Chapter Forty-Three

T he moment we step through the heavy front doors of Valewood Castle, a wave of nostalgia hits me so hard that my breath catches.

And there they are—Morag and Archibald, standing at the entrance like they’ve been waiting all day. The moment I catch sight of Morag, my heart stirs with a familiar warmth. She breaks into a wide smile, her eyes crinkling with genuine happiness. I hurry over, and she wraps me in a tight, welcoming hug.

Her woolen apron smells faintly of lavender and old wood, the scent so familiar it almost makes my eyes sting.

“Oh, River, my dear,” she murmurs, her Scottish accent thick with emotion. “It’s so good to see ye again.”

“I missed you, Morag,” I whisper. She was my only real company during those seven lonely days when I felt completely abandoned.

I wanted to keep in touch with her but Damian didn’t allow it. By then I was so depressed, so done that I didn’t really press him for it.

“I’ve missed ye too, lass. We all did,” Morag says, stepping back to give me a look of motherly concern.

My eyes sting with tears, but I force them back with a shaky laugh. “Well, I’m back now. And I brought someone with me.” Morag’s eyes shift to Vicky, who stands behind me.

I wave Vicky forward. “Morag, this is Vicky. My bodyguard and a dear friend.”

“Well, ye must be a good one if ye’re lookin’ after our River,” she says warmly, reaching out and shakes Vicky’s hand.

A genuine smile tugging at Vicky’s lips. “She’s in safe hands,” she replies. “Pleasure to meet you, ma’am. River—Mrs. Montgomery—has told me a lot about you.”

Morag chuckles. “Call me Morag, love. We’re all friends here.”

I turn toward Archibald, who stands a little farther back. His stern expression softens the moment our eyes meet. I walk over and offer my hand. He clasps it gently between both of his large ones.

“Mrs. Montgomery,” he says, his tone formal, but there’s a warmth behind his words. “It’s good to see ye well.”

“It’s good to see you too, Archibald,” I reply softly.

Fiona, the young maid comes rushing to my side, greeting me with a big, infectious smile.

“I kept yer favorite tea blend stocked,” Morag tells me while Fiona proudly declares she already has my bedroom prepared.

Damian steps closer then. “River, you should—”

But I hold up a hand, my eyes snapping to his with a cool, distant look. “I know the way to the bedroom,” I cut him off, my voice steady. “You don’t need to order anyone to guide me.”

For a brief second, there’s a flash of something in Damian’s eyes, but he holds his silence, jaw tightening as I brush past him, Morag, Fiona and Vicky following suit.

In the bedroom, we all spent a few more minutes chatting.

Eventually, they leave me to settle in. I don’t waste any time and get into the bathroom, filling the tub with steaming water.

I sink into the hot water, letting it ease the tension in my muscles. The memories this place holds are still raw, but the warmth is soothing. I close my eyes and allow myself to relax, even if it’s only for a little while.

When I finally step out of the bath, I wrap myself in a plush towel. My hair is still damp. I rub it with another towel as I open the bathroom door.

Just as I exit, I find Damian entering the room in a robe, his hair still wet and tousled.

Our eyes lock, and for a heartbeat, the air thickens with unspoken tension. His gaze is dark, intense, and I can feel my pulse quicken.

He seems to take a moment to absorb the sight of me, too—damp, flushed and wrapped in a towel. “I used the guest bathroom,” he states finally, striding toward me.

I clutch the towel tighter around myself, maintaining my composure. “I see,” I reply, forcing my voice to remain cool.

He steps closer, but I hold my ground, my back straight. I refuse to let him have any power over me, even if he’s standing there, looking far too hot in that robe for my own good.

He stops just a few feet away and I find myself breathing hard. He just stands there and stares. I don’t back down either. I keep my gaze steady but at one point it starts getting awkward.

“Are you planning to stare all day?” I ask, lifting my chin defiantly, my voice sharper than I intended.

A hint of a smile curves his lips. “You stared first.”

I open my mouth to argue, but the words die in my throat. I know where this is headed. Our bickering has morphed into our twisted version of foreplay. And judging by the raw hunger in his eyes, I know exactly what’s on his mind. It’s been almost twenty-four hours since we last had sex, and the tension crackles between us.

