Chapter 6: You Don't Get To Rewrite History

~Bianca's POV~

Time didn't just stop—it caved in, and I forgot the cold, the shouts, the flashes; the world faded until there was only him.

Damien Sinclair.

He looked exactly how I remembered. No, better. Jet-black hair slicked back from that sharp, sculpted face. A black T-shirt clung to his chest, grey sweatpants sitting low on his hips. Casual. Effortless. Completely out of place in a cemetery, but somehow, he owned the moment anyway. The power in his posture and the calm precision of his movements.

But his eyes…

They flicked over me, ice-cold and unreadable, a flicker of recognition before they turned blank, like I was no one.

His fingers swept through the gravel, searching, until they stilled when he noticed something beside me. I followed his gaze—and there it was, his black veil, lying at my side.

I stood quickly, bent down to pick it up, and offered it to him with a trembling hand. Standing to his full height, he didn't thank me, just snatched it from my fingers, his touch briefly brushing mine—warm and electric, then gone.

"Is that Damien Sinclair and Bianca Calloway?!" the shout split the air like thunder.

Cameras clicked, shutters fired, and paparazzi descended, swarming us like vultures.

Damien swore under his breath. "Shit."

He pulled the veil over his face and bolted toward the Aston Martin, the crowd surging after him.

And something inside me snapped.

No. Not like this.

"Damien!" I yelled, chasing after him, losing one of my slippers as I skidded on the gravel. The pain in my leg didn't matter as I pushed forward, blinded by camera flashes and deafened by shouts.

Reaching the car, he swung the driver's door open. I rushed to the other side, opened the door, and lunged into the passenger seat just as he slammed his door shut.

"Wait—please—just listen!"

He froze, eyes wide. For a second, I thought he might toss me out. His hand hovered near the door handle.

But then the paparazzi closed in, pounding on the glass, screaming our names.

With a hissed curse, he threw the car into gear and hit the gas. Tires screeched. The crowd vanished in the rearview mirror.

Silence fell like a blade.

Damien's jaw was tight. His grip on the steering wheel was murderous. He didn't look at me. Not once.

I watched the city flicker by through the window, every breath jagged. The silence between us was more unbearable than the noise outside.

I tried. Hesitantly.

"How was abroad?"

No answer.

"Long time no see."

Still nothing.

I lowered my voice. "How've you been?"

His knuckles whitened on the wheel.

I couldn't take it anymore.

"I'm sorry," I whispered. "For everything Nathan and I did to you."

His head turned slightly, just enough for me to see the storm brewing in his eyes.

"You don't get to say that," he snapped. "Not after everything you did."

"I know," I breathed. "But I need to say it anyway. I was stupid. Blind. I believed Nathan. I believed the lie."

His silence was a wall. One I kept crashing into.

"My father died," I said, voice cracking. "Because I trusted the wrong man. I married a monster. And I let go of the only person who ever truly—" My voice broke. "You loved me. And I threw it away."

His hands tightened. A muscle ticked in his jaw.

"You don't get to rewrite history, Bianca."

"I'm not," I said quickly. "I'm owning it. I made the worst mistake of my life. But I'm not the same woman anymore. I just—needed you to know."

For the first time, he looked at me. And it hurt. That stare? It didn't just cut. It burned.

Then the car jerked to a violent stop.

I gasped, thrown forward against the seatbelt.

"Damien—what the hell?"

He didn't answer. Just stared straight ahead, his voice low and cold. "Get out."

I blinked. "What?"

"You heard me," he bit out. "Get the fuck out."

"But you can't just leave me in the middle of the road—"

"You treated me worse than hell. This? This is merciful."

My breath caught. The words were a kick.

Still, I didn't move. "Please—just give me five minutes."

"Bianca," he said quietly, "if you don't get out now, I will make you."

The threat wasn't loud. It didn't need to be. It carried the weight of a man who'd already lost too much to risk more.

Shaking, I reached for the door handle.

Stepping out into the cold air, the sound of the car door slamming shut behind me echoed in my chest like a gunshot.

The engine roared to life. Then the Aston Martin was gone, tail lights disappearing down the road like he'd never been there at all.

I stood on the sidewalk, stunned.

God, what was I thinking? Of course he didn't care.

Wrapping my arms around myself, I let out a shaky breath, blinking away tears. I was so stupid to think doing this would fix anything. So stupid to believe an apology would undo the damage we caused.

He had every right to hate me.

But I still needed him.

And now I had to figure out a better way—somehow.

I turned, one slipper and barefoot crunching against the gravel, and began the long walk home. The sun had dipped low, laying orange streaks across the sky. My feet throbbed, my body aching from the chase, the crash, the rejection.

Then came the rain—cold, heavy drops at first, then a downpour. I groaned, tilting my head toward the sky. "Seriously?"

Soaked to the bone, I trudged on, teeth chattering. By the time I reached the mansion, the night had fully settled. My dress clung to my skin, and my hair was plastered to my face. I looked like a drenched stray.

Pausing at the gate, I stared at the house I once called home. It didn't feel like home anymore. More like a gilded hellhole.

I opened the gate slowly, dread curling in my stomach. I didn't have the strength to face Nathan. Or Cecilia.

Taking slow steps inside, I prayed they were both out or asleep. Praying I wouldn't have to deal with their shit tonight.

The mansion stood still and quiet, with most of the maids likely retired for the night. Thank goodness.

Creeping up the stairs, I pushed open the door to my room. Nathan had moved out months ago—after his precious company started thriving with my help. He claimed he needed space to "focus."

At first, I felt guilty and even blamed myself. Now, I knew better. He just didn't want to be around me. I was a nuisance, a placeholder, and Elena was always waiting in the wings.

I rolled my eyes and headed to the closet, reaching for a towel and fresh clothes when a sharp pain stabbed my lower abdomen, making me wince.

"Great," I muttered, clutching my stomach. "Just great."

Thank God I was seeing Dr. Emily tomorrow. This has to stop.

Pushing through the pain, I reached for my dress to change, but the door suddenly burst open. For the second time today.

"Don't people knock anymore—" I started, spinning around.

It was Nathan.

He looked disheveled—hair messy, tie half undone, eyes wide and frantic.

Before I could utter a word, he crossed the room and pulled me into a crushing embrace.

"Where the hell were you? You had me worried sick. I thought you had been kidnapped. I thought I lost you."