Chapter Fifty-Three

A fter making sure he doesn’t need stiches, I dress his wound then make him tea. Mrs. Hawthorne comes out to meet Damian and within minutes makes herself scarce but not before shooting me a pleased grin.

I take his empty cup and carry it back to the kitchen. When I return, Damian is standing by the window. He turns his head, sensing my presence.

“Are you ready?” he asks and I nod solemnly.

“To understand everything clearly, I’ll have to start from the very beginning.”

Wordlessly, I take a seat on the lounge chair, silently giving him the green light.

“Anthony Sabatino.” He inhales deeply, his eyes falling shut for a moment, as if the mere mention of him is physically paining him. “My father. A brilliant mechanic. He never had the fancy degrees or the recognition that everyone thinks matters. All he had was his hands, his mind, and his obsession with machines. He’d stay up late, night after night, tinkering with engines, dreaming of building something that could change the world. Despite facing financial hardships, his passion for automobiles and innovation never wavered.”

I don’t dare move. I don’t dare interrupt as he talks.

“That’s why our family struggled financially,” Damian says, his voice dropping as though he’s reliving the past. “But my mother… she never once complained. She supported him, his dream to innovate, even when it meant taking on work as a housekeeper to keep us afloat. She believed in him when the world didn’t.” His jaw tightens briefly, but he continues. “He faced failure after failure. Years of it. But her faith in him remained unshaken. Because of that faith, he finally succeeded.”

He pauses, his gaze distant. “He invented something extraordinary—a compact device designed to enhance the fuel efficiency and overall environmental impact of vehicles. This device could be easily integrated into existing engines, making it a cost-effective and eco-friendly solution for car owners.”

I blink in surprise. “That sounds… familiar.”

A humorless smile curves his lips, and he rips open two buttons of his shirt. “Doesn’t it?” His voice is low, bitter and cold. “He was ecstatic, for once feeling like all those years of struggle had been worth it. He had a meeting lined up with one of the biggest companies in the field. A chance to finally change our lives.”

A sinking feeling settles in my stomach.

“That was the last time I saw him,” he says, his voice rough, each word dragged out like it’s ripping something inside him. “A week later, the cops showed up. They said my father was dead.” He stops, his jaw clenching hard. “My mother… she was six months pregnant. The news shattered her. She couldn’t take it. Locked herself in the bedroom. I found her hanging from the ceiling.” He exhales harshly. “I was eight years old.”

I freeze, the air in my lungs turning to stone. My hands grip the armrests tightly, my knuckles white, my body trembling.

I want to say something, anything, but no words come. How could they? How do you respond to something so devastating? My throat burns, and tears begin falling as I stare at him, his face so calm, yet his eyes screaming with a pain I can’t fathom.

“Damian,” I finally manage. “I’m so sorry,” I sob, streaking down my cheeks as I sit there, helpless, my body trembling with his grief. I want to fix it, take it away, but I can’t. And the ache of that realization makes the tears fall even harder.

He nods, swallowing thickly. After a beat, he clears his throat. “He wasn’t just my father—he was my best friend, my mentor. I spent countless hours with him in his garage, me watching him work, handing him tools, listening to his dreams. He trusted me with everything, and I knew that device he was working on like the back of my hand. He believed it would change everything.

“After I was adopted at twelve, I started digging into the company he was supposed to meet with, something didn’t sit right. I found out they had released a product, an exact replica of my father’s invention. Same name, same design, identical in every way. What made it worse was that the launch date was just a few months after his meeting with them.”

I sit there, stunned, my heart sinking with each word.

“It wasn’t until I was older, capable of doing proper research, that I confirmed my suspicions. The company had stolen his design, his research, and marketed it under their own name. They never gave my father the credit he deserved. When I dug deeper, I found out they had replaced all of their employees shortly after my father’s meeting with them. Want to know the company’s name?” Damian’s eyes meet mine.

I can’t find the words, so I nod, pale and frozen in place.

“IDG,” he says flatly.

“IDG?” I whisper. The name slams into me like a physical blow. My throat constricts, and for a moment, the world goes completely still.

