Damien's POV
The mansion was silent except for the steady ticking of the grand clock in the hall—each second a reminder of how time was no ally tonight. Damien paced the length of the study, the weight of Aria's words pressing down on him like a storm cloud threatening to break.
"I only believe in love if it hurts." The phrase echoed in his mind. He knew every shard of those words. Every jagged edge.
He ran a hand through his hair, the faint scent of rosemary still clinging to his clothes from the dinner they shared. That fragile evening where laughter had dared to peek through the cracks in their broken past. But now, the flash drive—the secret Callum had thrown into the room like a grenade—had shattered the fragile truce between them.
Damien hated the fact that Callum's poison had found a way inside.
He sat, staring at the flickering flames in the fireplace, images of Aria's guarded face flashing before him. She had trusted him once. Given him a sliver of hope. And now, suspicion was carving deeper lines in her delicate skin.
He couldn't lose her again. Not like this.
His phone buzzed.
A message from Aria:
"We need to talk. Now."
He didn't hesitate. He grabbed his coat and headed into the chill night, the air biting against his skin but not nearly as cold as the silence growing between them.
---
Garden Terrace — Midnight
Aria was waiting by the stone fountain, hands stuffed deep into the pockets of her coat, breath visible in the cold air. The garden, so often trimmed and composed, now felt like a stage—bare, still, brimming with tension.
When she saw him approach, her eyes didn't soften. They were fierce—wounded but unyielding.
"You shouldn't have looked at that," she said, voice low but sharp.
"I had to," he said. "I needed to hear it from you."
She shook her head. "It's not what you think."
Damien stepped closer, the cool night wrapping around them, but his presence burning through the cold.
"Then tell me."
She swallowed hard, eyes darting away briefly before locking back on his. Her mouth opened, closed. She looked like someone standing at the edge of a cliff, weighing the fall.
"The video—" she began, voice trembling slightly. "It's from a desperate moment. From a time I was trying to protect everyone I loved. Including you."
He wanted to reach out, to pull her into the warmth they both craved, but the space between them was filled with every unsaid apology, every broken promise.
"I thought you trusted me."
"I wanted to," she whispered. "But Callum's voice is loud, and his truth is dangerous. He's trying to rewrite history to make himself the hero. To make you the villain."
Damien's jaw tensed. "He's always known how to twist the truth until it sounds like salvation."
She looked at him with a sudden intensity that made his heart thud painfully in his chest.
"You have to prove it to me. Prove that the man I fell for isn't the man in that footage."
---
Later — Damien's Study
They sat together, the laptop between them, the glow from the screen illuminating Aria's face. Vulnerable, searching, uncertain. Her arms were folded tight across her chest, as though they might hold her together if the truth broke her.
Damien clicked through documents, emails, internal memos—layers of truth and deception tangled like vines around the family legacy.
"This," he said, pointing to a series of emails, "is proof Callum was covering his own tracks. He falsified accounts, made threats. I was trying to contain the fallout, to keep you safe from what he was doing behind the scenes."
Aria leaned in, her shoulder brushing his, reading every word like it was a confession. "Why didn't you tell me? Why let me think you were the villain?"
His throat tightened. "Because I didn't know how to make you stay if you saw the mess. If you saw me—without the filters, without the armor."
She blinked hard. "You let me believe the worst."
"I was scared. Scared of losing you again. Scared that the truth would push you away."
Her eyes shimmered with unshed tears.
"And now?"
"Now I'm ready to face everything. The lies, the pain, the consequences. But only if you're still willing to fight with me."
She closed the laptop slowly, like it was a coffin she didn't want to open again.
"I don't know if I can trust you yet," she admitted. "But I want to try."
For a second, silence hummed between them. Then Aria's voice, barely above a whisper: "I'm tired of starting over. I just want something that holds, Damien. Something that stays."
---
The Kiss — First Touch
The tension between them was a taut wire ready to snap.
Damien reached out, brushing a stray lock of hair from her face. His fingers lingered, tracing the curve of her cheek.
Aria's breath hitched.
"Don't," she whispered, voice breaking.
But he did.
His lips found hers in a kiss that was not gentle.
It was urgent.
Hungry.
The kind of kiss that spoke of years lost, wounds that hadn't healed, and a desperate hope for something new.
Her body pressed into his, tentative but unyielding.
Hands roamed with slow reverence, rediscovering familiar territory that had been abandoned but never erased. Her fingertips traced the scar on his side, the one he got protecting his brother years ago. He shuddered under her touch—not from pain, but memory.
They pulled apart for breath, foreheads pressed together, breaths mingling in the hush of the moment.
"I'm not letting go this time," Damien vowed, voice gravelled with need and remorse.
"Then don't," she said, voice raw.
---
Hours Later — Bedroom
The night wrapped around them like a velvet curtain.
Every touch was a question. Every kiss an answer.
Damien worshipped her skin, his hands memorizing every inch—maps of scars and stories. He traced the tattoo at the small of her back she once got on a whim and laughed about in Paris. She let him, eyes fluttering shut.
Aria surrendered to the heat rising between them, the ache of years spent apart melting in his arms.
They moved together slowly, with a tenderness that belied the passion beneath. There was reverence in the way he touched her. As if each caress was an apology and every breath a promise.
No words were needed. Only the language of skin on skin, heartbeats syncing in a rhythm as old as time.
When it was over, they lay tangled, limbs and hearts indistinguishable. The silence between them was no longer empty, but full of promises. Full of breathless maybes.
---
Dawn
Sunlight slipped through the curtains, casting gold over their entwined forms.
Damien traced lazy circles on her back, his eyes fixed on the peaceful rise and fall of her breathing. For the first time in years, the tightness in his chest had eased—not gone, but loosened by hope.
"You're still here," she murmured, half asleep.
"I'm not going anywhere."
Her hand found his, squeezing gently. "We've burned a lot down between us."
"Then we build something new. Out of ash if we have to."
She gave him a tired smile. "That sounds painful."
His lips brushed her forehead. "You said it yourself. Love is supposed to hurt, right?"
She closed her eyes again. And this time, sleep took her gently.