CHAPTER: 02

Eva's Pov:

Honestly, “it broke my heart” was an understatement.

I had just delivered a baby — His baby — was it wrong of me to expect my husband to be beside me?

It had been almost half an hour since the nurse last checked on me, yet there was still no sign of Ryan.

Tears slipped down my cheeks before I could stop them. I sat there, lost in thoughts, staring at the sterile white walls that seemed to mock my loneliness.

A soft knock at the door stirred a flicker of hope inside me — maybe Ryan had finally come. But when the door opened, it wasn’t him.

It was Damon.

The man I least expected to have my back.

Since Shefali’s death, he hadn’t been the same. It took time and effort to bring him back from that darkness, but now he was like the big brother I never had. He was also the reason I met Ryan — the reason I became Mrs. Ryan Williams instead of just another nameless woman in Ryan's life. Without Damon, my children would have been branded bastards by society.

For that, I would always be grateful.

Ryan never knew the truth, or at least, from what I know, he never acknowledged — that it was Damon who quietly used his influence to help Ryan land good scripts and attract renowned directors, even after a string of box‑office failures. Damon was also the one who invested in Ryan’s films, standing behind him as producer, guiding him through the maze of production and distribution.

It was Damon’s business acumen that kept Ryan’s production and distribution house alive — unlike the music studio Damon had once opened for him, which Ryan ruined through sheer lack of business sense.

Every success Ryan flaunted before the world had Damon’s fingerprints on it. The world saw Ryan Williams — the charming actor, the golden boy of cinema — but behind that glitter stood Damon, the strategist, the silent force who made sure Ryan’s empire didn’t crumble.

At first, Ryan had been jealous when Damon began promoting other talents, supporting young stars instead of centering everything around him. But when that move brought prestige and opportunity to the production house — one that the world believed Ryan owned — his jealousy faded. He didn’t mind Damon’s interference anymore.

After all, it was Damon’s smart moves that kept Ryan’s name shining, even when his own light had begun to dim.

“Eva, you alright?” Damon asked softly.

I nodded, though he could see the question in my eyes — Where’s Ryan?

“Ryan’s with your daughter,” Damon said before I could even ask. “She needs special care. Even Eric is with him.”

I gave a weak chuckle, wiping at my tears.

Damon’s words might have fooled Eric — my eight‑year‑old son, but not me.

I knew better.

Neither my husband nor his family cared enough to come check on my daughter or me.

From the moment my mother‑in‑law learned I was carrying a girl, she had tried to force me into aborting. Not because she was simply sexist, but because she believed my daughter would be incompetent — like me. She despised the idea of me bearing Ryan’s child.

When I was pregnant with Eric, I hadn’t even known until I was 10-13 weeks along. Without warning, I had to leave Shefali behind and obey Ryan and his family’s demands. Those days were hell — my mother‑in‑law made sure of it. And yet, she adored Eric, at least she tried to... because he was a miniature version of Ryan. That resemblance softened her cruelty toward me until she learned I was pregnant again.

Ryan was different. Selfish, yes. Ignorant, yes. But not cruel like his mother. He took things for granted, like his father, blind to the damage he caused.

“You don’t have to lie, D. Already, the nurse did a good job of convincing me of how he arranged everything and is now looking after my kids,” I whispered, my voice trembling, a sad smile on my face.

“I know they don’t care about me. I’m nothing more than a surrogate and a nanny to Ryan and his parents.”

Damon didn’t argue. He didn’t try to comfort me with false promises. Instead, he pulled out his phone, dialed a number, and placed it on speaker.

To my surprise, it was Ryan. His voice came through, sharp, furious, demanding to know who had hit me. The anger in his tone was unmistakable, the promise of punishment clear. He had no idea Damon was standing beside me — and Damon didn’t bother to tell him.

So the nurse didn't lie to calm me. She was indeed telling me the truth; Ryan is here in the hospital with my kids.

I won’t lie — it made my heart flutter.

Maybe, despite everything, Ryan did care. Maybe his coldness was just exhaustion, his distance just the cost of fame. Maybe he hadn’t ignored me at all — it was just the world that demanded he pretend to be single, charming, untouchable.

“D, I want to go home. I don't want to be here. I will rest at home, but please, away from Ryan's mother. If there's anyone to be blamed for my condition, that's that woman.” I whispered, and he just stared at me.

I couldn't even look him in the eye; he looked so intimidating. 

“Please ask them to let me see my baby.”

“I’ll ask Ryan to arrange that,” Damon said.

“Until then, rest, Eva. I have people to deal with, especially the one who hit you with my car. However powerful she is — I won’t spare her even my relation with her doesn't matter. No one gets away with hurting my family. You, Eric, and Riva — you’re my family.”

Riva.

The name warmed me. I am guessing Damon had suggested it to Ryan for the birth certificate.

Deep down, I always believed Damon’s care for me was his way of repenting for his past mistakes. It had been years since Shefali died, yet he never looked at another woman. I have never seen him with any other women; No rumours, no flings. He always found excuses to escape from his arranged marriage with his childhood friend Annaida Davenport, no matter how much both the families tried to force and pressure him.

Shefali was indeed lucky to have someone like Damon; if not for those stupid misunderstandings, their life would have been nothing less than a fairytale.

