He did what he did because he wanted to protect me, even if it meant hurting me. Damian is wrong—so wrong. Damian and my father are nothing alike.

My thoughts splinter when I feel the lightest brush of fingers against mine. My eyes snap open to see Damian’s hand gently nudging mine away, his fingertips settling against the spots that throb.

I freeze, my heart stuttering as he begins to massage my temples in a slow, almost tender motion.

What is he doing? I can’t read his expression in the shadows of the car. I don’t know what he is thinking, I just know it’s odd. My instincts take over and I jerk away. “I’m... I’m fine.”

The car window is my only escape, and I fix my gaze on the blurred scenery rushing past. I need to keep my distance—physically, emotionally, in every possible way but Damian doesn’t give me the chance.

His hand catches my elbow, and he pulls me back with a force that leaves me breathless. “What are you—” My protest dies on my lips as he guides my head to rest against the solid wall of his chest, his hand moving to cradle the back of my neck.

I tense when his fingers slide into my hair, massaging my scalp with a gentle pressure that almost undoes me, and it takes every ounce of willpower not to crumble completely.

I want to pull away but soon he finds the right spots and applies the right pressure. A shaky sigh slips from me, his touch breaking down the last of my resistance and without meaning to, I lean into him.

“Migraine?” His voice is low, softer than I expected, almost caring.

I nod, cheek pressed against him. I can’t bear to look at him, can’t bear to acknowledge the strange comfort he’s giving me. I should pull away but the thought of losing this brief moment of relief is too much to bear.

“Where are we going?” I ask, the question slipping out before I can catch it. I want to bite it back immediately.

Why am I doing this? Didn’t I learn from our last and only trip together? He ignored me then—barely said a word the whole way there and back, leaving me to twist in my own misery.

“Scotland,” he says, not breaking the rhythm of his fingers against my scalp.

My entire body goes rigid. Scotland. Again. It feels like some cruel cosmic joke, dredging up every awful memory I thought I’d buried. That castle—the cold, empty halls, the echo of my footsteps, and the endless days waiting for him to come to me, the heartache, the crushing weight of being invisible in the eyes of the one person I’d given everything to.

I was so na?ve. I used to think if I just tried harder, he would change. That somehow, I’d be enough. But not this time.

Not this time . I’m not the na?ve girl I once was. I’m not that foolish twenty-one-year-old virgin, blinded by the fantasy of love. That was a different girl who believed that love could conquer anything. That girl doesn’t exist anymore. I won’t be waiting by the window, won’t beg for scraps of his affection.

I don’t have any illusions left to cling to. I have nothing left to lose, no dreams to shatter. If Damian wants to return to the place where he first broke me, then fine. If he wants to ignore me, like he did back then, fine. If he wants to play this game of half-hearted affection and lust, that’s fine too. I’ll play along, but I won’t get burned.

He won’t get the satisfaction of seeing me beg or hope. Because I won’t make the same mistake twice.

Anyway, I’ll have Vicky with me this time, so I might actually enjoy my stay at the castle.

“Think of it as our second honeymoon,” he says, snapping me out of my thoughts.

I scoff, twisting in his arms to look at him. “A second honeymoon?” I say slowly, letting every word drip with mockery. “How can it be a second honeymoon when we never even had the first?”

Silence. He doesn’t respond, and for a moment, I think I’ve managed to silence him. I inch closer, my head pounding but my pride demanding I twist the knife. “What’s wrong?” I taunt. “Cat got your tongue, husband?”

A slow, wicked smile spreads across his face. “Why? Do you want it inside you, wife ?”

Heat flares across my cheeks, and I jerk away from him, slamming back against the car door with a force that makes my headache throb.

He chuckles, the sound deep and infuriating. “I like it when you blush,” he says, and I hate the way warmth floods my skin even as I glare at him.

I press my forehead to the window, willing the cool glass, to help me ignore his gaze burning into my back.

Please , I beg silently , just go back to how things were. Ignore me. Let me disappear in the background like I always did . But it’s like he’s determined to strip me bare, to unravel every shield I’ve managed to build.

“Even now,” he whispers, leaning close enough that his breath grazes my ear, “you still blush for me. Why’s that, angel?”

My breath catches when his words turn vulgar, teasing me with how I look when I fall apart beneath him. I close my eyes, fury and embarrassment warring inside me as he goes on and on about my creamy skin and how much he loves marking it.

I press my forehead to the glass harder, wishing I could disappear. But he keeps whispering in my ear. His words get more obscene, describing in detail what he loves most doing to me, and I can’t take it anymore. “Where’s your phone?” I snap, cutting him off sharply.

He raises a brow, holding up the device like he’s enjoying every second of my unraveling.

“Then use it and leave me alone!”

His gaze narrows, the mockery fading from his face. “Is it the migraine?”

“Yes,” I lie, desperate to end this twisted game. The pounding in my head is nothing compared to the turmoil in my chest.