As if he’s just read my mind, he advances, and instinctively, I backpedal. What the hell am I doing running? We both know we’ll end up in each other’s arms in ten seconds flat.

Maybe I love the way my heart races when he chases me. The same way chasing me turns him on. We are sick. But that knowledge doesn’t stop me from running.

I dart to the right and trip over my own feet, but he’s already there, an arm wrapping around my waist, yanking me against him. We stare into each other’s eyes for a few beats before he leans down and kisses me gently. My breath hitches when his lips trail down my throat, making me shiver.

Why do you do this to me, Damian? Just when I think I’m strong enough to resist, you touch me, and I’m yours all over again. Why does your warm, masculine scent drive me wild? Why does your citrusy aftershave make my head spin with need? Why does your touch reduce me to this molten mess?

He murmurs something roughly against my skin then scoops me in his arms. I watch him with hooded eyes as he carries me toward the four-poster bed—the same bed where I gave him my virginity.

He lays me down and leans back. I let my gaze trail over his chest, partially exposed as his robe gapes open.

It’s hard to breathe, even harder to resist the urge to explore his body. I can’t help myself; I reach up to touch him, but he catches me off guard, yanking my towel from my body. Then he sheds his robe.

My mouth goes dry as I take in his bare chest, drinking in the sight of his tanned skin and the dark curls that trace his powerful pecs.

A little dazed, I watch as he throws the covers over our naked bodies before arranging me onto my side and yanking me back against his hot, hard chest. A deep groan of satisfaction rumbles from him as he buries his face in my hair, trailing soft kisses along my neck.

Then… nothing.

I lie there, confusion swirling in my mind, brows furrowed as I wait. What’s happening? I gasp when he pulls me even closer, my back flush against him. “Go to sleep, angel.”

“Sleep?” I ask, incredulously. He wants me to sleep after… after that kiss that left me breathless and wanting? How am I supposed to close my eyes when I can feel the proof of his desire pressed against my back?

“I haven’t slept more than a couple of hours,” he admits, his breath warm against my skin. “I’ve told Archibald to wake us for a late lunch.”

This closeness—this rare moment of affection—sparks something deeper within me. I’ve seen the fierce and possessive side of him, had witnessed his dangerous temper but this gentle Damian is different, and it makes my heart flutter wildly in my chest.

I don’t know when I drift off, but when I wake, the room is drenched in shadows, and I’m sprawled on my back, the sheets tangled around me. I feel Damian shifting beside me and without warning,

I feel his tongue brushing over my nipple. A gasp escapes my lips, my body responding instantly.

He closes his lips around the peak, sucking with a hunger that makes me arch my back, my fingers tangling in his hair, urging him closer.

Each pull and tug sends shivers down my spine, my breath quickening as he feasts on me, moving from one nipple to the other.

He shifts lower, trailing fiery kisses down my abdomen, his lips leaving a searing path that makes my skin ache for more. I can feel the heat radiating off him, and I’m utterly captivated by the way he worships my body like I’m the only thing that matters in this moment.

“God, please,” I moan, and he seems to understand my silent plea. His mouth moves lower and I squirm beneath him. He takes his time, teasing and tormenting me. Then abruptly he stops, parts my legs and climbs between them.

Without a word, he grips my hips as he positions himself at my entrance. The moment he slides inside, a gasp tears from my lips, and pleasure hits me hard, burning through every inch of my body. He fills me completely, stretching me in the most intoxicating way, and I arch my back, desperate for more.

It’s hard and fast. And I don’t mind at all. It’s just the way I want. The bed creaks beneath us, but I’m lost in the haze of desire, his every movement pushing me closer to the edge.

Within minutes, we’re both unraveling, bodies tightening in a fierce, desperate climax. My nails rake down his back as he thrusts deep, a shudder tearing through me while he groans low and guttural, burying himself to the hilt. He collapses on me, our breath mingling.

As the room falls into silence, my stomach lets out a loud growl. I freeze, mortified. I feel Damian body shaking with silent laughter.