Seeing Damon drown in his guilt and longing to see Shefali each day, I always prayed and hoped that wherever Shefali is, she would find it in her heart to forgive him, though she was never the forgiving type. I hoped she was at peace and maybe might have already let bygones be bygones.

Unknowingly, Damon had just confirmed my doubts. His words — that the accident was caused by his car, though someone else had been behind the wheel — struck me like a blade. I had indeed seen his car. That much was undeniable.

What I wanted to tell him, what burned inside me before I lost consciousness, was the truth I wasn’t sure was truth at all: I thought I saw Shefali behind the wheel. Her face, her eyes, her presence — fleeting, impossible, yet vivid enough to haunt me. But I couldn’t say it aloud.

Was it hallucination?

Was it reality?

My mind had been unraveling, memories colliding and dissolving into chaos. Just minutes ago, I had been on the edge of madness, until the nurse’s voice steadied me. She told me my son was safe with his father, that I had given birth to a healthy baby girl, and that Ryan was with them.

Relief should have anchored me, but instead it only deepened the confusion.

Because what I thought I saw made no sense.

Shefali had died years ago — brutally, tragically. Her car had burned beyond recognition, leaving behind only fragments of charred jewelry, the last proof of her existence. That was how we identified its her. That was how we mourned her.

But Damon never accepted her death. It hollowed him out, left him broken. He carried the weight of guilt like a curse, blaming himself for the crash, for the loss of the woman who had been his world. I had watched him unravel, watched him claw at normalcy while drowning in grief.

When I finally told him everything I knew about Shefali — her life, her other friends, her family during the funeral we had arranged for her — it broke him, but it gave him something to hold onto.

Memories.

A story.

A culprit to hate.

That knowledge changed him.

It scarred him.

He apologized to me, confessed things I never expected to hear — how he had pushed Ryan to pursue me, how he had tried to make amends by promising to protect me, to keep me safe under his watch. And he did try. He tried with everything he had. But after Shefali’s death, Damon was never the same.

He wore the mask of normalcy, but beneath it he was fractured.

More protective.

More cautious.

Obsessed.

He believed, with unshakable conviction, that Shefali was alive. He clung to the idea like a lifeline, sending people to search for her, chasing shadows, refusing to let go.

And now, if I told him what I thought I saw — Shefali behind the wheel of his car — it would ignite that obsession all over again. It would give him false hope, a hope that would consume him, destroy him. And Ryan… Ryan would hate me even more for feeding Damon’s madness.

So I swallowed the truth. Or the hallucination. Or whatever it was. I buried it deep inside me, where it could rot in silence. Because some truths, spoken aloud, are more dangerous than lies.

“Eva, what is it?” Damon asked gently, brushing a strand of hair from my face.

“Did you see who hit you?” I hesitated, words tangled in my throat.

“You saw, didn’t you?” His voice hardened, anger flashing in his eyes. His knuckles turned white.

I looked down, silent.

“Don’t worry,” he said darkly.

“I won’t kill her, if that’s what you’re thinking. I know she means the world to him. But no one hurts my family and walks away. They should be grateful to you and Ryan — for not having her thrown into prison already. I’ll make sure she learns a lesson and doesn't create a rift between me and Nic in the future. She doesn’t know yet that Nic's brother is Damon Knight and that he is connected to the Knight family due to the complication of our relationship — but she will. Soon. And when she does, she’ll think twice before crossing me ever again.”

His words chilled me.

Nic — his half-brother.

Damon never showed it, but we all knew Nic meant a lot to him.

“What do you mean?” I asked, confused.

“Davina Parker,” he said, his voice sharp.

“Nic’s fiancée. She drove the car — my car. My idiot brother, Nic couldn’t reach her, so he flew from Sydney to New York, and I sent my driver and car to pick him up at the airport. He kept my Sweptail as he knew if he asked me I wouldn't let him touch it, he sent my driver back, and then she drove that same car and crashed it. Hit you.”

“D, she didn’t hit me, at least not intentionally” I said quickly.

“Her car came fast, lost control. I saw it — it wasn’t deliberate.”

He frowned, but I continued, trying to calm him.

“She turned the wheel at the last second. The side hit my leg, that’s all. I fainted out of fear and hit myself, not because the car hit me. I shouldn’t have gone out in the first place, not alone at eight months pregnant. Don’t blame her, D. She’s your family — or will be. Don’t ruin that over something so small.”

He didn’t answer.

His jaw tightened, his eyes cold.

“This isn't something small Eva. You should rest,” He  said softly.

“Didn’t you say you had an urgent meeting?” I reminded him wanting to calm him down.

Realization flickered across his face. He stood, walked toward the door with his signature smirk, then paused.

“My meeting,” he said quietly, “is with Davina Parker.”

He turned back, his expression unreadable.

“Don’t worry, Eva. I’ll deal with what she did. It can’t go unpunished. I have a reputation to maintain. No one harms my family — and she isn’t my family. At least, not yet.”

He walked out, leaving me in stunned silence.

Before the door closed, he murmured,

“Take care.”

And just like that, the room fell silent again — cold, sterile, heavy with the weight of everything unsaid.

The air itself seemed to thicken, pressing against my chest, making it harder to breathe.

I could feel it in my bones, a warning I couldn’t ignore. Damon was about to do something — something reckless, something he would regret later.