Chapter 1: Five Years of SilenceI wake up before the sun, like I always do everday . The room’s still pitch-black, except for that faint orange glow from the streetlight sneaking through the curtains. I just lie there for a minute, staring at the cracked ceiling in this tiny guest room that’s been my prison for five long years, listening to the old house creak and groan.It’s quiet right now almost peaceful. But I know it won’t last. Any minute, Claudia’s going to start barking orders from upstairs, Sophia will clomp down in those ridiculous heels, and Bella… well, Bella will do what she always does: try to calm the storm with that small, weary smile she thinks no one catches.I sit up, swing my legs over the side of the bed, and rest my elbows on my knees. The floor’s ice-cold against my feet. Everything in this house feels worn out, tired. Just like the version of me they all see.Damian Lockwood. That name used to open doors. People straightened up when I walked into a room. Resp

Chapter 3: Cracks in the ArmorThe next few days blur together. Same routine, same insults, same careful distance I keep from everyone. Especially her.But something’s shifted since that quiet dinner. Bella’s glances linger a second longer. She finds excuses to brush past me in the narrow hallway, or asks if I want coffee when she makes a fresh pot, even if Claudia’s watching with that pinched look on her face.I catch myself watching her more too. The way she tucks her hair behind her ear when she’s tired. How she hums under her breath while loading the dishwasher. Little things I’ve noticed for years, but now they hit harder. Like the countdown in my head is making everything sharper.Six days left.I’m out in the garage late one afternoon, pretending to organize tools while I check the phone again. Marcus sent coordinates this time. A drop point, final instructions. Everything’s lined up. Clean. No loose ends.I’m sliding the board back when I hear the side door creak open.“Damian

Chapter 5: Three Days and CountingThe morning after, I wake up with Bella’s head still on my chest, her breathing slow and even, one leg thrown over mine like she’s afraid I’ll vanish if she lets go. Sunlight slips through the blinds in thin stripes across the bed. For the first time in years, the cracked ceiling doesn’t feel like a weight pressing down on me. It feels like something that’s almost over.I don’t move. I just lie there, feeling the warmth of her, letting myself believe this is really happening.She stirs after a while, makes a small sleepy sound, and lifts her head. Her hair’s a tangle, eyes still soft with sleep. She looks at me like she’s checking I’m still there.“Morning,” she whispers, voice rough.“Morning.” I brush a strand of hair from her face.She smiles, small, shy, like we’re kids who finally admitted something huge. Then she scoots closer and kisses me, slow and lazy. We stay like that for a long time, wrapped up in each other, trading quiet kisses and sof

Chapter 7: The King ReturnsThe boardroom doors swing wide and every head snaps toward me.Twenty four people around that long obsidian table, and for one perfect second, nobody breathes.I step inside like I own the place.Because I do.Ethan is halfway through some bullshit speech, arms raised like he’s Moses parting the Red Sea. The color drains from his face so fast I almost feel bad for him.Almost.“Security!” he barks, voice cracking. “Who the hell let this man…”He stops. Recognition slams into him like a freight train.I close the doors behind me with a soft click that echoes like a gunshot.“Hello, Ethan.” My voice is calm, low, the way it used to be when I closed nine figure deals before breakfast. “Miss me?”A ripple of whispers explodes around the table. Phones come out. Someone gasps. An older board member, Harold Langston, been here since my grandfather’s days, actually crosses himself.Ethan finds his voice first. “This… this is impossible. You’re…”“Dead?” I finish fo

Chapter 9: The PenthouseThe elevator opens straight into the living room, and Bella’s breath catches loud enough for me to hear.Floor to ceiling windows wrap the entire penthouse. The city spreads out below us like someone spilled diamonds across black velvet. It’s dusk now, the skyline just starting to glow.She steps out slowly, barefoot on the heated marble, duffel still hanging from her shoulder like she forgot it’s there.“This… is yours?” she asks, voice barely above a whisper.“Ours,” I correct.She turns in a slow circle, taking it all in. The seventy foot living room, the floating staircase, the kitchen bigger than her old house. Everything is sleek lines and warm woods, quiet luxury that doesn’t scream money, just states it like fact.I watch her face the whole time. The awe. The disbelief. The tiny flicker of fear that this might still be a dream she’s about to wake up from.I drop my keys into the bowl by the door, solid onyx, custom, and shrug out of the suit jacket.“Y