Chapter Fifty-Two

D amian strides inside, shutting the door behind him. The sound cuts through my daze, snapping the stillness around me. My heart thunders in my chest as I scramble to find my voice. “Please leave.”

His dark eyes seize mine and a split second later his mouth is on me. His lips cold from the evening wind. He pulls me into his arms with a strength that steals my breath, pressing me to him as if he can’t bear the distance any longer. His kiss is rough, demanding, as though he’s trying to reclaim what he thought he lost. I gasp against him, and he takes full advantage, deepening the kiss with a hunger that makes me dizzy, as if he’s starved for me.

I try to pull away, but he holds me tighter, his hands threading through my hair, his grip possessive. For a moment, I forget everything—everything except the warmth of his mouth on mine, the heat of his body pressing against me.

It feels he’s trying to erase the distance, the month of silence, with every demanding kiss. I can’t think, can’t breathe—only feel the desperate force of him pulling me back into his world.

“You left me again, angel,” he says breaking the kiss, breathless and angry. It’s the kind of tone that slips beneath my skin, making every nerve stand on edge. “Why?”

Fighting for oxygen, I desperately cast my gaze anywhere but on his towering frame. My hands tremble at my sides as I stammer, “This… this isn’t my house. You need to leave before Mrs. Haw—”

“She won’t be coming home tonight,” he interrupts smoothly, already back in control. “I arranged for her to stay at a hotel in town.”

My stomach drops. The room spins slightly as his words sink in. He didn’t just show up—he planned this. Every detail, down to ensuring we’d be alone. My lips part, but no words come out. The shopping spree, the dinner. Even Mrs. Hawthorne was involved.

“You had no right to do that!”

“I wanted to talk in private,” he says matter-of-factly, then adds after a pause, “My eyes are up here.”

I clench my jaw, refusing to meet his gaze. “I don’t want to talk to you. I want you to leave.” My tone is firm, but my legs feel unsteady as I brush past him and yank the door open.

The silence behind me is deafening, but I can feel the weight of his presence, heavy and impossible to ignore.

“You think I’m going to leave when I just found you?”

“You have to because I told you to!”

“I won’t give up on us, River,” he says. “You’re my wife.”

I grip the doorframe so tightly my knuckles ache, my head lowering against the wood as I fight to breathe. “Well, I gave up on us,” I say, the words escaping on a shaky whisper. My body trembles, every muscle tense.

“I know.” His response is soft, but it hits me like a blow. There’s a rawness to his voice. “What I don’t know is why. I don’t know why you ran. I don’t even know what I did wrong.” He stops, like he’s trying to find the right words. “But I’ll wait. No matter how long it takes, until you’re ready to talk.”

“There’s nothing to talk about. Nothing at all,” I choke out, as I try to swallow a sob.

His hand lands gently on my shoulder, and I flinch, spinning around to face him, my eyes snapping up to his.

That’s when I see it. The exhaustion etched on his face. His eyes are sunken. His jawline is more pronounced now. He’s lost weight, and it shows in the sharpness of his features. His beard is thick and untamed, as if he hasn’t cared to shave in a long time.

He steps closer. “Not once in my entire life had I cared about what anyone thought of me. Never cared about their opinion of me,” Damian says. “I’ve never felt the need to explain myself to anyone, not even to show them I had good intentions. If people hate me, or walk out of my life, I don’t give a damn. But you—” He grabs my elbow as I try to move past him. “When it comes to my wife, I care. I care a great deal if she decides to leave me. I care if she stops loving me. I care.”

His words pierce through me like a thousand sharp needles, and I bite down on my lower lip to keep from falling apart. “No, you don’t.”

Without warning, he spins me around, his hands gripping my shoulders as he looks down at me, his gaze intense. “I do.”

I shake my head, unable to look him in the eyes. “I don’t believe you.”

His hand slides to my cheek, his thumb brushing over my skin gently, like he’s trying to calm me, but all it does is set my heart racing. “What did I do, angel? Where did I go wrong?” His voice has a desperate note.

The tears are burning, threatening to spill, but I refuse to let them by shutting my eyes.

“Look at me.”

I shake my head again.

“Please, River,” he says hoarsely, and against every instinct, I glance up. I also let him pull me to him. His arms wrap around me tightly. He looks down at me, his face pained. “Tell me why you left me like that.”

I suck in a sharp breath, my throat tight with the truth I’ve been holding back. “Because you hate my father and everyone connected to him,” I choke out, my chin quivering as I quote him. “I left because, once again, you killed me while I was still breathing. I left because I realized everything we shared on that trip was a lie. I realized that I’d been wasting my time, my heart, my life on a relationship that was already dead. I realized that even if I spent my whole life loving you, you’d never love me back. That’s why I left, Damian.” I break free from his hold.

