CHAPTER 15 — THE FIRST CRACK

For the rest of the day, Damian avoided her.

Not obviously, he didn't hide, didn’t retreat, didn’t even dismiss her. He simply… moved strategically, like a man refusing to acknowledge the current running under his skin. Every time Arielle stepped into a room, he found a reason to step out. Every time she walked beside him, he put an extra inch of distance between them.

The message was clear.

We got too close. He’s shutting down.

Arielle didn’t blame him. After last night’s storm, after waking in his arms, after that moment in the elevator when he almost, almost lost control…

Yeah.

She needed distance too.

But the universe didn't agree.

By evening, they returned to the mansion. The sky outside was pale gold drifting into evening blue, the kind of peaceful dusk that made everything feel softer. But inside the mansion, the atmosphere was tense and brittle, held together by thin threads neither of them dared touch.

Dinner was quiet.

Too quiet.

Damian sat at the head of the table, scrolling through documents on his tablet. She sat halfway down the long stretch of mahogany, eating slowly, aware of every breath he took.

At one point he looked up, eyes lingering a second too long on her face.

She held his gaze.

He looked away first.

A small, stupid victory, but a victory.

After dinner, Damian disappeared into his study so she made her way to the guest bedroom. Or what seems to be the guest bedroom. Now it was hers, kind of, not really, but she's claiming it, after what happened she didn't think she have the will to keep sleeping in the same room with Damian.

Just as she turned the handle, his voice echoed down the hall.

“Arielle.”

She paused, turning slightly.

Damian stood at his study door, one hand braced against the frame. He looked tired, more tired than she had seen him today. His hair was slightly unraveled, his shirt sleeves rolled up, exposing the veins in his forearms. His eyes were darker, shadowed by exhaustion and something else… something heavy.

“You’re needed,” he said.

Her brows drew together. “For what?”

He hesitated. “Just… come inside.”

It wasn’t a command. It wasn’t even cold.

It sounded almost like a request.

Curiosity pulled her toward him.

She followed him into the study. The fire was lit, the room dim, the air warm and smelling faintly of cedar. Papers covered the desk, contracts, reports, and something that made her heart squeeze,

A medical file.

Damian didn’t look at it. He looked at her.

“What is it?” she asked gently.

For once, he didn’t hide behind sharpness or control.

He simply walked past her and sank into the leather couch, elbows on his knees, hands gripping his hair.

“I had a meeting with the board today,” he said quietly.

“What happened?”

“They want proof,” he said. “Proof my marriage is stable. Proof the merger won’t be jeopardized by… my history.”

Arielle’s chest tightened. “History?”

He didn’t look up.

Silence stretched between them. Heavy. Pressurized.

She stepped closer. “Damian… what history?”

His jaw clenched. “It doesn’t matter.”

“It does. If it affects you, if it affects us, then it matters.”

His breath caught subtly, like her saying us hit somewhere deep he didn’t want touched.

He leaned back, eyes closed. “Not tonight.”

She hesitated, then sat beside him.

Not too close.

But close enough.

He didn’t move away.

The fire crackled softly, shadows dancing across his face. She watched him, waiting. Not pushing, just… being there.

Finally, he spoke.

“When I was fourteen,” he said quietly, “my father put me into a program. A private boarding facility. He said it was for discipline. Control. Strength.”

Arielle frowned. “That sounds… harsh.”

“It was,” he replied. “It was also where they trained us. Conditioned us. Broke us.”

She swallowed. “Damian…”

His eyes opened then, and the pain in them was raw, unarmored.

“The program was shut down years later,” he continued. “Human rights violations, Lawsuits, Investigations, The board worries the press will dig it up again. They think if the marriage fails, it will draw too much attention.”

Arielle felt like the air had thickened. “So they want… stability.”

“They want me controlled.” His voice dropped to something rough. “And my father wants me obedient.”

Her heart twisted.

This was the first real crack she had seen in him, the first time he let her see the wounds behind the ice.

She reached out.

Her hand brushed his.

He didn't pull away.

He didn’t breathe.

He just stared at their touching hands like he couldn’t understand why it felt… grounding.

Comforting.

Real.

“It wasn’t your fault,” she said softly. “What they did to you.”

His throat tightened. She could see it, feel it in the air.

Then, slowly, he leaned back, head resting against the couch, eyes drifting shut.

He wasn’t asleep. Not yet. Just… worn down.

She stayed beside him in silence.

Minutes passed.

His breathing slowed.

His shoulders loosened.

And then, unexpectedly, he whispered, “Stay.”

Arielle froze.

But he wasn’t talking to her.

Not consciously.

His voice was too soft, too raw, like it came from a younger version of himself. A version that begged and broke and never healed.

His lips parted again.

“Don’t go.”

Her chest tightened. He was reliving something. some memory, some fear....

He shifted toward her, head leaning slightly in her direction. Not touching. Just seeking… presence.

Arielle’s heartbeat whispered a warning.

This isn’t safe. This isn’t part of the contract. This is the one thing you can’t give him, comfort he doesn’t remember asking for.

But she couldn’t move.

Couldn’t walk away.

Maybe because she saw the boy behind the man. The haunted child beneath the billionaire’s armor. The part of him nobody else had ever witnessed.

She touched his shoulder gently.

“Damian?” she whispered.

He didn’t respond. Just breathed out shakily, as if her presence soothed something old and jagged.

She tried to pull her hand back.

His fingers caught her wrist.

Not tight. Not forceful.

Desperate.

“Please…” he murmured, voice breaking in a way she had never imagined possible from him.

“…don’t leave.”

Arielle’s breath caught.

He isn't himself right now,

But he meant it.