Damian’s gaze doesn’t waver, and then he does something that almost breaks me—he reaches out, tucking a stray curl behind my ear with a tenderness that feels out of place, his fingers lingering against my cheek. “Sorry,” he says softly.

My mouth falls open in shock, the word hanging heavy between us. Damian—apologizing? I don’t know what to say, don’t know how to handle this shift, but before I can think, he pulls me to him again, his arm wrapping around my shoulders. He brings my head back to his chest once more. I want to fight him and shout at him for constantly manhandling me but the steady beat of his heart against my ear calms me.

I close my eyes and sink into the warmth of him, the steady rise and fall of his breathing easing the pounding in my skull. The fabric of his shirt is soft against my cheek, carrying the scent I’ve come to associate with safety and danger all at once. I breathe him in, my fingers gripping the front of his shirt.

For a moment, I forget who he is—who I am. All I know is the comfort of his arms, the solidity of his chest beneath my cheek. I let myself be weak, just for this moment.

It hits me then that this might be the first time he’s touched me like this, without any sexual intention other than simple comfort.

And I have no idea what to do with that.

◆◆◆

My cheeks are burning, half from anger, half from sheer embarrassment. Instead of waking me like a normal person, Damian made the choice to carry me out of the car and onto the jet like I was some helpless child.

Every one of his men has their eyes on us, and I can’t do a single thing except cling to his neck.

I lean in close, my voice a harsh whisper against his ear, “I have a headache, Damian, not a broken leg.” But he doesn’t so much as glance my way. He just carries me up the jet stairs, completely unfazed by my protests. My anger surges when I spot the flight attendant’s barely-contained grin.

The moment Damian sets me down, I bolt for the back of the cabin, flinging myself into the seat opposite Vicky. I focus on her, desperate to ignore the heavy presence behind me.

Damian soon appears, holding out a glass of juice and aspirin.

I cross my arms, determined to ignore him, but he stands there like a silent wall.

Vicky, ever the peacemaker, takes them from him and gently nudges them my way. I sigh, accepting the offering because I desperately need it.

Vicky, sensing my mood, shifts gears and lifts a bulky backpack onto her lap. She begins to dig through it with purpose, pulling out a neck pillow, a paperback, and my phone with the AirPods.

“Vicky,” I say, half in awe, “what else do you have in that backpack of yours?”

She flashes a smile, and begins listing the contents, but I cut her off with a grin. “You’re so sweet! Thank God, there’s someone here who cares about me.” My words are barbed, and I cast a not-so-subtle glance over my shoulder at Damian. He’s deep in conversation with Hal, barely sparing me a glance.

“Um…” Vicky hesitates, biting her lip. “Mr. Montgomery asked me to pack all of this for you.”

My mouth falls open. “He did what? ” Is she referring to my husband? That can’t be. Because the same man who once barked orders for me to pack my own things, who never even bothered to ask how I was back then is making so many efforts? This… doesn’t fit. It’s not him. The Damian I know wouldn’t bother.

As the jet ascends and the hours crawl by, he keeps surprising me. He’s not buried in his laptop like he usually is, nor is he pretending I’m invisible. Instead, his gaze is fixed on me, unsettlingly focused. When I refuse to eat, he doesn’t say a word—he just comes over and shoves a forkful of food into my mouth. I want to argue, but my headache is relentless, and I’m too drained to fight back.

It’s like I’m seeing a stranger—someone who’s strangely attentive, and... caring. I don’t recognize him, and I don’t know what to make of this. He’s not the man I remember, and I don’t know whether to be wary or furious.

A yawn slips past my lips and before I can even blink, Damian’s by my side. In an instant, he scoops me out of the seat.

“What are you doing?” I gasp, trying to wriggle free, but his grip is firm.

“You’re exhausted,” he says. “I’m putting you to bed.”

There’s no use arguing when he’s already carrying me toward the private bedroom at the back of the jet.

He lays me down with a gentleness that shatters my defenses, and I can’t help the sting of tears that burn behind my eyes. I want to lash out and demand why he’s doing this. Instead, my voice comes out small and raw. “You could’ve just asked one of the attendants to show me to the room.” Like you did in the past .

“Maybe I wanted a reason to hold you,” he murmurs, his thumb brushing the side of my cheek as if he’s daring me to believe him. But how can I believe him? This new softness feels wrong, misplaced, and I can’t bring myself to believe it.

Then I watch, unnerved as he sinks to his knees and calmly proceeds to slip off my shoes.

“You’re scaring me,” I whisper, the words slipping out before I can stop them.

His hands pause, fingers hovering over my ankle. “Because of Melissa?”

“Because of everything,” I choke out, pulling my legs to my chest.

His face hardens, a shadow passing over his features. “I won’t hurt you.”