“IDG,” Damian repeats, his voice emotionless. “Innovare Dynamics Group. Your father’s company.”

“That’s not possible…” I whisper in disbelief, and I don’t even realize I’ve spoken until I hear the shaky sound of my own voice.

Damian’s gaze hardens. “I told you you wouldn’t believe me. That’s exactly why I never wanted to tell you.”

“But… but…” My mind reels, struggling to process the impossibility of it all. My father, the man who built everything from the ground up, would never... steal someone else’s idea. Conspire to hurt Damian’s father? The thought is inconceivable.

Damian pulls out his phone, his fingers moving swiftly over the screen. A minute later, there’s a sharp knock on the door. I freeze, unable to contain my shock as Hal steps inside. “Mrs. Montgomery,” he says with a small nod in my direction, before putting a black briefcase onto the coffee table. Without another word, he turns and leaves, the door closing softly behind him.

Damian opens the briefcase and pulls out two files. “According to the authorities, my father’s body was found in the woods. The location was seven miles away from the IDG building. But…”

He slides the first file across the table. “The day my father went to that meeting, two separate 911 calls were placed from the IDG building. The file holds those call records, along with statements from employees who worked on the 30th floor. They heard shouting, even gunshots. Shortly after those calls were made, every single one of those employees was transferred to your father’s overseas branches. Their stories changed, and everything was swept under the rug.”

“The police, senators, and countless influential figures were all involved in covering up my father’s murder.” He hands me another file. “The names of everyone involved are in here.”

I can feel the blood drain from my face. I stare at the file, my hands trembling. My body feels like it’s going to give out at any moment. The world I knew is crumbling to dust.

“I’ve dealt with almost everyone on that list.” Damian reveals with grim satisfaction.

“But these don’t prove that my father and his partners…” I can’t finish the sentence. My voice cracks.

“Killed my father?” A bitter smile twists his lips. “That hurt more than I thought. I knew you wouldn’t believe me. I knew you’d take their side, but hearing it from you, seeing that disbelief in your eyes... it hurt. More than I thought it would.”

“No!” I swipe at my tears and stumble to my unsteady feet. “I didn’t say I don’t believe you, Damian. I’m just… trying to make sense of all this!” My breath comes in quick, jagged gasps. “My mind is still processing the fact that your… your father was killed, and your mother…” My voice cracks, and a sob tears through me. “I… I can almost accept the thought of my dad stealing, even if it seems impossible, but murder… Damian…”

He pulls out another file and a flash drive, his expression unreadable. “These are reports and recordings from therapy sessions with your father’s partners, William Thompson and Richard McAllister. They confessed to killing my father.” He pauses, his jaw tightening. “They never went into specifics, but they did mention the involvement of your father.”

I turn quickly, stumbling toward the bathroom, the sound of my heartbeat pounding in my ears. I bend over the pot, retching violently. The contents of my stomach come rushing up, my body shaking uncontrollably as the truth of his words finally sinks in.

I’m shaking, my body wracked with tremors as I clutch the edge of the pot. The harsh reality of everything, the betrayal, the loss—settles deep in my bones.

I’m about to collapse on the floor when suddenly strong arms wrap around waist, lifting me with ease.

Damian carries me back to the living room. His eyes never leave me, watching me with a mixture of guilt and concern, as if he wishes he could take all this pain away from me. Even though I should be the one feeling that way, comforting him. Not the other way around.

When we reach the sofa, he sits down, pulling me into his lap like a fragile doll. His hand strokes the back of my head, his fingers threading through my hair in soothing motions. But it doesn’t stop the tears.

I cry. Hard. The floodgates have opened now. The pain in my chest twists and tears through me, and I let it all out—every broken sob, every shard of devastation.

Damian doesn’t speak. He just holds me. His face is unreadable, but his body tenses every time I break down again, his grip tightening on me, as though he’s trying to soak my pain.

“I’m sorry,” he mutters, voice rough, though it’s unclear whether he’s apologizing for the truth he’s laid bare or for the pain that’s now consuming us both. “This is why I didn’t want to tell you.”

But I needed to know. I had to face it.

“Is there more?”

His jaw hardens. That means yes.

