Damian didn't go back to the apartment that night.
He couldn't.
He couldn't risk seeing the faint line of light beneath Amara's door.
Couldn't risk hearing her footsteps in the hallway.
Couldn't risk the possibility of running into her and watching that conflicted expression break him all over again.
So instead, he drove.
Farther.
Away from the city center. Away from the building that held too many memories in its walls.
He drove back to his villa.
The one he rarely used anymore.
The one that felt like a monument to a life he had outgrown.
The gates opened automatically as his car approached. The long driveway stretched ahead, silent and indifferent. The villa stood tall and immaculate beneath the dim glow of the outdoor lights.
Beautiful.
Spacious.
Empty.
He stepped out of the car slowly, staring at the dark windows.
For the first time in months, he felt alone in a way that echoed.
The next morning, he asked for three days of leave.
No explanation.
No details.
His secretary had sounded startled, but he didn't ask questions.
For three days, Damian didn't step foot in the company.
For three days, he didn't answer calls beyond the necessary.
For three days, he stayed inside the villa that suddenly felt too large for one person.
And for three days—
He replayed the rooftop.
Again.
And again.
And again.
On the third night, Damian sat on the balcony outside his bedroom.
The sky was clear. The air cool.
He leaned back against the chair, a glass of untouched whiskey resting on the small table beside him.
He wasn't drinking.
He just needed something to hold.
His eyes were distant.
And the memory returned.
Three days ago after he witnessed the incident in the basement…
He walked back to his office like someone moving underwater. Every sound felt distant. Every movement slowed.
When he reached his office, he shut the door quietly behind him.
He didn't slam it.
He didn't punch the wall.
He simply leaned against it and closed his eyes.
"I knew this would happen," he murmured bitterly.
He walked to his desk and braced both hands on its surface, lowering his head.
He had told himself from the very beginning—
If she chooses Kael, I will accept it.
He had said it calmly. Maturely. Like a man who could control his heart with logic.
But now?
Now that the possibility felt real?
Now that he had seen them that close?
His chest felt like it was being torn open.
He inhaled sharply.
"I can't," he whispered.
He couldn't bear the thought of her going back to Kael.
He couldn't bear imagining Kael holding her hand.
Calling her name the way he did.
Smiling at her the way he used to.
Just thinking about it made something dark rise inside him.
For the first time in a long time, Damian felt fear.
Real fear.
Of losing Amara.
He clenched his fists.
"I should have known," he muttered. "Years don't disappear just because I showed up."
But even as the pain swelled—
He knew something else.
Deep down.
There was no kiss.
He was almost certain of it.
Kael had leaned in.
But the movement was too calculated.
Too deliberate.
And Amara's posture—
She had looked stiff. Not receptive.
If a kiss truly happened, it wouldn't have looked like that.
Damian exhaled slowly.
"It was him," he murmured. "Not her."
And that realization made it worse.
Because if it was Kael's scheme—
Then Kael was desperate.
And desperate men were dangerous.
Damian dragged a hand down his face.
His thoughts were tangled. His emotions louder than reason.
He needed air.
He needed space.
Without telling his secretary anything, he grabbed his jacket and left his office.
The Rooftop
The wind hit him the moment he stepped outside.
Cool.
Sharp.
Honest.
He walked to the railing and stared at the city below.
Cars moved like tiny ants. People hurried about their lives, unaware of the storm brewing inside him.
"Get a grip," he muttered.
He closed his eyes.
If Amara went back to Kael—
He would let her.
He had promised himself that.
He wouldn't chain her to him because of his feelings.
But knowing something logically and surviving it emotionally were two very different things.
"You look like someone just died."
Damian's eyes opened.
He didn't need to turn around to know who it was.
Kael.
Of course.
Damian didn't move.
"What do you want?" he asked evenly.
Footsteps approached slowly.
"Just checking on you," Kael replied casually. "You ran out of the basement pretty fast."
Damian turned then.
Kael stood a few feet away, hands in his pockets, expression almost amused.
That expression ignited something dangerous inside Damian.
But he kept his voice steady.
"There was no kiss," Damian said calmly.
Kael's smile flickered—just slightly.
"Oh?" he replied. "You seemed convinced there was."
"I know you," Damian said, eyes sharp. "You leaned in. You made sure I saw. But you didn't touch her."
For a split second, irritation flashed across Kael's face.
Then it vanished.
"You're smarter than I thought," Kael said lightly.
So it was true.
Damian's jaw tightened.
"You really thought I'd fall for something that cheap?"
Kael scoffed. "Cheap? You ran like someone who lost everything."
Damian didn't respond.
Because that part was true.
He had run.
Kael studied him carefully.
"So even if there was no kiss," Kael continued, voice turning colder, "it still hurt, didn't it?"
Silence.
Kael stepped closer.
"That's the thing about you, Damian. You pretend to be calm. Rational. But you're just as possessive as I am."
Damian's eyes darkened.
"Careful," he warned quietly.
Kael didn't back down.
"You think this is about a kiss?" Kael continued. "It's not. It's about history."
Damian's expression hardened.
"She loved me for years," Kael said bluntly. "Years."
The wind howled between them.
"You think a few months with you erases that?"
Damian didn't answer.
Because that question had been haunting him too.
Kael saw the hesitation.
And pressed further.
"Even if you clear this misunderstanding," he continued smoothly, "even if she runs up here crying and explaining—do you really think that's the end?"
Damian's fists clenched at his sides.
"She'll go back to me," Kael said confidently. "Because I'm her first love."
Damian's gaze sharpened.
"And if she doesn't?" he asked.
Kael's smile returned.
"She will."
He leaned closer, lowering his voice.
"And if her heart wavers, my grandfather will step in."
Damian's brows furrowed.
"You know how much she owes him," Kael continued. "You know she would never refuse him."
The words struck harder than Kael intended.
Because they weren't entirely wrong.
Amara respected Mr. Navarro deeply. She carried gratitude like a sacred debt.
"If my grandfather asks her to reconsider," Kael said quietly, "she will."
Damian's chest tightened.
"So if you really care about her," Kael finished softly, "don't drag this out. Don't make her choose. Don't make her suffer between us."
Silence fell heavily.
Damian glared at him.
Because the worst part?
Kael wasn't entirely bluffing.
Amara did have a soft heart.
She did struggle with guilt.
And if pressured—
Would she sacrifice her current feelings for old obligations?
Damian didn't know.
And that uncertainty felt like a blade twisting slowly.
Kael saw it.
Saw the doubt creeping in.
Satisfied, he straightened.
"You can win a misunderstanding," Kael said calmly. "But you can't win history."
Then he turned toward the rooftop door.