The city lights streaked like falling stars outside the car window, each glimmer bending against the rain-blurred glass as the car sped through the dimly lit streets. Damian's hands were tight around the steering wheel, the tendons in his forearms standing out against the soft glow from the dashboard. His jaw was clenched, lips pressed into a hard line as if silence itself was holding him together.
Amara sat stiffly in her seat, her hands tangled together so tightly that her knuckles turned pale. She wasn't crying, but the fragile way she held herself—with her shoulders curled inward and her gaze fixed somewhere beyond the window—made Damian's chest constrict.
He could still hear Kael's words echoing in his head.
Don't forget your place.
Damian's jaw clenched hard enough to ache. He had hit Kael once, and he hated how much he wanted to hit him again. Not because of pride. Not because of rivalry.
But because of what those words had done to her.
He glanced sideways at Amara. She looked smaller tonight—like someone trying to fold herself out of existence. A softness in her eyes that usually warmed a room now looked dimmed, swallowed by a pain she didn't deserve.
He gripped the steering wheel tighter.
"I shouldn't have let him talk to you like that," he muttered under his breath, almost to himself.
Amara didn't react. For a moment he thought she hadn't heard him.
Then—very quietly—she said, "Damian."
He turned his head just slightly, enough to show he was listening.
Her voice was delicate, like she was afraid speaking too loudly would make her heart crack. "You didn't let anything happen. Kael chose his words. I can't keep blaming everyone else for the way he treats me."
Damian frowned. "You shouldn't blame yourself at all."
That made her finally look at him—the suddenness of it small but sharp. "I'm not blaming myself," she whispered. "I'm… trying to accept it."
Her voice trembled on the last word, and Damian nearly slammed the brakes right there. How could she say that so calmly? How could she speak about accepting pain as if it was a normal part of her life?
He forced a breath through his chest.
"Listening to you say that hurts more than anything he said tonight," he confessed softly.
Her lips parted—surprised. She blinked, once, twice, as if unsure what to do with that kind of sincerity.
"He doesn't deserve that much space in your heart," Damian continued, more quietly. "Not anymore."
Amara looked down again, her fingers tightening in her lap. "He used to make me feel seen."
Damian swallowed. "And now?"
She hesitated.
"…Now I feel like I never mattered."
Those six words hit him harder than Kael's punch earlier.
Damian slowed the car as they passed beneath an orange streetlamp, its glow washing over her face. He wanted to reach out—touch her hand, her shoulder, anything—but he stayed still, respecting her space even as his heart ached to bridge it.
"You matter," he said firmly. "To me. To people who actually care about your happiness."
Amara bit her lip. "It doesn't feel that way."
"Then you're surrounded by the wrong people."
Her breath hitched—surprised, shaken, and almost relieved. For a heartbeat, she closed her eyes, as if letting his words settle into the cracks Kael had left behind.
Damian didn't look away from the road, but he sensed something shift. Something quiet. Something delicate.
Something beginning.
They continued driving, letting the silence fall again—but this time the silence was different. Not heavy. Not suffocating.
It was a silence that held warmth.
A silence that gave her space to breathe.
A silence that told her she wasn't alone.
Twenty minutes later…
Mr. Navarro's neighbourhood was quieter than the city streets—broad, tree-lined roads lit by elegant lampposts. The rain had left the pavement glistening, reflecting faint halos of amber light.
When the mansion finally appeared at the end of the lane, Amara straightened just slightly, breathing in slow, careful breaths. Damian noticed.
"You don't have to do this tonight," he reminded gently.
She nodded, though her voice came out softer. "I do. I need to talk to him… before I make decisions I can't undo."
A pause.
"Before I walk away from everything."
Damian studied her expression, the exhaustion etched into it, the faint tremble in her lashes. Her voice carried a weight that felt final. Determined. Resigned.
"Amara…" His voice was barely above a whisper. "When you walk away… don't look behind you. You deserve to move forward."
Her chest tightened. "I'm trying."
"I know. And I'll help you."
The simplicity of the sentence hit her unexpectedly hard.
He didn't say I'll save you.
He didn't say Let me fix everything.
Just I'll help you.
It was gentler than hope. Safer than promises.
She swallowed the sudden warmth rising in her throat and murmured, "Thank you."
Damian pulled into the wide driveway, tires grinding softly over the gravel. The mansion rose tall in the darkness, elegant and quiet, its windows glowing with warm white light. The rain left the air crisp, the faint scent of wet stone and distant jasmine mixing softly.
He parked near the entrance and cut the engine.
And then—for a moment—they didn't move.
The world outside was still.
Inside the car, only their breaths filled the small space.
Damian finally turned to her fully, his voice low. "Before we go in… I need to say something."
Amara tensed, her heart skipping. "What is it?"
He didn't look away.
"If you ever feel like you're going to break again," he said steadily, "just tell me. Don't carry it alone."
Her breath faltered, the words pressing into her like a gentle hand to her chest.
She whispered, "I don't know how to rely on someone."
"Then let me teach you."
Her eyes widened—soft shock, a faint flush, a breath she couldn't take. She didn't know what to say. Maybe she wasn't meant to say anything.
So instead she whispered, "We should… go inside."
Damian nodded once. "Yeah."
He stepped out, walked around, and opened her door—not because she needed help, but because he wanted her to feel cared for, respected. She hesitated for only a second before taking his hand to step out.
The touch was brief.
But it lingered.
They walked toward the mansion side-by-side—his quiet protectiveness matching her careful steps.
At the door, he pressed the bell.
Inside, footsteps approached.
The lock clicked.
The door opened.
The warmth of the Navarro home spilled out like a soft exhale.
The housekeeper smiled—then paused, eyes widening slightly at the unfamiliar man standing beside Amara.
"Ms. Castellanos," she greeted warmly. Then, after a beat, "And… sir. Please, come in."
They stepped into the gentle glow of the foyer.
"The master is expecting you," the woman continued.
Amara blinked. "Expecting me?"
Damian looked at her, just as surprised.
"Yes," the housekeeper said. "He said you'd come tonight."
The air paused.
The moment hung suspended between them.