“Tell me. Tell me everything,” I say hoarsely, sliding off his lap.

Without a word, Damian stands and moves toward the kitchen. A minute later, he returns with a glass of water. He hands it to me, his gaze never leaving mine as I sip, making sure I’m okay before speaking again.

“This file,” He produces another file, this one thick and ominous, “contains every wrongdoing your father and his partners committed, both through IDG and their other ventures. Insider trading, money laundering, tax evasion, intellectual property theft—all of it. I used these to dismantle their empire, destroy William Thompson and Richard McAllister’s lives, and bring their families to their knees.”

“Why their families?”

His eyes lock onto mine. “I have a rule,” he says, his voice low and dangerous. “Only one. Don’t harm the innocents, and don’t forgive the culpable. If their families had been innocent, I would’ve left them alone. They might not have had a hand in my family’s destruction, but they did other things, unthinkable things—and they walked away without facing any consequences. So I made sure they didn’t get away unpunished.”

“Like Melissa?” I remembered how he admitted of conspiring her accident.

“No. I just uncovered dirt on each one of them and used it, legally, to drain their finances until they were bankrupt. I could’ve gone to the authorities, but that wouldn’t have been enough. They needed to feel it. They needed to understand what it’s like to be on the other side, to know how it feels when everything you’ve built comes crashing down. Melissa was the only exception.”

“Why?”

“Because she tried to hurt what’s mine. My wife.” The words hit me with the force of a storm, leaving me breathless.

I watch him rise from his seat, crossing the room to stand by the window, his broad shoulders tense as he stares out into the night.

“I took over IDG recently.”

I freeze but he continues, “Richard was already bankrupt, but your father spent what little he had left to sue me over it, but he lost. Every single penny.”

My dad. Christopher Gibson. The man I once saw as untouchable has been brought to his knees by my husband.

“There’s one last file in that briefcase. It’s the paperwork to transfer ownership of IDG back to your father. I had it drawn up. All it takes is my signature. I’ll sign it right now for you.”

I can't hide the shock in my voice as I ask, “Why? Why would you do that after what he did to you and your family?”

He turns slowly. “Because no victory, no revenge, is worth losing you.”

I draw in a sharp breath.

Before I can respond, he strides in my direction, eating the distance between us. Then to my utter shock, Damian drops to his knees right in front of me.

The sight of him like this—a man who never bends, now at my feet—steals the air from my lungs.

He takes my hands in his. “I don’t care about power or pride anymore. None of it matters if I can’t have you by my side.” His eyes search mine. “Come back to me, angel. Let me fix this. Let me fix us .”

“But you hate me—”

His eyes narrow. “How could I ever hate my wife?”

Tears sting my eyes as the memory of his words burns in my chest. “I heard you… You said you hated my father, and everyone connected to him.”

“Yes, I did.” His jaw tightens. “And I meant his partners and their families.”

“But I’m connected to him,” I whisper.

He grabs the back of my neck, pulling me closer. “No, you’re not. You stopped being his the day you became mine. From the moment I put that ring on your finger, you became my family, my only loyalty. You’re connected to me and no one else.”

I swallow hard, clinging to the doubts that won’t let go. “B-but you married me for revenge, Damian…”

His expression tightens, a shadow passing over his face like the confession physically wound him. For a moment, he says nothing, but when he speaks, his voice is heavy. “At first, I told myself that’s all it was. I wanted to believe it, to keep things simple, to convince myself I wasn’t weak. It was easier to call it revenge, to think I was in control. But I was lying to myself. I wasn’t ready to admit the truth.”

His hands come up, cradling my face as he lifts my gaze to meet his. “Raleigh was right. I married you because I wanted to. Because I couldn’t imagine not having you. After my parents died, I built walls, walls so high even Raleigh and Summer could barely break through. I kept my heart locked away, buried in ice. And when I was adopted, I built those walls even higher, stronger. No one got close. No one dared.” His voice drops, his thumb brushing against my cheek. “But you… you shattered every wall. I never stood a chance. You didn’t ask for permission, River. You walked straight into my life despite my cold defenses and claimed me before I even realized it.”

