CHAPTER 13 — ONE BED, ONE STORM

The mansion was too quiet.

Arielle had never noticed how large, echoing, and hollow the place felt until she returned from the board meeting, heart cracked, cheeks still wet from tears she pretended weren’t tears.

She replayed Damian’s words over and over, each repetition a blade twisting deeper.

She means nothing, She’s just a tool.

Her chest tightened, Her throat ached.

She knew this marriage wasn’t real, that she wasn’t supposed to expect warmth or loyalty or care, but hearing it spoken aloud, in that cold voice…

That broke something.

She walked straight past the kitchen, past the curious stares of staff, and went upstairs without stopping. She couldn’t face anyone. She couldn’t risk running into Damian.

Not when she was this raw.

Not when she still felt the echo of humiliation and betrayal burning under her skin.

But the moment she reached the bedroom hallway, the universe turned cruel.

Thunder cracked like a whip across the sky.

A sudden storm, violent and unrelenting, slammed against the mansion windows.

Wind howled. Rain hammered. Lights flickered.

New York storms were dramatic, but this one felt personal, as if the weather itself had swallowed the chaos she felt inside and decided to mirror it.

She pushed open the bedroom door,

and stopped cold.

Damian stood by the window, rainlight casting his silhouette in sharp lines. His shirt was still undone at the collar from earlier. His fists were clenched, shoulders stiff, expression unreadable.

He had been waiting.

Her pulse stuttered.

She didn’t want to speak to him. Not now. Maybe not ever.

But it was too late. He turned, eyes locking onto her instantly.

“Arielle…”

She stiffened. “I don’t want to talk.”

“You heard something out of context.”

She laughed bitterly. “I heard enough.”

He took one slow step toward her. Then another.

Lightning flashed behind him, illuminating his face, tense, controlled, haunted.

“Arielle,” he said quietly, “you weren’t supposed to hear that.”

“That’s not an apology,” she whispered.

No response.

Of course not.

Damian Blackwood did not apologize. Not to employees. Not to enemies. Not to anyone.

Especially not to her.

She moved past him toward the preparing to go to another room but froze when she saw the problem.

The other rooms are locked, the guest bedroom.

The house manager behind her.

“Mrs. Blackwood, sir, Mr blackwood ordered us not to allow you into the other rooms.”

Arielle’s stomach dropped.

The manager cleared his throat. “you… only have the main bedroom to use.”

She swore under her breath.

Damian dismissed the staff, leaving them alone again.

Arielle backed up a step. “you have to always stop so low right, not a problem then I’ll sleep on the couch downstairs.”

“It’s dangerous,” he said. “The storm already knocked down trees. The power may cut. you might get scared and cold.”

“I don’t care.”

“Arielle,” Damian said firmly, “you’re not sleeping alone in a pitch-black part of the house.”

“Then I’ll stay in the hallway.”

He exhaled sharply. “You’re being irrational.”

“Maybe I am,” she snapped. “You saying I’m nothing did that to me.”

Silence punched through the space between them.

Damian’s jaw tightened.

For the first time, he didn’t have a ready answer.

The electricity flickered.

The storm groaned overhead like the sky was splitting apart.

Damian looked at the dark hallway, then at the locked guest room, then at her, small, shaking, furious, hurt.

Finally he said, quietly, “Stay in the room. You take the bed. I’ll stay on the couch.”

The air felt thick.

“You don’t have to do that.”

“I know.” His voice softened by a shade. “But I’m doing it anyway.”

It wasn’t forgiveness.

It wasn’t affection.

But it was… something.

Very reluctantly, Arielle entered the master bedroom.

She changed into comfortable clothes, Damian’s house was freezing, and climbed into the edge of the massive bed, each breath heavy with exhaustion.

Damian settled onto the couch, long legs bent awkwardly. His body looked too large for the small space. He turned off the lamp.

Darkness swallowed the room.

Only the storm remained, wind screaming against the windows, thunder rattling the structure, lightning striking close enough to shake the glass.

Arielle lay awake, still hurting.

Still angry.

Still wondering why his words cut so deep.

Hours passed.

The storm only intensified.

Rain lashed the windows like claws.

Lightning flashed so bright that it illuminated Damian across the room,

and that’s when she noticed something wrong.

He wasn’t sleeping.

He was shaking.

Not violently, barely noticeable. But with every flash of lightning, his body tensed more. His breath came faster. His hands gripped the couch cushion until the fabric wrinkled under his fingers.

A nightmare.

He was having a nightmare.

She sat up.

Another flash.

He flinched. Hard.

Then,

“No…”

The word slipped from him, raw and broken. Not cold. Not controlled. Not Damian.

She froze.

He whispered again, voice cracking. “No, Amma, don’t”

Arielle’s heart stopped.

Amma.

Who?

She moved before she could think.

“Damian?”

He didn’t hear her.

His jaw clenched. His breathing grew ragged. His fingers dug into the couch until his knuckles went white.

“Stop… please… don’t take her”

Her throat tightened.

Who had he lost?

What memory was tearing him apart?

She knelt beside him. “Damian. Damian, wake up.”

He gasped, still trapped in the dream.

She placed her hand on his shoulder.

“Damian, it’s okay,” she whispered. “You’re safe. Wake up.”

Lightning cracked again.

He jerked awake with a ragged breath eyes wild, chest heaving, sweat on his forehead.

For a moment, he didn’t recognize her.

Then he whispered, hoarse, “Arielle?”

Her heart ached.

His voice was unguarded. Human. Wounded.

She swallowed. “You were having a nightmare.”

His breath hitched.

He sat up slowly, pressing both hands to his face.

“Did I say anything?”

“Just… someone’s name,” she said softly.

He didn’t move.

Didn’t speak.

Didn’t deny it.

After a long moment, Damian whispered, “She died.”

Arielle’s chest tightened. “Damian…”

“It was a long time ago.” His voice was flat, but the pain leaked through. “But storms… they bring it back.”

She hesitated.

Then, very gently, she touched his arm.

He didn’t pull away.

He didn’t freeze.

He just… stayed still.

Let her.

That alone sent a strange warmth through her chest.

“You don’t have to explain,” she said. “Just breathe. You’re not alone.”

He closed his eyes.

For once, he didn’t look like the ruthless CEO or the cold billionaire.

He looked like a man holding too many ghosts.

Arielle stayed beside him until his breathing steadied.

The storm outside faded slowly, thunder softening into distance.

Minutes later, exhaustion pulled at her again. She stood up to return to bed,

but Damian’s fingers brushed her wrist.

Not gripping.

Just grazing.

Stopping her.

“Arielle…” His voice was low. Conflicted. “…stay.”

Her heart tripped.

“It’s just the storm,” he added quickly, as if trying to justify the request even to himself. “It might come back. You should stay where I can see you.”

Her pulse fluttered.

She hesitated.

But she nodded.

She climbed back into the bed slowly.

She expected him to return to the couch.

Instead, he sat on the edge of the bed for a moment, breathing, grounding himself, before lying down on the opposite side, far from her, back turned.

They didn’t speak.

The storm finally quieted.

But the tension in the room did not.

Eventually, exhaustion dragged Arielle into sleep,

and when morning sunlight spilled into the room,

she woke up in Damian Blackwood’s arms.

His arm heavy across her waist.

Her body tucked against his chest.

His breath warm against the back of her neck.

And he… was holding her.

Tightly.

As if letting go would hurt him.