Chapter Thirteen: The Choice to Fight

The silence in Damien's penthouse was unfamiliar. It wasn't the quiet of solitude, which he'd grown to appreciate in years past. This silence was hollow, echoing with everything that was now missing.

Lia.

Her absence was loud.

Every room carried her imprint. The faint vanilla scent from her bath oils still lingered in the bathroom. The throw pillows on the couch remained in the messy, cozy order she always arranged them in after claiming the living room as her reading nook. Even Gloria, his housekeeper, walked more carefully these days, as if preserving Lia's presence in the spaces she used to fill.

"Are you sure this is what you want?" Ethan asked as Damien stared out the window, watching the city below blur through his whiskey glass.

"I didn't want her to leave," Damien said quietly.

Ethan leaned against the edge of the desk. "Then why did you let her walk out?"

Damien didn't answer immediately. His jaw worked, emotion pressing against the edges of his self-control. "Because I thought it was safer."

"For her? Or for you?"

Damien didn't respond. He couldn't. For the first time, he wasn't sure which one it had been.

It had been four days.

Four days of waking up to a cold bed.

Four days of not hearing her soft humming as she prepared her tea.

Four days of missing the sound of her laughter sneaking into his office when she thought he wasn't listening.

He opened his email for the fifth time that morning, only to close it again. No messages from her. No messages at all that mattered. His work held no flavor. His empire, once the center of his identity, felt hollow.

Gloria stepped in with a tray. "Sir, you haven't touched your breakfast."

Damien looked at her. The older woman rarely interfered, but her expression said more than she let on.

"She used to eat your toast when you didn't," Gloria said softly. "Said wasting food made her mother upset."

Damien's throat tightened.

"What do I do, Gloria?" he asked.

She looked at him with kind eyes. "You fight. You stop running and fight for her. Not like a Cross, not like a CEO. Like a man in love."

The Morgan house hadn't changed. The same creaky gate. The same wild rose bush Lia always said she would trim but never did. Damien felt oddly nervous as he stepped onto the porch, bouquet in hand.

Mrs. Morgan opened the door, surprise flashing across her face. Her brows knit, lips pressed into a line. "She's not here."

"I know," Damien said. "But you are. And I need your help."

Mrs. Morgan crossed her arms. "Help? You think after the way she came home crying I owe you that?"

Damien nodded. "No, ma'am. I don't think you owe me anything. But I love your daughter. And I hurt her. I want to fix it."

The older woman looked at him long and hard. "She said you had secrets. Said she felt like a pawn."

Damien looked down. "She wasn't wrong. I was protecting myself... from things I thought I couldn't face. But not anymore."

"What changed?"

Damien looked up. "Losing her."

After a long silence, Mrs. Morgan sighed. "She went to my sister's in Greenvale. Said she needed space."

He nodded, gratitude flickering in his chest. "Thank you."

Mrs. Morgan hesitated. "If you hurt her again, Damien Cross, I will not be kind next time."

The drive to Greenvale was long, made longer by the storm clouds gathering overhead. Damien had never driven through the countryside alone before. Usually Ethan handled travel. But this felt personal. This couldn't be outsourced.

When he arrived, the house was modest, painted a soft yellow with blue shutters. The porch light was on, flickering gently in the early evening fog. Damien approached slowly, heart pounding.

He raised his hand to knock.

The door opened before he could.

Lia stood there.

Hair damp from a shower, sweater too big, eyes tired. She froze when she saw him.

"What are you doing here?"

He took a breath. "Fighting."

Lia's arms folded. "For what? The contract? Your reputation?"

"For you."

Her expression flickered.

"I messed up, Lia. I pushed you away because I was scared. Scared of what I was feeling. Scared that you saw too much."

She didn't speak, but didn't close the door either.

Damien stepped forward. "You were right about the documents. I have been hiding something. Not because I don't trust you, but because it was tied to the worst part of my past."

Lia's eyes locked with his.

"The company's merger—the one that started everything? My father almost lost everything in it. And he blamed me. Said I wasn't ruthless enough. That was the beginning of the end."

He paused. "When he died, he left a clause in the will. The only way I could retain control of Cross Industries was if I married."

Lia blinked. "Wait... that was why you married me?"

"At first," he admitted. "Ethan helped draft the contract. I didn't expect to like you. I didn't expect... you."

Silence again.

"You made me laugh when I wanted to be numb. You challenged me when I thought I knew everything. And when you left, everything went quiet. Too quiet."

Lia stepped out onto the porch, arms still crossed. "You hurt me."

"I know. And I might not deserve your forgiveness. But I love you. And I want to try, if you'll let me."

Her eyes shimmered.

"I don't want the contract anymore," Damien said. "Rip it up. Burn it. I just want you."

The wind picked up, catching strands of Lia's hair. Damien reached up, gently tucking one behind her ear.

She didn't pull away.

"I still don't trust you fully," she whispered.

"Then let me earn it. Every day. For as long as it takes."

Lia looked at him for a long time, eyes searching his face.

Then, slowly, she stepped into him, resting her forehead against his chest.

"You're an idiot."

Damien exhaled a shaky laugh. "I know."

They stood like that for a while. Just breathing. Just being.

Not broken. Not whole.

But willing to fight.

Together.