I stare at him, wide-eyed, breath caught in my throat as his words unravel every defense I’d tried to hold onto.

“My parents—they’re already gone,” his voice cracks just enough to betray his emotions. “They’ve already been stolen from me. But you? I can’t lose you too. I won’t. The revenge, the files, the leverage—I’ll burn it all. I’ll give your father back his empire. None of it matters if it costs me you.” He exhales a shaky breath and for the first time, I see a crack in his armor.

“Just… don’t leave me.” His forehead rests against mine. “I need you. I… I-I love you, River. More than I ever thought I was capable of.”

I squeeze my eyes shut as the sobs wrack through me. He scoops me off the sofa like I weigh nothing, shifting on the carpet and cradling me in his lap as though I’m the most precious thing in the world.

“I love you, River,” he murmurs, his voice thick and breaking. He presses his lips to my temple, repeating the words over and over, each one carving deeper into my heart.

How could he still love me? I am the daughter of the man who destroyed his world, the bloodline of his greatest enemy.

How could his heart, so burdened with vengeance and pain, find room for someone tied so closely to his suffering?

I should feel grateful, humbled even, that he’s chosen me despite everything, but all I can feel is guilt. Guilt for loving him when I know the shadow of my father’s actions looms over us. Guilt for being the reason he’s suffered more, for being the daughter of the man who left him broken.

And yet, there’s something terrifyingly beautiful about it too. That even after all he’s endured, after every wound my father inflicted on him, Damian has it in him to love. To choose me. It doesn’t make sense. It’s almost cruel, that he would open his heart to me, the one person who reminds him of everything he’s lost.

Maybe in me, he’s found the one thing that can overpower his hatred, even if it tears him apart in the process. And that makes me cry harder.

He misinterprets my tears, assuming they’re for something entirely different, because he says “I know I hurt you. I know I don’t deserve you. But I need you to know—the man you saw on that trip, that was me. The real me. Every moment we shared, every laugh, every touch, was as real as the beat of my heart. As real as my love for you.”

I grip his shirt tightly, my tears soaking through the fabric as they spill uncontrollably. I want to tell him I believe him, to give him some kind of reassurance, but the words just won’t come. All I can do is cry.

“I used to think I had no heart, but when you left, I felt it crack wide open, like it was dying inside me,” he says, tightening his hold as if he’s afraid I’ll slip away again.

“I searched everywhere for you. I went through hours and hours of CCTV footage of every highway, every airport. Flew to Paris, even to Scotland—everywhere I thought you might be. And you weren’t anywhere.” I feel his chest rise and fall unevenly. “Every minute, I was paralyzed with fear, imagining the worst. You were out there, all alone. No money, no protection. Wondering if you were safe, if you were even alive. It was like being trapped in a nightmare, one I couldn’t wake up from.”

His pulls me impossibly closer, like he can’t bear the thought of any space between us. “I hired countless PIs. Followed every lead, barely sleeping between flights. That’s how I found you here.”

His words piece together the fragments of my shattered heart, mending each crack.

I bury my face into his chest, my tears flowing freely as his love seep into my soul.

“I can’t do it, River. I can’t live without you. I simply don’t want to.”

“Damian…” I manage to whisper.

“Let me speak. Please,” he pleads. “I’ve buried everything so deep inside me for so long. You begged me to open up, and I didn’t. You gave me your heart on a silver platter, again and again, and all I gave you was silence. But not anymore. You deserve to hear it all.”

He cups the back of my head, gently pressing my face against his chest once more. “How could you ever believe that I hated you? You’re the only light I’ve ever had in this dark, jaded life of mine. The only reason I’ve survived this long. Without you… I have no reason to exist.”

His confession crashes into the fragile remnants of my strength, breaking me even as they start to put me back together. It shatters and saves me all at once. My body can’t take it anymore, the exhaustion of my heartbreak followed by the overwhelming relief by his love confession take its toll and the darkness swallows me whole.

◆◆◆

“Damian!” I jolt upright, gasping as the remnants of a restless sleep cling to me. My voice is loud enough to echo through the guestroom.

