Chapter 4

DAMIEN'S POV 

I flew back to New York feeling like I'd been gutted. James picked me up from the airport, took one look at my face, and didn't ask questions until we were back at the penthouse.

"That bad?"

"Worse." I poured myself a drink I probably shouldn't have with my medications, then poured it down the sink. "She told me everything. James, I was a monster to her."

"You weren't a monster. You were just—"

"Don't." I cut him off. "Don't make excuses for me. I read the letter I wrote. I knew I loved her. I knew I was hurting her. And I did nothing."

James sat down, loosening his tie. "So what now?"

"I don't know. She told me to forget I found her. To use my second chance somewhere else."

"Maybe you should listen."

I looked at him. "Would you? If you'd hurt someone you loved and couldn't even remember doing it, would you just walk away?"

"That's not fair. You can't remember her. You can't remember loving her. You're chasing a ghost of a feeling."

He was right. I knew he was right. But something in me couldn't let go.

Over the next two weeks, I became obsessed. I hired people to tell me everything about those five missing years. I read through emails, meeting notes, journal entries I'd apparently kept. I built a picture of who I'd become, and I hated him.

The Damien Cross of the past five years was ruthless, cold, brilliant, and empty. He'd sacrificed everything for success. He'd pushed away everyone who cared about him. He'd married a woman he loved and systematically destroyed her because he was too afraid to be vulnerable.

I found security footage from the penthouse. Hours of it. I watched myself come home late, ignore Elara's attempts at conversation, eat dinners she'd prepared while working on my laptop. I watched her face fall, watched her slowly stop trying, watched the light go out of her eyes.

In one video, she'd decorated the living room for our second anniversary. Candles, flowers, she was wearing a beautiful dress. I'd walked in, barely looked at it, told her I had a conference call and went into my office. The camera caught her standing there alone for twenty minutes before she blew out all the candles.

I threw up after watching that one.

"You need to stop this," James said, finding me in my office at three in the morning surrounded by files. "You're torturing yourself."

"I need to understand."

"Why? So you can feel worse? Damien, the doctors said forcing these memories could damage your recovery."

"I don't care about my recovery. I destroyed someone who loved me. I need to know why."

James grabbed my shoulders. "Listen to me. You were drowning. After your father started pushing you to take over, you changed. You worked yourself to the bone trying to prove you were good enough. You stopped sleeping, stopped eating properly, stopped living. Elara was collateral damage."

"That's not an excuse."

"I'm not making excuses. I'm giving you context." He let go, stepped back. "You want to know the truth? I think you pushed her away because you were terrified. Your parents had the worst marriage I've ever seen. Your father cheated constantly. Your mother stayed for the money and the name. You watched them destroy each other for years."

I remembered that. My parents' marriage was a battlefield disguised as a society partnership.

"You thought if you didn't let yourself love Elara, you couldn't hurt her the way your father hurt your mother. Instead, you hurt her worse." James shook his head. "The irony is fucking tragic."

My phone rang. My mother. I'd been avoiding her calls since the accident.

"Answer it," James said. "She's been calling me too. She knows you have amnesia and she's worried you'll do something stupid."

I answered. "Mother."

"Damien, darling. How are you feeling?" Victoria Cross's voice was saccharine sweet with an edge of steel underneath.

"I've been better."

"James tells me you flew to Seattle. To see that girl." The way she said 'that girl' made my jaw clench. "I hope you've come to your senses."

"Her name is Elara. She was my wife."

"Was being the operative word. The divorce is final. You're free. Why on earth would you dredge up that unfortunate chapter?"

"Because I need to understand what happened."

"What happened is you married beneath yourself, realized your mistake, and corrected it. It's quite simple." Her tone turned sharp. "Damien, I'm hosting a dinner party next week. Senator Morrison's daughter will be there. Beautiful girl, Wellesley educated, perfect breeding. I think you two would—"

"I'm not interested."

"Don't be ridiculous. You need to think about your future. About the family name. That Bennett girl was never suitable and you know it."

Something in me snapped. "Did you make her feel that way? When she lived here, did you tell her she wasn't good enough?"

Silence. Then, "I may have mentioned certain social realities. Someone had to. You were too infatuated to see clearly."

"You made her miserable."

"I made her aware of her position. There's a difference." Victoria's voice turned cold. "That girl was using you for your money and your name. I was protecting you."

"She never asked me for anything. Not once. I checked."

"Of course not. She was smarter than that. She played the long game. And look, she got a generous settlement, didn't she?"

I thought about Elara in that rainy alley, telling me about three years of pain. She hadn't mentioned the money once.

"You're wrong about her."

"I'm never wrong about people. It's how I've survived this family for thirty-five years." She paused. "Damien, whatever romantic notions you have about that girl, let them go. You don't even remember her. Move on."

"What if I don't want to move on?"

"Then you're a fool." Her voice turned icy. "That marriage nearly destroyed you. You were distracted, unfocused, weak. After the divorce, you became the man you were meant to be. Do you really want to throw that away for a woman who's already moved on?"

"Has she? Moved on?"

Victoria laughed, but it wasn't a kind sound. "Why don't you ask her? Oh wait, you did. And she told you to leave her alone. Take the hint, darling."

She hung up.

James was watching me carefully. "What are you thinking?"

"I'm thinking my mother is poison. And I'm thinking I need to find out if Elara has really moved on."

"How?"

My phone buzzed. An email from my private investigator. Subject line: *Eleanor Bennett - Full Report*.

I opened it and my stomach dropped.

James leaned over. "What is it?"

I couldn't speak. I just showed him the screen.

The first line read: *Subject has been seen multiple times with Marcus Chen, owner of Chen Gallery. Relationship appears romantic in nature. Photographs attached.*

"Damien—"

"She's with someone else." The words felt like hollow in my throat. "She's already replaced me.”