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The Beginning

Andrea
last update Veröffentlichungsdatum: 11.09.2026 16:55:45

Three months passed.

Three months of healing. Three months of rebuilding. Three months of learning how to live again.

The trial was still pending. Damon's lawyers had delayed it twice, filing motions and appeals, trying to drag out the process. But the evidence was solid. The case was strong. Everyone knew how it would end.

I visited my mother's grave for the first time in years.

It was a small cemetery on the edge of the city, quiet and peaceful. Her headstone was simple just her name and dates, a single line that read Beloved Mother.

I knelt in the grass and placed a bouquet of white roses at the base of the stone.

"I'm sorry," I whispered. "I'm sorry I didn't know. I'm sorry I didn't fight for you sooner."

The wind rustled through the trees. I imagined her voice, soft and warm, telling me it was okay.

"I did it, Mom," I said. "I got justice for you. It took a long time, but I did it."

I stayed there for an hour. When I finally stood up, I felt lighter than I had in years.

I kept my job at the bookstore.

It wasn't glamorous. It didn't pay much. But I loved it. I loved the smell of old paper and ink. I loved recommending books to customers. I loved the quiet moments between rushes, when I could sit behind the counter and read.

It was simple. It was mine.

Elias visited me sometimes. He'd come in during my lunch break and we'd walk to the park down the street. We'd sit on a bench and talk about nothing the weather, the news, a book I'd just finished.

He never pushed. He never asked for more than I was willing to give.

But I could see the hope in his eyes. The patience. The waiting.

And slowly, I began to feel it too.

One evening, he asked me to dinner.

"Just dinner," he said. "Nothing more. I just want to spend time with you."

I hesitated. Then I said yes.

He took me to a small restaurant on the edge of the city. It was quiet and intimate, with candles on every table and soft music playing in the background. The kind of place where people went to fall in love.

We talked for hours.

About my mother. About his life after she died. About the years he'd spent running from his past. About the guilt he carried. The regret.

"I should have been braver," he said. "I should have fought for her. For you."

"You were scared."

"That's not an excuse."

"No," I agreed. "It's not. But it's human."

He looked at me. His grey eyes were soft.

"You're remarkable," he said. "You know that?"

I laughed. "I'm not."

"You are." He reached across the table and took my hand. "You've been through hell, and you came out the other side. You didn't let them break you. You fought back. You won."

"I didn't win anything."

"You got justice for your mother. You exposed the truth. You rebuilt your life from nothing." He squeezed my hand. "That's winning."

I looked at him for a long moment.

"I'm not ready to be with you," I said. "Not yet. I still need time."

"I know."

"But I'm getting closer."

He smiled. It was slow and warm and full of hope.

"Then I'll wait," he said. "I'll wait as long as it takes."

The trial began in the spring.

I sat in the courtroom every day, watching as the lawyers presented their case. Mia testified against Damon. She told the court about Victor's payments, about the plan to seduce Damon, about everything she'd done.

Damon sat at the defense table, his face pale, his jaw tight.

He didn't look at me.

When the verdict came guilty on all counts I felt nothing. Not joy. Not relief. Just a quiet sense of completion.

It was over.

My mother had justice.

And I was free.

After the trial, I walked out of the courthouse into the sunlight.

Elias was waiting for me on the steps.

He didn't say anything. He just opened his arms.

I walked into them.

He held me for a long time. I could feel his heartbeat against my chest, steady and strong.

"I'm proud of you," he whispered.

I pulled back and looked at him.

"I'm ready," I said.

He blinked. "Ready for what?"

"Ready to try." I paused. "Ready to be with you. If you still want me."

His face broke into a smile the first real, unguarded smile I'd ever seen from him.

"I've always wanted you," he said. "From the moment I saw you in that club. I've never stopped wanting you."

I kissed him.

It was soft and gentle and full of promise.

It was the beginning.

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  • His father’s touch   The Beginning

    The baby came three weeks early.I woke up in the middle of the night to a sharp pain in my abdomen. At first, I thought it was nothing. A cramp. A false alarm. But the pain came again. And again. And again.I reached over and shook Elias."Wake up."He stirred. "What's wrong?""The baby. It's coming."He was awake instantly.He threw on clothes. He grabbed the hospital bag we'd packed weeks ago. He helped me to the car. He drove faster than he should have.I gripped the door handle and breathed through the contractions."It's okay," he said. "You're okay. We're almost there."I didn't answer. I couldn't.The hospital was a blur.Nurses. Doctors. Bright lights. Cold hands. Machines that beeped and hummed. Elias beside me the whole time, holding my hand, whispering that I was doing great, that I was strong, that everything was going to be okay.I didn't feel strong. I felt like I was being torn apart.But I kept going.I thought about my mother. How she'd done this. How she'd brought m

