______Jenna's POV.
Our touch sparked a sudden shock between our fingers and Damian pulled himself back.
"I…"
Somehow, I could tell that he was about to close himself off and a part of me told me that I could not let that happen. So I reached out to grab his hand and pull him forward.
His fingers twitched under mine, like he wasn't used to being held rather than obeyed. For a heartbeat, I felt him lean toward me instead of away.
"Don't worry about it so much. It's good to let go of your troubles for a while and not think about who you are and how you need to behave in front of others. Come, enjoy yourself as well."
I softened my voice without meaning to, not coaxing him like a business ally—but like someone I wanted to stay.
This time when I reached out to touch Damian, there was no shock. However, there was a spark as well as warmth under my fingers as I closed my fingers around Damian's arms.
He didn't tense this time. Instead, he breathed out slowly, almost like relief.
He allowed himself to be tugged after me. My strength was barely enough to make him be able to keep up.
But he matched his steps with mine anyway, letting me lead—as if he wanted this moment to last.
The grass felt fresh and soft under my feet. Walking on it relieved a pressure I did not even know I was building up. My feet must have been strained green by now, but I found that I did not care.
My hand kept clasped around Damian's wrist and during some time while we were walking, it slipped and ended up in Damian's hands instead. I did not even recall when it happened, but I knew that I felt safe.
His grip wasn't tight. Just steady, grounding. The kind of hold that quietly said.
"I'm here."
"It's… fun…"
Damian finally spoke after some time and when I turned around to look at him, he had a soft, almost found look when he looked at me directly. His guard had fallen without him noticing, and for the first time, he looked younger—human—like someone who had been lonely for a long time.
At that moment, he likely saw someone else when he looked at me. I could tell that there was someone he liked and that someone was the reason he was putting so much effort into getting Harvour Industries.
Yet there was a flicker there too—curiosity, something dangerously close to wanting me for my own sake rather than for his revenge.
But I found myself not caring at that moment. In fact, I felt like Damian would do and say anything at the moment and I would be willing to accept it all.
"Yeah, it's fun."
A comfortable silence descended around us as we kept walking forward. Just once, did I look back to see what Damian had to say to me and he remained quiet at first.
But then he opened his mouth, likely to say something to me, and then closed his mouth once more. His voice sounded soft when he did finally manage to voice something out.
"I just… feel so confused. You act like Jenna Harvour, you act like her and even your small habits are like hers. But you cannot be her, because I saw her dead body myself. So who are you? Are you a ghost haunting me?"
His voice broke on her name—not with grief, but with hesitation, as if caring again frightened him.
Damian asked, but it did not seem like he was asking a question. It felt more like he wanted to find a solution to his own problem and nothing else.
At that moment, I wanted to yell at him and tell him that I was Jenna Harvour, but something in me still told me that Damian will not believe me. So I decided to test the waters a little.
"What if I am Jenna Harvour? What will you do? Still ask me to help you take revenge—"
"I… don't know…."
And for someone like Damian Black, admitting that was more intimate than any declaration of affection.
Damian's answer was all I needed to know for now. He was confused about my identity and any further push here will only confuse him even more.
He needed to come to a conclusion of who I was all on his own. Only then will he be able to come to terms with who I actually was.
'And for confirmation, DNA test is always a possibility…
But that was the last resort. We were in an age where scam was a common occurrence, after all.
Ring.
The silence between us was finally broken by the phone ringing. Damian turned to look at the phone in his hand with a frown before he picked it up.
"Mister Damian, I have brought your car at the entrance. Where would you like me to pick you up from?"
The driver asked on the phone and Damian sighed in relief at the timing of that call. I also took it as my cue to pull my heels back up and follow after Damian.
He continued to talk on the phone with one hand and he struggled to put his shoes on with the other. So I decided to help him and hold his phone for him while he put on his shoes. Our hands brushed again, and this time he didn't flinch—he smiled. Small, brief, but real.
Damian acknowledged my efforts with a nod of appreciation before he quickly put his shoes back on and took his phone back. His other hand reached out to tug my hand and he made me follow him to the car.
He didn't need to hold my hand anymore—but he chose to.
He only put the phone down once we were near the car, and the driver immediately stepped forward to receive us.
"Sir, you are back…"
He trailed off, looking at our joined hands and I was sure that it would make Damian let go of me.
But Damian did not do that. Instead, he just tugged me even harder after himself and gave the driver a look before he entered the car. Possessive. Protective. A quiet statement: she's with me.
I followed after him and the driver quickly closed the door behind us before he started to drive.
"Take me to my home first."
Damian's instructions were clear but the driver almost questioned him before he caught himself and drove to Damian's home.
Once we reached home, Damian opened the door for me and helped me out. His touch lingered for a moment longer than necessary, like he hated letting go.
"Wait for me here. I need you to take me somewhere else after this."
Damian told the driver before he took me inside his home. It still felt as big as before as I entered the room. I did not know what to do, so I just looked around the place before taking a seat on the sofa.
"I need to go out to the office for some 'official' work. You are free to take anything you want or order anything you want. It will arrive in the kitchen's dumbwaiter. Otherwise, just wait for me."
Damian told me before he went out. I followed him after a full minute, but when I tried to open the door, it was locked from the outside.
I had been locked in the grand house all alone.
And even though I knew I should have been angry, all I could think about was the warmth still lingering in my hand.
______Damian's POV
The moment the door clicked shut behind me, I didn't move.My hand remained on the doorknob longer than it should have, as if part of me expected her to open it again… or as if I wanted to go back inside.
Ridiculous.
I walked away anyway — faster than necessary, like running from something I shouldn't feel.
My driver trailed behind.
"Sir, shall we—"
"Give me my phone. And bring up every file we have on Jenna Harvour. Everything. Autopsy, CCTV, police report, hospital statements, death certificate… all of it."
I cut him off. My voice sounded colder than I intended.
The driver hesitated, eyes flickering with surprise.
"Y–Yes, sir."
I leaned back against the car for a second, loosening my tie, trying to breathe. My pulse was still racing — not from anger, not from stress… from her hand in mine.
That should not have happened.
Every move I made, every decision, every calculated step toward revenge had been carved in ice for years. Nothing could reach me.
But she reached me.
The way her fingers wrapped around mine — hesitant, warm, hopeful — the way she smiled like it was the first time in years she was allowed to feel anything…
It was exactly the same. Everything about her was the same.
And that was the problem.
"I saw Jenna Harvour dead. I know I did."
I whispered to myself.
So why did it feel like I had just spent the evening walking hand-in-hand with her?
The files arrived on my phone one by one. I stared at the screen, unable to press play on the first video.
If she is alive…
If someone hid the truth…
If they lied about her death…
My grip tightened around the phone.
"…Then everything I've done so far…no, I would have still done it. But I would also have looked for her."
For a moment, I pictured her locked inside my house — not as a possession, not as a pawn — but as someone I was terrified of losing again before I even understood what she was to me.
I pushed myself off the car.
"Take me to the Harvour case archives."
I ordered.
"Right away, sir."
As the chauffeur opened the door, I stole one last glance at the house — at the room where I had locked her in.
'I can't let her disappear until I know the truth.'
Not again.