“Something funny?” I snap, my cheeks heating with embarrassment.

He shakes his head.

“You’re heavy,” I groan, partly lying because I’m mortified. He flips us so that I’m lying on top of him.

“I slept for four hours,” he murmurs, his thumb absentmindedly tracing circles on my back. There’s a hint of wonder in his voice.

“Yeah,” I say. Then, “Why can’t you ever sleep for more than a few hours?”

“Because some things don’t rest, even when I do.” He gently sets me to my side and gets up. “Archibald must have tried waking us,” Damian says, “but I guess we didn’t answer, so he let us be.” He walks to the bathroom. “Get dressed, angel. It’s almost dinner time.”

After Damian finishes, I slip into the bathroom, letting him have the room to get ready.

I take my time in the shower, and when I finally step out, the sight of the bedroom startles me.

The bed is freshly made, and lying across it is a lavender dress I don’t remember choosing. I spot a small note resting beside it. I pick it up, reading the words:

Wear this tonight .

There’s no name, but it doesn’t need one. Only Damian would leave a message like this. Short and arrogant.

Should I wear it? Or defy him, just to remind him I’m not so easily controlled? The thought is tempting, but I push it away. No need to be difficult for the sake of it.

Maybe—just this once—I can let things be simple. With a sigh, I glance back at the dress. My fingers brush over the soft fabric. Alright, Damian... tonight, I’ll play along.

I slip into the dress, feeling the silk glide over my skin, soft and cool. The fabric hugs my figure just right.

As I step up to the vanity, my eyes fall on the velvet box. I open it and find a necklace. Delicate yet unmistakably extravagant, the platinum chain adorned with a diamond solitaire pendant match the dress perfectly. I lift it carefully.

I fasten the necklace around my neck, watching the diamond glint as it rests against my skin. When I lift my eyes to the mirror, I catch myself smiling.

I shake my head to snap out of it and finish my makeup with a hint of blush, and a soft gloss.

I find matching heels so I quickly step into them and finally leave the room and make my way downstairs, my heels clicking softly on each step.

The sight that greets me at the bottom of the grand staircase takes my breath away. Damian, impeccably dressed in a tailored black suit that makes him look devastatingly handsome yet intimidating.

He waits, his gaze heating as I reach the last step. His eyes sweep over me, taking in the dress and the necklace he’d left for me, and his mouth curves into the slightest hint of a smile. “You look…”

“Beautiful?” I supply teasingly.

He shakes his head slowly, his gaze intense. “No,” he murmurs, his voice husky. “Mine.”

My breath catches, and for a moment, I can’t move. He used one word. Just one word, but the way he said it… it felt like a vow.

He offers me his arm. I take it, my heart pounding as he leads me toward the dining room.

The dining room feels transformed. The warm glow from the grand chandelier is making the room feel softer, intimate despite its size. At the far end of the polished mahogany table, two settings are laid out—silver cutlery, fine china, and crystal glasses that glint in the candlelight. The table itself, though spacious, is decorated with beautiful flower arrangements.

“You did all this?” I stare at him in wonder.

He meets my gaze, a bit awkward. “I had a team take care of it.”

I laugh softly, finding his unease oddly cute.

“I thought it would please you,” he says scowling.

“It did.” I squeeze his forearm. “Thank you.”

Damian pulls out the chair and I take my seat. He sits at the head of the table and I’m seated to his left.

“You’ve never done anything like this before.”

He used to take me on dates before marriage. We used to spend time with each other all the time but everything changed when we got married. This is the first time Damian has done something so nice for me.

Damian takes a moment, his expression contemplative. “I know,” he says slowly. “I want to change that.”

Why? The question is on the tip of my tongue, but I hesitate when a manservant glides in and uncorks a bottle of champagne with practiced ease before filling our glasses. Damian’s eyes are on me until we’re alone once more.

He raises his glass. “To us.”

His gaze is unnerving. I warily raise my glass too then take a swift gulp, barely tasting it, wishing for a sense of calm.

Damian’s still watching me as he leans forward to fill my glass again, barely pausing to sip from his own.

