Ch 20

“Why are you looking at me like that, Clara?” Damon’s voice came soft and low, breaking the quiet stillness of the master bedroom, wrapped in the gentle patter of falling rain.

Slowly, Damon opened his eyes to find Clara sitting at the edge of the bed, her gaze warm and tender as she watched him. He tried to push himself up, bracing against the dull ache still lingering in his chest, though the sharp pain had finally begun to fade. The dim glow of the bedside lamp cast a soft golden light across Clara’s face—but Damon’s attention was drawn instantly to the fingers of her left hand.

There, resting on her ring finger, sat the platinum band etched with delicate roses, its center stone—a vivid emerald—glowing with deep, brilliant fire.

Damon’s breath caught in his throat. His dark eyes trembled, laid bare with a raw mix of shock and vulnerability. “You… you found the box?”

Clara did not answer right away. She lifted her hand slowly, letting the lamplight catch and reflect the rich green sparkle of the heirloom that had once belonged to her mother. A faint, tender smile touched her lips, heavy with quiet emotion.

“I found it hidden in the secret compartment at the back of your wardrobe,” she whispered softly, her fingers brushing gently over the back of his hand where it lay upon the sheets. “Along with a little note… something you wrote all those years ago.”

Damon lowered his head for a moment, looking almost awkward—this was the same man who had once stood tall and unshakable before the highest boards of the corporate world, yet now he seemed entirely stripped of his usual armor.

“I kept it safe since that terrible night,” he said, his voice rough and thick with unvarnished truth. “The day your parents were taken from you, I swore I would take this ring back from Sterling’s men who stole it. For fifteen years, I guarded it as a reminder… a reminder that I had no right to claim you, not until I had restored every single thing that had been stolen from you.”

Clara laced her fingers tightly through his, cutting him off before he could finish. “And now everything that was lost has been returned, Damon. But this ring would mean nothing at all… if you were not here beside me to see it worn.”

Damon looked deep into her clear, steady eyes. All the fear that had haunted his soul for years—the fear that his love, once so possessive and controlling, would only ever be a burden to her—melted away in an instant. Carefully, ignoring the sharp twinge in his injured shoulder, he turned toward her and took her hand in his.

He did not close the distance with the absolute claim or legal compulsion he would have used in the past. Instead, as the soft rain tapped rhythmically against the windowpanes, Damon held her hand with nothing but profound respect.

“Clara…” he murmured, his eyes shining with pure, unshakable certainty. “Once, I built a cage around you to keep you safe, because I was terrified of losing you. But tonight… I stand before you not as a possessive protector, but simply as a man who loves you with every part of his soul. Will you walk by my side… not as a prisoner, nor a queen kept within walls, but as my equal… as my wife?”

Warm tears welled and spilled from the corners of Clara’s eyes. There was no doubt left, no chains of old trauma binding her heart any longer.

“Yes, Damon,” she answered firmly, her voice trembling with overwhelming joy. “I accept your proposal. I choose you… to be my husband.”

Damon pulled her gently into his arms. Clara rested her head against his broad, warm chest, listening to the steady, strong beat of his heart beneath her ear. He tangled his fingers slowly into her long hair, pressing a long, tender kiss to the top of her head. Here, in the quiet seclusion of the villa by the lake, two souls once torn apart by tragedy finally bound themselves together in a vow of true equality.

But the peace of that rainy night was shattered abruptly as dawn began to break over the eastern horizon.

Downstairs in the kitchen, Clara was pouring a cup of warm tea when Mark entered, his expression grim and taut with urgency. The head of Damon’s personal security team carried a stack of printed documents and an encrypted tablet that kept flashing urgent news alerts.

“Ms. Clara,” Mark called out, his voice low and careful. “I apologize for disturbing you and Mr. Vance while you rest… but there is an emergency situation developing in the city center.”

Clara frowned, setting the teacup down gently upon the marble counter. “What is it, Mark? Has there been some new move from Kaelen’s legal team?”

“Worse than that,” Mark replied, handing her the tablet. “Remnants of the Kaelen Consortium—people who still hold influence over several independent media outlets—have launched a coordinated smear campaign this morning.”

Clara took the device and read the bold headline blaring across the front page of the national financial news portal:

SCANDAL BEHIND THE ZEPHYR THRONE: MANIPULATIVE MARRIAGE AND FRAUDULENT DIVORCE DOCUMENTS LINKED TO CLARA VANCE

Beneath the sensational title were scanned copies of old legal records regarding Clara’s former marriage to Julian Vance, woven into a vicious narrative that accused her of using legal trickery, seduction, and a secret affair with Damon Vance to seize control of Zephyr’s assets and unlawfully oust her ex-husband.

“They are trying to twist public opinion against you,” Mark explained, his voice tight with frustration. “Kaelen’s loyalists know that the final consolidation of Zephyr Group’s remaining shares requires approval from the board of directors next week. By destroying your moral reputation, they hope to shake the confidence of our foreign investors and convince the courts to reconsider the freeze placed on our assets.”

Clara narrowed her eyes, gripping the edge of the tablet until her knuckles turned white. Cold, sharp anger began to burn through her chest. Their enemies, stripped of military power and physical force, had chosen the most cowardly weapon of all: to attack her character, to try and destroy her as a woman.

“Is Julian involved in spreading these documents?” she asked, her voice calm but sharp as a blade.

“We are still tracing the source of the leaks,” Mark answered. “But the application to relocate your parents’ graves—filed by Julian just yesterday—strongly suggests he is being funded and directed by outside forces.”

“What is going on here, Mark?”

Damon’s deep, commanding voice echoed from the staircase. He walked down slowly, dressed in a black silk robe. Though his steps were still careful and measured as he recovered, the powerful, dominating aura he carried filled the entire room instantly.

He walked straight to Clara, wrapping his arm firmly around her waist from behind, and glanced down at the screen she held. The moment he read the lies and vicious accusations aimed at the woman he loved, his jaw clenched so hard it looked like stone. His dark eyes flared with a cold, terrifying darkness—ready to burn every last enemy down to ash.

“Mark,” Damon rasped, his tone icy and absolute. “Prepare the helicopter. We are returning to Zephyr Group Headquarters. Now.”

“Damon, you haven’t fully healed yet,” Clara objected softly, placing her hand over his arm wrapped around her waist.

Damon looked down at her, his gaze fierce and protective—but now, fierce and protective with deep, reverent love.

“They can shoot bullets at me, Clara,” he said, his tone unyielding. “But no one on this earth has the right to touch your name, or drag your honor through the mud. This is the moment we wipe every trace of Kaelen’s loyalists from existence… root and branch.”