“But you already did.” The room feels too small suddenly, and I can’t stand the way he’s looking at me—as if I matter. “Seriously, Damian, stop! You don’t have to do this.”

He stands. “Do what?”

“You’re acting like you care now. It’s not you. You don’t have to pretend.”

His expression doesn’t change, but I see the flicker of something in his eyes. “I’m not pretending.”

“Then what is this?” I demand. “What are you trying to prove? That you’re not the same cold, selfish man who made me believe in love, only to toss me aside like I’m garbage?” My voice breaks.

He stares at me, and I swallow back the thickness in my throat, turning my face away. I don’t want his pity, his empty words. I don’t want to be here in this situation where I can’t tell what’s real and what’s another lie.

“Don’t worry, Damian,” I say, my voice hollow and cold. “I’m not going to run this time. I’m not going to make things difficult for you. I’ll stay because I don’t have a choice—because you’ve made sure of that. But stop pretending you care. It doesn’t make it better. It just makes it worse.”

His face hardens, his jaw clenching tight. Without another word, he turns and leaves the room.

I tell myself I did the right thing, that I have to protect myself, that I can’t fall for this sudden act of compassion. I try to convince myself he deserves my scorn, that he deserves every cold word, every accusation. He’s the one who broke me, who turned my love into a weapon against me. But my heart doesn’t listen. It aches with a familiar longing, a desperate wish for something I’ll never have—a love that’s real, and a relationship that’s unbreakable.

“I don’t love him,” I whisper to the empty room. As the tears soak the pillow beneath me, I repeat the lie in my head, praying that one day, it might finally feel true.

Exhaustion claims me, and I fall asleep with his name tangled in my thoughts and the salt of my tears heavy on my tongue.

When I wake, my body feels lighter, the tension eased.

Breakfast is brought to me on a tray, and I savor it in bed, taking my time as if the world outside doesn’t exist. For a moment, everything feels soft and almost peaceful.

But that illusion doesn’t last. We touch down in Inverness, and I find myself facing reality once again. Damian is already there, ushering me from the jet to a sleek, waiting SUV. I move mechanically, going through the motions.

“How’s your headache?”

“Better,” I mutter, barely bothering to glance his way. My voice is flat, like I’m talking to a stranger instead of the man who once held my entire heart. I hesitate before asking the question I already dread the answer to. “Are we going to stay at Valewood Castle?”

“Yes.”

I sigh internally. Leave it to Damian to be heartless enough to take me back to the very place where he took my virginity and broke my heart all in one night.

His next words snap me from my thoughts. “There’s a surprise waiting for you there.”

“What is it? Another collection of designer clothes?” I ask sarcastically.

His brow furrows as if genuinely confused. “No. And if you wanted a new wardrobe, why didn’t you just tell me?”

I roll my eyes. “I don’t.” I turn back to the window. The lush landscape outside is stunning, and I take it in, grateful for the distraction. Last time I saw these hills, I didn’t have the luxury of admiring them. I was too busy drowning in the misery of being an unwanted bride.

I stiffen when his hand settles on my shoulder. I turn, frowning at the intensity in his gaze. “What?”

“Where did you just go?” His brow is creased.

“Nowhere,” I lie. “What did you want?”

He doesn’t answer right away, his gaze searching mine. “I asked you a question.”

“I wasn’t paying attention. What was it?”

His jaw tightens, and there’s a flash of something in his eyes—anger, maybe, or something darker. “I said, aren’t you curious about the surprise?”

I blink at him, my irritation flaring. “No, Damian. I’m not interested in surprises. I’m not interested in games.” I try to turn away, but suddenly he’s in my space, pressing me against the car door, his face inches from mine.

“What has happened to you?” he demands. His fingers dig into my shoulders painfully. “You’re so... distant. This isn’t you.”

I meet his gaze unflinchingly, refusing to back down. “Maybe I got tired and stopped caring.”

His grip tightens, his expression hardening. “You’ve changed,” he accuses, his tone edged with disbelief, like I broke some unspoken rule.

“Did you expect me to stay the same?” I snap back, my anger surging to the surface. “Did you expect me to be that na?ve girl who thought you were worth every tear I shed? I was wrong, Damian. I don’t owe you anything—not my attention, not my love, not my devotion.”

His face goes stony, the mask slipping back into place. Without another word, he thrusts me away like he can’t bear to touch me.

He pulls out his phone, the gesture achingly familiar. He’s already retreating, retreating into the cold silence that once tore me apart.

I watch him, my heart constricting painfully. I should feel triumphant. I should feel like I’ve reclaimed a piece of myself. But all I feel is a hollow ache, the same emptiness that’s haunted me since we got married.

I stare at his rigid profile and feel a familiar pang in my chest. My heart protests as I turn away, longing and begging me to keep my eyes on him a moment longer. But I don’t listen.

I force myself to focus on the scenery passing by.

You have to toughen up, heart. We don’t have a happy ending with him.