I lift my glass and take another sip, but before I can swallow, he says, “So, tell me about this Matt.”

The words catch me off guard, and I choke, my throat burning. I’m coughing as I feel him leaning forward. His hand is on my back, patting. “Just hearing his name gets such a reaction from my wife?”

Clearing my throat, I manage to meet his unyielding gaze. “It’s not what you think,” I say, swallowing past the burn. “I just... swallowed wrong.”

“Of course.” He leans back, his eyes never leaving mine as he sips from his glass. “So tell me about him.”

“He’s one of the volunteers at the community center,” I manage, forcing myself to keep my voice steady under his scrutiny.

There’s a pause, his silence almost colder than any words he could’ve spoken. “Just a volunteer?”

“And a friend,” I add, feeling the need to explain myself.

“A friend?” He says the word slowly, the softness in his tone somehow carrying more threat than any raised voice could.

I force myself to meet his eyes, letting him see my sincerity, or at least hoping he’ll recognize it. “Yes, Damian. A friend.”

He studies me with that same unsettling calm. “Nothing more, then?” His gaze examining, watching for any hint of deception.

I hold his stare, willing him to see the truth in my eyes. The absolute truth. “Nothing more.”

But instead of relief, his gaze hardens. “Then explain why the two of you seemed so... close when I came to get you that day.”

The disbelief makes my pitch higher than necessary. “Maybe because you’re seeing things that aren’t there!” I exhale, forcing myself to steady. “If you have doubts about my loyalty, then the joke’s on you. I’ve loved you more than anyone could ever love another person. You’ve ruined me for anyone else. So don’t try to make this something it isn’t.”

His eyes darken. “When I saw you with him,” he says with barely restrained anger. “The thought of him even looking at you made me want to kill him.”

I draw in a sharp breath. “So that’s what this is? The romantic dinner, the gifts, all this because of your jealousy?”

“No. All this because I realized I want to win my wife back.”

My stomach twists, torn between hope and bitterness. “Why, Damian?” My voice drops to a whisper. “Why try to win me back when you already have me exactly where you want me.”

His hand clenches around the champagne flute and with a shattering crack, it breaks in his grip. Blood pools around his knuckles, trickling down his wrist in rivulets. I leap out of my chair, grabbing my napkin and wrapping it tightly around his hand. “Damian, what the hell?”

“It’s not enough.” His voice breaks through my panic.

“What?”

“Having you beside me isn’t enough. Not anymore. I don’t want a wife who stays out of duty or fear. I want my River—the girl who looked at me like I was her whole world without fear or restraint. The one who looked at me and didn’t see darkness lurking underneath. The woman who gave herself to me, time and time again without question, without expecting anything in return. I want her back.”

“Even when you hate my father?” A tear slips down my cheek, but I don’t move to hide it.

“Even when I hate your father.” he says, not a trace of hesitation in his voice, meeting my gaze with brutal honesty.

I look away, the words from our first night together echoing painfully in my mind. “But I wasn’t part of your plan.”

“No,” he says. “You weren’t. But now you’re my present. And my future.”

“I need to get the first aid kit.” I turn to go, but he catches my wrist with his injured hand.

“I may be doing all this to win you back,” he says. “But understand this, I am never letting you go, River.”

His words leave me breathless, my pulse hammering beneath his grip. “I want you to choose me again, River. Can you try for me?”

My voice trembles as I respond, the one question that’s haunted me for so long slipping out. “Can you tell me why you hate my dad so much?”

He doesn’t answer. Instead, he lets go of my wrist, the silence answering where his words won’t. My heart sinks, tears welling up in my eyes. I turn, brushing a hand across my wet cheeks, leaving him with that wounded silence as I walk toward the kitchen to find a first-aid kit.

Damian is finally willing to give me what I’ve always wanted—a real relationship. But even as he reaches out, he’s still holding back, leaving me with just enough to stay… but never enough to truly belong. The old River might have accepted it, even jumped at the chance and clung to the hope of a new beginning.

But the new River knows she deserves more than this half-love built on jealousy and shadows and won’t settle for anything less than everything.