The Duke who walked out of Hell

Chapter Five

Damian arrived at the meeting point just as dusk was bleeding into night. The shadows stretched long across the cracked pavement, and the chill in the air gnawed at his skin, though he barely noticed it. His eyes darted to every corner, every alley, searching for a sign, a silhouette, anything. But there was nothing. Not a single soul.

He waited, muscles tensed, tapping his foot on the ground out of impatience and unease. Minutes stretched like hours. He kept pacing, back and forth, his mind racing with possibilities. Was this a trick? Was someone watching him from the shadows? A trap? The stranger had promised help, and now… now it felt like he had been abandoned.

Damian’s chest tightened. He stopped and looked toward the looming cellblocks in the distance. The lights flickered in the windows as inmates disappeared into the night, retreating behind locked doors. By now, everyone would have gone to bed. His fists clenched at his sides, nails biting into his palms. He had been so sure. So certain. And now… nothing. Just emptiness.

The wind whispered past him, carrying the faint sounds of the prison at night—distant shouts, the clanging of a gate, footsteps echoing on concrete. He felt a twinge of anger flare inside him. How could he have been so naïve to trust? He had risked something, maybe more than he cared to admit, and for what? A promise that had evaporated like smoke.

Defeated, he turned and walked back toward the cells, his shoulders heavy with disappointment. Each step felt harder than the last, weighed down by a growing sense of futility. By the time he reached his cell, the night had fully swallowed the compound, and the quiet only made his thoughts louder, sharper.

He couldn’t sleep. He lay on his bunk, staring at the ceiling, twisting and turning as if the act itself could shake the thoughts from his mind. Where had the stranger gone? Why hadn’t he come? Was this all a cruel joke, or… something worse? Damian clenched the blanket, his nails digging into the fabric as he tried to still his racing heart. His chest felt tight, as though it were wrapped in a vice.

“Are you okay, buddy?” Jayden’s voice cut through the silence, hesitant but caring. The sound startled Damian, and he turned his head slowly to see his cellmate watching him with furrowed brows.

“I’m fine,” Damian muttered, keeping his gaze fixed on the ceiling, though he knew his posture betrayed him.

“Well… I know prison is a lot, but you don’t look fine,” Jayden pressed, tilting his head, concern clear in his voice.

Damian’s jaw tightened. “I said I’m fine,” he snapped, a little too sharply, even to himself. The words hung in the air, brittle and forced. But beneath the surface, he felt raw, exposed—like a wound that wouldn’t stop bleeding.

Hours passed. The dim light of the cell slowly changed as the night deepened, and Damian’s restlessness did not ease. He could feel the anxiety burrowing into his chest, gnawing at him. Every creak of the floor, every distant footstep, set his nerves on edge. Sleep was impossible.

Then, the warden’s voice bellowed through the cellblock. “Damian, you have a visitor.”

Damian shot upright, heart hammering in his chest. “Who is it?” he asked, trying to keep his voice steady, though the tremor he felt was undeniable.

“You’ll see when you come out. Move now,” the warden replied curtly, grabbing his arm and leading him through the dimly lit corridors.

Each step toward the visiting area felt like walking through a fog of anticipation and dread. His mind raced with names, faces, possibilities—but none of them fit the image that was forming in the pit of his stomach. His pulse pounded in his ears, his breaths short and shallow.

And then he saw her.

Vanessa.

No baby bump, flawless as ever, standing there as if she had stepped out of a memory he had buried deep inside himself. For a moment, Damian felt as though the world had narrowed to just the space between them. His chest tightened, his stomach twisted, and an impossible mix of relief, disbelief, and something unnamable surged through him.

“Hi,” she said softly, her voice carrying a calm that contrasted sharply with the storm raging inside him.

Damian’s eyes narrowed, and his chest tightened as fury surged through him. “What do you want? Why are you even here?” His voice was sharp, trembling with a mix of anger and disbelief. “You have the audacity to show your face after everything you caused… after all you’ve done?”

Vanessa’s gaze didn’t waver. There was a calmness in her stance, a stillness that somehow made his blood boil even more. “I didn’t cause anything,” she said firmly, her tone steady but carrying a subtle edge. “I’m getting married in about a month.I would have invited you,” she said quietly, her voice almost catching, “but… you can’t come. I came here because I needed to give this to you.”

Damian’s frown deepened. “Give me… what?” The words left his mouth before he could stop them, his heart hammering with a mix of dread and suspicion.

Vanessa reached into her bag and pulled out a set of papers, sliding them toward him. Her hands were steady, almost unnervingly so, and he recoiled slightly as the documents landed near his trembling fingers.

“You… you never got a chance to sign it,” she said softly, her voice almost hesitant now, as if the weight of the gesture carried more than she wanted to admit.

Damian picked up the papers, hands shaking. He looked at them, the reality hitting him like a physical blow. His mind spun. The ink, the signatures, the formal structure—it all made sense, horrifyingly so. These were the divorce papers.

For a moment, neither of them spoke. Damian’s breathing was ragged, his eyes flicking from the papers to Vanessa and back again. He felt a storm of emotions crash over him: anger, betrayal, disbelief, hurt, and… a strange, lingering pain he couldn’t name.

“You… you just come here, after everything, to… hand me my divorce?” His voice cracked, a raw mixture of shock and anguish. “Do you have any idea what this feels like? After all the nights I spent… wondering… hoping… you just…” His hand trembled as he waved the papers, unable to complete the sentence.

Vanessa’s gaze softened ever so slightly, but she didn’t flinch under his intensity. “I wanted to do this properly,” she said quietly.

Damian wanted to say something but the words caught in his throat, tangled up with everything he felt: anger, hurt, longing, and the faintest flicker of relief. Every possible thing he could say felt inadequate, or worse, wrong.

So he didn’t say anything. Instead, he lifted his gaze toward Vanessa, and for a brief, fleeting moment, the weight of everything—the betrayal, the heartbreak, the sleepless nights—slipped just enough to let something softer through.

He smiled

“Of course,” Damian muttered, his voice tight, a brittle mix of resignation and lingering anger. He reached out and took the papers from her hands, his fingers brushing against hers for just a fleeting second. The contact was electric, charged with all the history, all the unsaid words between them, and yet he didn’t flinch.

He laid the papers flat on the table in front of him, his hand trembling ever so slightly as he picked up the pen. Each second stretched, heavy with emotion. Signing these papers felt like signing away a piece of himself he wasn’t ready to let go of—but had no choice.

Vanessa watched him silently, her expression unreadable, though her eyes betrayed a flicker of sorrow. Damian’s chest heaved as he forced himself to breathe steadily, the pen hovering for a brief moment before he finally wrote his name.

The scratch of the pen on paper seemed louder than anything else in the room, echoing through his mind. One final stroke. One final act. And then it was done.

He set the pen down slowly, staring at the signed papers as if hoping they might somehow erase the turmoil inside him—or at least give it shape. Vanessa’s eyes softened, just a fraction, and she nodded, acknowledging the weight of what had just passed between them.