  • His father’s touch   The Future

    Married life was quiet.Not boring. Not predictable. Just... quiet. The kind of quiet I'd never known before. The kind of quiet that felt like peace.We bought a small house on the outskirts of the city. It wasn't a penthouse. It wasn't a mansion. It was a cottage with a white picket fence and a garden full of wildflowers. The kind of house I'd dreamed about as a child.Elias planted roses in the backyard. I painted the walls a soft yellow. We filled the rooms with books and candles and photographs.It was ours.I got a job at a small publishing house downtown.It didn't pay much. It wasn't glamorous. But I loved it. I loved reading manuscripts. I loved working with authors. I loved the smell of paper and ink.I was good at it too.My boss, a woman named Helen, told me I had an eye for stories. She said I understood what made people turn the page.I thought about my own story. The one I'd lived. The one I was still living.Maybe that was why.Elias sold his shares in the family busine

  • His father’s touch   The Wedding

    We didn't want a big wedding.The first time I'd walked down the aisle, it had been a spectacle. Hundreds of guests. White flowers. A dress that cost more than my first car. A man I didn't love waiting for me at the altar.This time, I wanted something different.This time, I wanted something real.We chose a small chapel by the sea.It was old and weathered, with white stone walls and a bell tower that hadn't rung in decades. The windows were stained glass, casting colored light across the wooden pews. The only decorations were wildflowers in mason jars and candles in glass holders.It was simple. It was beautiful.It was ours.I invited three people.Mira, the healer's apprentice who'd once brought me salve when I was locked in my cell. She'd reached out after the trial, after everything. She'd said she was proud of me.My father.I hadn't spoken to him since the wedding. He'd called, texted, tried to reach me through Elias. I'd ignored him for months. But when I finally called him

  • His father’s touch   The Aftermath

    The days after the trial were strange.I had spent so long fighting so long surviving that I didn't know how to stop. I woke up each morning expecting another battle. Another threat. Another crisis to solve.But there was nothing.The trial was over. Damon was in prison. His mother was awaiting her own trial in France. Victor was still missing, but the police were confident they would find him. The media had moved on to other scandals, other stories.The war was over.I just didn't know how to live in the peace.I stayed at Elias's penthouse for a week.He didn't push. He didn't ask for anything. He just made sure I ate. Made sure I slept. Made sure I didn't drown in my own thoughts.But I could see the worry in his eyes. The way he watched me. The way he hesitated before he spoke.He was waiting for me to break.I didn't.Not yet.On the seventh day, I woke up before dawn.I lay in bed, staring at the ceiling, listening to the sound of Elias's breathing beside me. He was asleep. Peac

  • His father’s touch   The Fallout

    The press conference was chaos.I stood at the podium in a small conference room downtown, flanked by Sarah Chen and a publicist I'd hired two days earlier. The room was packed reporters, cameras, photographers, bloggers, everyone who mattered and everyone who didn't. They shouted questions before I even opened my mouth."Ms. Reyes, is it true you were involved with your fiancé's father?""Did you sleep with Elias Blackwood before or after the engagement?""Is it true Damon Blackwood killed your mother?"I raised my hand.The room fell silent."My name is Clara Reyes," I said. "Eleven years ago, my mother, Elara Reyes, died. I was told she died of an illness. I believed that lie for over a decade. Today, I'm here to tell you the truth."I paused."My mother was murdered. She was poisoned. Slowly. Deliberately. By the Blackwood family. And the man who helped cover it up the man who knew what was happening and said nothing was my fiancé, Damon Blackwood."The room erupted.I read the st

  • His father’s touch   The Accusation

    Damon was released on bail three days later.I found out from the news. A reporter stood outside the courthouse, microphone in hand, describing how the "disgraced heir" had walked free pending trial. Damon had posted a two million dollar bond. His lawyers had argued he was not a flight risk. The judge had agreed.I watched the footage on my phone, my hands shaking.He was out.He was free.And I knew with a certainty that settled deep in my bones that he would come for me.I called Elias."Did you see?" I asked."I saw.""What do we do?""Nothing. We wait. We watch. We don't give him the satisfaction of reacting.""You think he'll come after us?""I think he's desperate. And desperate men do desperate things."I paused."I'm not going to hide," I said."Clara—""I'm done hiding. I'm done running. I'm done letting him control my life."There was a long silence."What are you going to do?" he asked."I'm going to find him. And I'm going to tell him the truthI found Damon at a bar downt

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