“So you were eavesdropping that night,” Damian concludes, as if the pieces have finally clicked into place in his mind.

I laugh bitterly, the sound bitter and raw, even to my own ears. “Funny, isn’t it? You accuse me of eavesdropping, yet the things I heard you say about me are just brushed aside, glossed over like they mean nothing.”

“You didn’t hear what I said after—”

“What does it matter?”

“It matters, damn it!” he growls as he pulls me back in, desperation lacing every syllable. “I want you to listen to me. Just listen.”

“And I told you I don’t want to,” I say quietly, pulling away. “I’ve given you more chances than you deserved. I was stupid enough to believe you’d really changed when you whisked me around the world, but I was wrong.” I take a shaky breath. “I was so, so wrong.”

I cut him off before he can respond again. “I might not know what revenge you’re after, Damian but I know this—no matter what I do, no matter how hard I try, I’ll always come second to this revenge of yours.”

His anger flares. “Would you let me speak now?” he demands, the control he usually maintains slipping away. It’s so unlike him, this anger, this loss of composure. But what do I know about him anymore? After living with this man, being his wife for over a year, I’ve learned I don’t know him at all. Not truly.

“Whether you choose to divorce me or not, it’s your call,” I say, my voice trembling. “Either way, I’m fine. Because I’ll never love anyone else or marry again.”

His face twists with frustration, and he takes a step forward. “River—”

“No, Damian. I’m done.”

“I’m not!” He growls. “I will never divorce you.”

I wipe my tears, nodding quietly. “That’s okay, like I said.”

He jerks forward suddenly, his hand wrapping around my nape, pulling me roughly against him. “It’s not okay for me,” he says, his voice raw with emotion.

I nod, finally understanding. “I’m just like your habit. It’s tough to break, but you’ll get used to it.” The words cut me as they leave my mouth, and I can no longer hold back the flood of tears that fall freely now. There’s no point in trying to stop them.

“I’ll never let you go, angel.” He cradles my face in his hands.

“You don’t have me to let go of now.” I close my eyes, the words sharper than knives, each one more painful than the last. “Would you leave?” I ask, my voice trembling. “Please.”

The silence stretches for what feels like forever before I feel his lips gently press against my forehead. Like it’s a goodbye. I don’t open my eyes. His kiss lingers for a moment before he pulls away.

The second the door closes behind him, I crumble. My knees give out beneath me, and I collapse to the floor, violent sobs wracking my body. I let it all out—every last shred of pain, every ounce of the love that has been suffocating me.

It’s truly over.

◆◆◆

The morning air is sharp as I step out of the cottage. The narrow streets are bathed in the soft glow of the sun as I walk, clutching my coat tighter.

My swollen eyes hurt from all the crying and lack of sleep.

It’s just been a day since Damian barged into my life once again, and yet, the image of him standing in my doorway still clings to me like the smell of smoke after a fire.

I push the thought away. I can’t afford to think of him now. I’ve spent too long building this new life for myself. Too long hiding in this cottage, hoping that one day I could forget the man who somehow still has pieces of my soul, even after everything.

When I reach the flower shop, I take a deep breath. The tiny bell above the door rings as I step inside and quickly immerse myself in work.

It’s an hour after I arrived when the tiny bell rings again. I turn around to greet the customer but lose my smile the moment I see Damian.

My heart stutters in my chest, but I whirl back, giving him my back and continue arranging the flowers, pretending I don’t feel the way his gaze presses against my back.

I thought after yesterday, he’d stay away for good. That I wouldn’t have to face him again. But here he is, and I don’t know what to make of it. Once again, he’s managed to catch me off guard.

“River.” His voice is soft.

I keep my focus on the flowers. “I’m busy,” I reply, not meeting his eyes, not allowing myself to show even an ounce of weakness.

Silence. For the briefest of moments, I wonder if he’s actually going to walk away. But no.

I hear his footsteps behind me, growing closer with each passing second. I can feel his breath on my skin, and the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end.

“Please, look at me, angel.” His voice is so soft, barely audible, but still cutting through the calm of the shop like a knife. And he’s saying please again. It sends a shiver through me.

I turn, but my eyes never meet his. “You’re wasting your time,” I say, the words harsher than I intended. But I can’t stop them. I won’t let him think for a second that I care anymore.

But still, he doesn’t leave. He keeps standing there.

