LAUREN’S POV


    55 vouchers


    My car finally pulled up at my apartment, and I let out a long, exhausted sigh as I stared at the glowing numbers on my phone screen. 3:00 a.m. The time almost didn’t feel real. I rubbed my eyes, fighting off the heavy pull of sleep that was begging me to just curl up right there in the backseat and forget the world for a while.


    I hadn’t even noticed howte it had gotten. Adrian and I had been talking for hours at the hospital, and in those hours, Ipletely lost track of time. The conversation wasn’t short or simple either it stretched on endlessly, filled with all the exnations, confessions, and stories that had been buried for years. It felt strange, surreal even, sitting there in that hospital room pouring out everything that had happened, everything I’d carried inside me.


    And yet, now that I was home, another thought struck me, one I couldn’t shake: if anyone heard that I wasing home thiste, after sitting by a man’s hospital bed, they’d have only one conclusion. That I was his wife. Or maybe his girlfriend, the kind of girlfriend who cared too much, who stayed past visiting hours, who forgot her own responsibilities just to be there for him. It was the kind of thing people whispered about, the kind of misunderstanding that spreads quickly.


    As my driver turned off the engine, I leaned back for a second, gathering the strength to move. That was when I noticed it – Damien’s car. Parked neatly near the front of the building.


    My brows pulled together. What was he doing here at this time? Was he seriously waiting for me all this time? The thought weighed on me.


    Dragging myself out of the car, I gathered my bag and heels and walked toward the entrance. My feet were sore, and the stairwell felt longer than usual. I couldn’t help but wonder what expression I’d find on Damien’s face when I walked in. We haven’t really spoken for over 3 days now. I’d been caught up with the robbery aftermath, with Adrian, with Charlie. And Damien… well, he was patient. But even patience has limits.


    When I finally stepped into the apartment, the faint glow of the television filled the living room. Damien was sitting there, leaning back on the chair, but his posture was tense, his eyes sharp. The second I entered, his head turned toward me.


    For a moment, there was silence. Just the sound of the TV humming in the background. Then I dropped my bag onto the couch with a soft thud and broke the tension.


    “Hey,” I said softly, brushing a stray strand of hair out of my face. “I was surprised your car was still here when I got back.”


    “Yeah,” he answered, his voice low, steady, but there was something under it. Something that told me this wasn’t casual. “I wanted us to talk.”


    I gave him a small smile, though it was more tired than anything else. “You should have texted. There was no need to wait up thiste,” I said, sitting down and slipping off one of my heels, finally giving my aching foot some relief.


    But Damien just shook his head. “Nah,” he said firmly. “It’s not something to toss in a message.”


    17:58


    55 vouchers


    I looked at him fully, noticing the way his hands were pressed together, the way his gaze didn’t waver. He’d been sitting here for hours, waiting for me, thinking about this.


    “Your mom,” he began, his tone carrying a mix of frustration and determination, “she basically didn’t want me to stay up. I know what I had to do to convince her. And I’m d your dad didn’t leave his room.”


    “Ha–ha, very funny,” I said with a touch of sarcasm, shaking my head at his attempt to lighten the mood. My tone wasn’t sharp, just yful enough to show I wasn’t entirely offended. “So, how have you been? I <i>see </i>you’ve really taken an interest in New York.”


    Damien leaned back in his chair, his posture rxed but his eyes still sharp, as if he was carefully watching my every reaction. “Yes, I am. Especially their dishes,” he said with a faint smile tugging at his lips. “Though I have to admit, I can see New York hasn’t been very weing to you. I mean, just a few days after you got here and already your ex–husband is trying to kill you again.”


    I gave him a small nce, arching a brow at the assumption. “I thought so too at first,” I admitted, removing the second heel and setting it neatly beside the couch, “but it wasn’t him.”


    His expression shifted. He raised an eyebrow, intrigued. “He told you this?” Damien asked, his voice carrying just the right bnce of curiosity and disbelief.


    “Well, yes,” I replied, my gaze drifting down to my bare feet for a moment. “But I also figured it out myself while he was saving my life. The pieces didn’t add up otherwise. I was wrong about him all these years.”


    Damien tilted his head slightly, his eyes narrowing with thought. “So you’ve forgiven him? You’re no longer going through with all your ns?” he asked carefully, like he wanted to test the waters before reacting.


    I drew in a slow breath. Forgiveness


    —


    the word still felt heavy, almost foreign on my tongue. “Well, there’s nothing to forgive him for, not really, because he wasn’t the person responsible for the attack,” I exined softly. “And before that… I wasn’t truly having any issues with him. That hatred I carried, is slowly dying down now that I know the truth. And honestly, I’m surprised. I hated this man for five years, Damien. Five years. Then in less than a week, all of that anger and bitterness just… disappears.”


    Saying it out loud almost startled me. I hadn’t even realized how much the shift in my feelings had unsettled me until now.


    Damien’s gaze lingered on me, and his voice dropped, more serious now. “And what about Charlie? I’m guessing he also knows that he’s Charlie’s father now. Does that mean he’lle back into his life?” He paused deliberately before continuing, his eyes locking with mine. “Into your life?”


    That question made me straighten up. I folded my arms across my chest, more as a defense mechanism than anything else. “That’s where you get it wrong,” I said firmly. “What’s in the past stays in the past. I have no intentions of going back to him. I might not be able to stop him from being a father to Charlie wouldn’t even try, because Charlie deserves the truth–but he’s nevering back into my life again.”


    –


    and I


    Damien leaned slightly forward, studying me. His silence pushed me to borate, and I did, my voice steady. “And I’m not saying this out of hate. The things he did to me when we first got married… they were horrible, Damien. I can’t see myself reliving that again, even if he ims he’s changed. Maybe he has, maybe he hasn’t. Either way, I refuse to gamble with my life, my peace, or my son’s stability. Some doors, once closed, are better left that way.”


    For a moment, the room was quiet, the only sound was the faint hum of the television in the background.


    45


    55 vouchers


    Then I noticed the small curve of a smile forming on Damien’s face. It wasn’t smug, but rather subtle — like he was genuinely relieved, almost d about my answer.


    Chapter <b>265 </b>