The morning sun was timid, casting pale streaks of gold across the mansion's sprawling floor-to-ceiling windows. Eliana stirred slowly, her fingers instinctively brushing against the music box she had clutched in her sleep. The melody was long gone, but its emotional imprint lingered like a whispered memory.
She sat up, the events of the previous day tumbling into her consciousness like a tide. The gift. The note. Damon's voice at her door. Her parents leaving. Everything still felt too large, too overwhelming to hold.
Still, she got dressed.
By the time she descended the staircase, the household had returned to its usual hush. The breakfast table was already set with a luxurious spread of croissants, fruit, eggs, and fresh juice. Damon sat at the head, immaculate in his navy suit, sipping coffee as though he hadn't been the man who left a piece of his soul at her door the night before.
She took a seat without a word, only offering a quiet, "Good morning."
Damon looked up. "Good morning," he replied, his voice low.
They ate in silence for a few minutes, the clink of cutlery against china the only sound between them. Eliana picked at her food, her appetite dulled by the awkward tension hanging over them.
Finally, Damon broke the quiet. "I transferred some funds to your personal account. You'll find enough to take care of whatever you need. Shopping, travel, anything."
She didn't respond immediately. Just chewed slowly, then swallowed and looked at him.
"Why did you really do all this?" she asked. "Was the story about the foundation real?"
Damon leaned back slightly, surprised. "Yes. It's real. That part of your life wasn't a lie. You ran it with purpose. Passion. It made you happy."
She searched his face. "So it's yours?"
He nodded. "It was my mother's. She founded it before she died. I tried to run it after her passing but..." He paused. "My reputation didn't exactly align with the mission."
"Because you were ruthless?" she asked bluntly.
Damon's jaw tensed. "Because I didn't know how to connect. My father always thought I was too cold. Said I was incapable of love. That's why he made it a condition in his will—I had to marry to inherit the company."
Eliana was quiet for a moment, absorbing the information. "Why did you choose to become that kind of man? The cold, controlling type?"
"I didn't choose it," he said sharply. "Life made me that way."
Her eyes narrowed. "Really? Then explain holding me against my will."
Damon looked like he had been slapped. "I never hurt you, Eliana."
"But you didn't let me go either. That's still a cage."
She stood.
"Sit down," Damon said, the firmness in his voice sending a jolt through her.
She froze, her eyes wide. "What are you going to do? Tie me up? Lock the door? Hit me?"
His expression crumbled. "I would never do that. Don't you dare put me in the same category as that bastard. You don't know what I've survived. Don't judge me until you know the full story."
A beat of silence passed before he grabbed his briefcase and left the room.
Eliana sat back down, stunned.
---
She spent the next hour pacing her room, Damon's words playing on repeat. You don't know what I've survived.
The sharpness in his tone, the cracks in his mask, they lingered.
Was there truly more to his story?
Driven by a sudden need for answers, she called one of the maids.
"Do you know what happened to me before the accident?" Eliana asked gently.
The maid shifted uncomfortably. "I'm sorry, ma'am. I wasn't here during that time."
"But someone was. Someone must know."
The maid bowed her head. "If I may, I believe the driver was here then."
Eliana nodded. "Please have him get the car ready. I want to go out."
---
The city rolled by in silence as the car moved through traffic. Eliana stared out the window, her fingers gripping the hem of her dress. The driver offered a polite, "Where to, ma'am?"
"The beach," she said quietly.
They arrived shortly, and she wandered the shoreline, letting the wind and the sea spray kiss her cheeks. The waves seemed to echo the turmoil inside her. She closed her eyes, trying to remember. Anything.
Then she asked the driver to take her to the foundation.
They pulled up to the modest building. Eliana stayed inside the car, watching from afar.
A memory surged forward.
A woman—her face bruised, her arms trembling—had thrown her arms around Eliana.
"You saved me," the woman had whispered.
Tears filled Eliana's eyes.
"Ma'am? Are you okay" the driver asked.
"Take me home," she said.
---
Damon stepped into the mansion just as the amber glow of sunset poured through the grand windows. He loosened his tie, his voice low but edged with concern as he addressed one of the maids passing by.
"Where is my wife?" he asked.
The maid paused, bowing her head slightly. "Madam left earlier this afternoon with the driver, sir. She didn't say where she was going."
Damon's jaw tensed. A flicker of emotion crossed his face—worry, regret, longing. But he didn't say another word. With a quiet nod, he turned and made his way up the staircase.
To his chambers.
When Eliana returned, her dress fluttered slightly in the evening breeze. Damon watched her from a hidden corner of the stairway.
Graceful. Distant. Untouchable.
She paused when she saw him descending the stairs, freshly changed into more comfortable clothes. Her eyes met his briefly, unreadable.
"You're back," she said quietly.
He nodded, voice equally soft. "I am."
There was a beat of silence before he added, "Did you have a good day?"
Eliana hesitated, as if debating whether to answer. Then she offered a faint shrug. "I suppose."
Without another word, she turned and walked toward her room, her footsteps light but firm.
Damon watched her go, his heart heavy with everything left unsaid.
Dinner was delivered to their separate quarters. The household staff exchanged hushed murmurs about the ongoing tension.
In her room, Eliana turned on the music box again. The melody floated into the air, soft and haunting. She watched it spin and thought about everything she had felt in the last few days: betrayal, confusion, fear—and beneath it all, something that terrified her more than the rest.
Longing.
She couldn't deny it anymore. There was something about Damon that called to her. Something she wasn't ready to name.
Not yet.
But she wasn't running anymore either.
Down the hall, Damon sat alone in his darkened room, the glow from a single lamp casting his shadow long across the wall.
He thought about her voice. Her eyes. The way she had looked at him before leaving the breakfast table.
You don't know what I've survived.
The truth was, she didn't.
But if she gave him the chance, maybe one day she would.
And maybe, just maybe, she'd still choose him.