Chapter 31: The Morning She Couldn’t Stop Crying

I stood barefoot in the kitchen, silk robe slipping off one shoulder, staring at the city lights that refused to care. My mother’s words from yesterday kept looping in my head like a broken record. Stage four. Not much time left. The way she tried to smile through it, like cancer was just another secret we could bury with the rest of them. My chest felt hollow, like someone had scooped everything out and left only this heavy, aching void.

I gripped the marble counter until my knuckles turned white. Tears slipped down my cheeks again, hot and silent. I thought I had cried them all out in the hospital, but apparently my body had an endless supply.

*Why her? After everything she sacrificed, after all the lies and the blackmail and the Vegas mess… this is how it ends?*

I didn’t hear Damian come in. One second I was alone with my thoughts, the next his bare chest was pressed against my back, warm and solid, his arms sliding around my waist like he could hold the pieces of me together.

“I keep hearing her voice,” I whispered, my own voice cracking. “The way she smiled like stage four cancer is just another problem we can sign away with a contract.”

His hands slipped under the robe, palms flat against my stomach, steady and sure. “She is still here,” he murmured against my neck, voice low and rough. “And so are we.”

I turned in his arms, fresh tears spilling over. He cupped my face, thumbs brushing them away, but more came anyway. His forehead rested against mine.

“Talk to me,” he said softly.

“I can’t lose her, Damian. Not now. Not after everything we just got back.”

His thumbs kept stroking my cheeks. “You won’t face this alone. I’m right here. Every step.”

The kiss started gentle, his lips brushing mine like he was afraid I might shatter. Then it deepened, slow and hungry, like he needed to remind me I was still alive. His tongue swept into my mouth and I moaned into him, fingers curling into his hair, pulling him closer because right now his mouth was the only thing that made the pain feel smaller.

He lifted me onto the counter without breaking the kiss. The robe fell open. Cool marble met the backs of my thighs. He dropped to his knees between my legs, spreading me wide, and his mouth was on me instantly—hot, demanding, tongue dragging from my entrance to my clit in one long, possessive stroke.

I gasped, head falling back. “Damian…”

He sucked my clit into his mouth, two thick fingers sliding deep inside me at the same time. The wet, filthy sounds of his tongue and fingers filled the quiet penthouse. He curled those fingers, stroking that perfect spot until my thighs shook around his head.

“You taste like mine,” he growled against my pussy, voice vibrating through me. “Even when the world is trying to take everything, this pussy still gets soaked for me.”

I cried out, hips grinding against his face. He didn’t stop. He licked and sucked and fucked me with his fingers until I came hard, thighs clamping around his ears, a raw sob tearing from my throat as pleasure crashed through the grief.

Damian stood, cock heavy and leaking. He gripped my hips and thrust into me in one deep stroke, burying himself to the hilt. I gasped, nails digging into his shoulders.

“Fuck,” he groaned, voice ragged. “So tight. So fucking perfect.”

He fucked me on the counter like he needed to remind me I was still his. Deep, powerful strokes that made my breasts bounce and my breath catch. The sound of skin slapping skin echoed off the glass walls.

“Say it,” he commanded, thrusting harder. “Tell me who you belong to.”

“You,” I moaned, legs locked around his waist. “I belong to you.”

His thumb found my clit, circling fast. “Then come for me again. Let me feel this pussy milk my cock while you cry my name.”

I shattered a second time, walls pulsing around him. Damian followed with a low, guttural groan, spilling deep inside me, hot and thick.

We stayed locked together, foreheads pressed, breathing hard. The sorrow was still there, but for a moment it felt smaller, shared.

He carried me to the shower without pulling out. Under the hot spray he took me again, slower this time, my back against the tiled wall, his mouth on my neck. Water cascaded over us as he rocked into me, whispering filthy promises and soft words of love in the same breath.

Afterward we dressed in silence. Mia returned with Lila, full of stories about pigeons and ice cream. Breakfast was quiet but warm. Damian made pancakes while I brushed Mia’s hair, the simple routine a fragile anchor against the coming storm.

The strategy session began at the dining table. Lila joined by video call.

“The new junior account manager is still asking too many questions,” Lila reported. “She keeps trying to get close to your assistant, Damian. I think Theo planted her before everything fell apart.”

Damian frowned. “Keep an eye on her. We cannot afford any more leaks.”

I leaned back against Damian’s chest as we reviewed the Horizon campaign timeline. His hand rested on my thigh under the table, thumb stroking gently. The touch was innocent, but it kept me grounded.

Later that afternoon, as we worked on the campaign, Damian’s hand found mine under the table again. The touch was reassuring, loving.

But the day was not without its distractions.

Lila called from the agency. “Sarah tried to steal a phone from one of the guards in prison this morning. She was caught immediately. She is in isolation now.”

Damian sighed. “Good. One less problem.”

As the sun began to set, we took Mia to the park for a short walk. The little girl ran ahead with her purple cast, laughing as she chased pigeons. For a few minutes everything felt normal.

But as we walked back to the car, my phone buzzed with a message from an unknown number.

I opened it.

A single line appeared:

“Your mother is asking for you again. The doctors ran new tests this morning. She says you need to hear the rest of the story about Vegas before it is too late. Come alone tonight.”

The peaceful evening had suddenly taken a new turn.