Mrs. Hawthorne is already by my side. She leans forward slightly. “Easy now, love,” she says, concerned. “You need to rest.”

I blink, disoriented. “Where’s my husband? What time is it?”

She glances at the antique clock resting on the mantle. “It’s seven in the morning,” she replies. “He had to leave. Some... unsavory types with cameras were outside the house, causing a ruckus. He went to sort it out.”

Paparazzi? My pulse quickens.

“Are they still out there?”

She shakes her head. “Not anymore. But your husband did insist I keep you indoors until he gets back.”

Her words don’t really register as I push off the plush bedding, my bare feet meeting the cool, polished wood floor. “I—I need to see him.”

I choose Damian. Now and forever.

I chose him when I was eighteen, when I fell in love with him at first sight. I chose him again at twenty, when life threw us back together. I chose him when I was twenty-one, defying my father to marry him. And now, I’m going to choose him again.

He asked me in Scotland if I’d choose him again. If I’d try to make our marriage work. At the time, I didn’t know about his past. But I chose him anyway. And now, after knowing everything, I wholeheartedly choose him once again. And I need to tell him that.

Last night, I couldn’t. Couldn’t force the words past my trembling lips. I love you . Why was it so hard to tell the truth when my heart was crying it out loud?

I couldn’t tell him I forgave him when he was apologizing for everything. And I couldn’t ask for forgiveness myself—for running, for shutting him out, for not staying to fight for us when I should have.

But he said he wants me back. And God, I want him back too.

“Don’t be daft. He’ll be back soon, probably by evening at the latest. He’s staying in the village, and once he’s able, he’ll be right back here. There’s no need to fret.”

“Did he say where he’s staying?”

She shakes her head softly. “No, darling. He was in a rush. Poor thing. He left before you woke up. But let me tell you, River, he didn’t leave because he wanted to. He left because he had to. You were unconscious, your fever so high he was beside himself. He called for a doctor right away. He only let the doctor go around two this morning—after your fever finally broke.” Amusement glinting in her eyes. “You’re a lucky girl. Your husband stayed up all night even after the doctor reassured him. Not a wink of sleep. He wouldn’t leave your side. Kept me awake as well with all the pacing and noise,” she adds, grumbling with no heat.

I find myself smiling. If he’s staying in the village, he’s probably at one of the bed and breakfasts here. I’ll make sure to check all of them later.

After a quick shower, I get dressed hurriedly, ready to go but Mrs. Hawthorne hovers, never letting me out of her sight, never letting me do anything.

I finish my breakfast in record speed, noting how I got my appetite back after a month and a half.

An hour later, when I see her drift off, book in hand, I seize the opportunity. My feet are already moving. I slip out the door as quietly as I can.

I move quickly, feeling the adrenaline rush through me, my heart beating faster with each step.

The more I think about it, the clearer it becomes. I would spend my entire life loving him. I would give him everything—my heart, my trust, my devotion. Because he deserves it, all of it. Damian, with all his darkness, his flaws, his past. He deserves the chance to make things right, to build something better from the wreckage of his past.

Damian is far from a morally righteous man. I can still hear his voice, the way he coldly recounted Caleb and his family’s death, no remorse in his tone.

But did they show any remorse for what they did to him, to Summer, or Raleigh and many others? No. They earned what came to them. Everything Damian did, every choice he made, was a result of all the cruelty he’d been forced to endure.

Damian may not be a law-abiding man, but he protects and avenges those he loves, those who matter. He can do anything, go to any length for them. And I’m one of them.

He loves me.

He’s willing to give me everything, to protect me at all costs. He’s willing to go to hell and back for me. How could I not give him all of me in return? How could I not be his, when he’s fought so hard for me?

I can’t wait to see him. To feel his arms around me, to know that everything will be okay.

I cross the road, barely hearing the screech of tires until it’s too late. With a shriek of horror, I hastily move out of the way but end up falling on the pavement. The car swerves violently to the other side, narrowly avoiding a crash.

I scramble to sit up, wincing as I check my skinned palms and knees.

“River!” A hand clamps over my shoulder. I look up and gasp at the sight of a very pale Matt looming over me.