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Chapter 65 – Damon's POV
"Signs I Couldn't Ignore"
I wasn't imagining it.
Arya was different lately.
It started subtly — a yawn here, a tired sigh there. At first, I chalked it up to work. The gallery had been non-stop for weeks, and she never knew how to slow down. I thought maybe she just needed a break.
But then, things started adding up.
She didn't want coffee anymore. Not even her usual caramel latte — the one she couldn't function without. The other day, I brought one to her desk like I always used to, and she pushed it away like the smell alone made her sick.
Then there were the mood swings.
One moment, she was soft and playful, curled up beside me, laughing at something I said. The next, she was teary-eyed because we couldn't agree on where to order dinner. Or worse — she'd shut down completely, withdrawn, like something was pulling her inward and she didn't know how to explain it.
And the nausea?
That sealed it.
This morning, I woke up to the sound of the bathroom door slamming. I rushed in just in time to see her leaning over the sink, pale and trembling.
She insisted it was "just something she ate."
But I knew her too well to believe that.
I watched her closely as she returned to bed, curling up under the blanket with her back turned. She didn't want me to see her like that — vulnerable, confused, maybe even scared.
But I did see.
And my mind, whether I was ready or not, started connecting the dots.
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The rest of the day, I couldn't focus.
Meetings passed in a blur. Phone calls felt like static. I kept replaying the past few weeks in my head, lining up every clue like pieces of a puzzle.
The exhaustion.
The nausea.
The sudden distaste for certain foods.
The mood swings.
The subtle way she touched her stomach when she thought no one was looking.
Could it really be?
Could she be pregnant?
The idea settled in my chest like a slow-moving storm — heavy, electric, unpredictable.
I didn't know how to feel.
Terrified?
Maybe.
Hopeful?
Definitely.
Because somewhere in the corners of my heart, I'd always wanted this with her.
A future. A family. A life where it wasn't just us — but something more. Something we created together.
But after everything we'd been through, the fights, the heartbreak, the months of distance... I wasn't sure if she was ready. Hell, I wasn't sure I was ready.
And what if she didn't even know yet?
What if she was as confused by all these changes as I was?
The idea made me pause.
Arya was strong. Fierce. She carried everything on her own shoulders. And I knew if there was even a chance she suspected she might be pregnant, she'd wrestle with it in silence first — trying to make sense of it alone before letting anyone in.
Even me.
Especially me.
---
When I got home that evening, she was curled up on the couch, half-asleep with a sketchpad balanced on her lap. The TV was on, but she wasn't watching. She looked peaceful in that messy, vulnerable way she did when she was too tired to pretend.
I sat beside her gently, careful not to wake her too fast.
She stirred, opening her eyes slowly. "Hey."
"Hey," I said softly, brushing a stray strand of hair from her forehead. "Rough day?"
She nodded. "Just drained."
I hesitated, watching her face. Her eyes were puffy, cheeks pale, lips dry.
"You've been like this for a while now," I said carefully. "Tired. Nauseous. Snappy."
She blinked, her body stiffening slightly. "Yeah... stress, maybe."
"Or…" I said slowly, my voice a whisper now, "could it be something else?"
Her eyes flicked to mine.
And I saw it.
The flash of panic. Of realization. Of knowing.
She didn't answer.
She didn't have to.
Her silence said everything.
My breath caught. Not because I was angry. Not even because I was scared.
But because the truth was here now, sitting in the quiet between us.
She might be pregnant.
And I didn't know what scared her more — the possibility itself or the idea of telling me.
"Arya," I said gently, taking her hand, "if you think… if there's even a chance… I just want you to know, you don't have to go through it alone."
She looked at me, eyes glassy. "I'm not sure yet."
I nodded. "Okay. That's fine. You don't have to be."
Her voice was a whisper. "What if I am?"
I tightened my grip on her hand. "Then we figure it out. Together."
She let out a slow breath, leaning into my shoulder.
Neither of us said anything after that. We didn't need to.
Because the silence said enough — we were scared, yes.
But maybe…
Just maybe…
We were also ready.