“Will you, for once, do something for me?” I snap.

No response. But then, I hear the familiar chime of the bell, indicating that he left.

All day, I feel his eyes on me. Every step I take, every move I make, I know it’s Damian. I know he’s watching. But I don’t see him anywhere. His eyes follow me everywhere, even as the sun dips below the horizon. It doesn’t let up until I’m back at the cottage, closing the door behind me.

Mrs. Hawthorne had finally returned, and I wasted no time confronting her about Damian. Her response was maddening. With a calm demeanor, she explained that she thought she was helping me, that a husband and wife shouldn’t let one argument drive them apart. She went on to tell me Damian had come looking for me when I was at the flower shop and had asked for her help to make things right with his wife.

I tried to explain that I had my reasons for staying away without revealing too much. The hurt must have shown on my face because she realized how deeply her actions had upset me and offered a heartfelt apology and promised not to interfere again. It was a small comfort.

The next day, I go grocery shopping. I’m picking out a few things for dinner when I feel it again—his presence.

I know he’s here.

I grip the handle of my basket a little too tightly, my knuckles white. I look over the rows of canned goods, trying to find something, anything to distract me. But no matter what I do, a prickling sensation crawls up the back of my neck.

And then I hear it. His deep voice. “River…”

I close my eyes, biting back the pain and anger that bubbles up in my chest. I want to scream at him. Tell him to go away. To stop haunting me. But I don’t. Instead, I continue moving through the aisles, my pace quickening as I try to escape him.

After paying, I exit the store with arms full of bags and questions swirling in my mind. Did I imagine him? How can he just disappear—

I cry out as he appears in front of me.

He says nothing. Just reaches for the heavy bags and begins walking, leaving me no choice but to follow.

“Stop stalking me!” I say falling into step beside him. He says nothing. I take the time to study him, he still hasn’t shaved. He is wearing a dark sweater, jeans and corduroy jacket.

“So now you’re ignoring me?”

“You’re ready to listen, angel?” he asks, shutting me up. “Didn’t think so.”

The days slip by like this. Over and over, I see him everywhere. In the village square, across the street from the cottage, out of the corner of my eye when I’m walking into the bakery. He’s persistent. He won’t give up.

He follows me around like a shadow, doing the little things without a word—helping with errands, being there when I don’t need him. And it drives me crazy. He’s constantly around, making sure I’m aware of his existence.

Where did the driven, work-obsessed man go? The one who used to bury himself in work even on our trips? Now, it’s like his job doesn’t even exist. He’s acting as though he has no purpose outside of stalking me. What happened to the workaholic Damian Montgomery?

Two weeks go by and I’ve seriously had it. I’m returning home after the long day working at flower shop and he’s right behind me. Stalking me again.

When I’m near the front door I abruptly spin around. “I’m not going to keep doing this,” I say, my voice shaking slightly, despite my best efforts. “Why can’t you understand? I don’t want to talk to you! I won’t let you ruin me again.”

His eyes are dark, unreadable. “You’re wrong, River. I’m not trying to ruin you. I’m trying to make things right.”

“By following me around, stalking me in every corner of this village? How does that make things right?”

He steps closer, his hand outstretched, as if he is going to touch me but I shake my head. “No,” I say, backing away. “I’ve had enough.”

I unlock the door and storm inside. But when I move to slam the door on him, his hand shoots out, blocking it from closing. But he’s late and the door slams on his hand with a sickening thud.

“Damian!” I gasp, rushing to his side.

I look at his hand, and my stomach lurches. Blood is already dripping from his fingers, a crimson trail on the floor beneath him. I grab his arm, pulling him inside, my hands trembling. “Oh my God, Damian, why would you—” My words break off as I guide him to the couch, the sight of his injured hand making my chest ache.

I scramble to find the first aid kit. Mrs. Hawthorne comes out of her bedroom and stares at me with wide eyes as I rummage through things. I don’t answer her questions and sprint back to the living room.

I’m shaking as I kneel in front of him, my tears falling. Gently, I take his hand in mine, cradling it.

“I’m so sorry,” I whisper, barely able to breathe through the sobs. “I never wanted this... I never wanted to hurt you.”

I press a cloth to his hand, trying to stop the bleeding.

He’s silent for a moment, letting me tend to him.

When I finally look up, I find him watching me. “I’d take a dagger to my heart if it meant you’d finally talk to me.”

“But you can’t fix this,” I whisper, my voice filled with sorrow.

“I’m not asking for forgiveness,” he replies. “I’m just asking for a chance to explain.”

I sniffle before looking at him. “Fine.”