CHAPTER SIX:THE ONE WHO STAYED

Emma woke to sunlight and the smell of something burning.

She tried to sit up. Her body disagreed violently. Everything ached. Her head pounded. Her throat felt like sandpaper.

"Don't move."

She turned her head. Damien sat in a chair by the window, still in yesterday's clothes. He looked like he'd been hit by a truck.

"What happened?" Emma's voice came out like a frog.

"You collapsed. Doctor came this morning. Said you're malnourished as hell and dehydrated." He stood, grabbed a glass of water from the nightstand. "Drink."

She drank. The water tasted like the best thing she'd ever had.

"How long was I out?"

"Since last night. It's almost noon now."

Emma tried to remember. Margaret's hands in her hair. The stairs. Damien's voice. Then nothing.

"Margaret?"

"Gone. Vivian too."

"What do you mean gone?"

"I mean they're not living here anymore. Vivian's in the guest house. Margaret can figure out her own accommodations." He said it like he was discussing the weather. "Anyone else who gave you shit is gone too. I had Henderson fire three of the staff this morning."

Emma stared at him. "You can't just"

"I can. I did." He pulled the chair closer to the bed. "You're not eating. You're losing weight. My family's been treating you like garbage and I let it happen."

"Damien"

"No. You don't get to make excuses for me." He ran a hand through his hair, agitated. "I noticed. I just didn't want to deal with it. That's on me."

She didn't know what to say to that.

"There's broth downstairs. You're going to eat it."

"I'm not hungry."

"I don't care."

He left and came back ten minutes later with a bowl. The broth smelled like chicken and salt. Emma's stomach turned.

"I can't."

"Eat."

"Damien, I'm serious"

"So am I."

He sat there, watching her like a hawk. Emma picked up the spoon with a shaking hand and took a small bite. Then another. By the time she finished half the bowl, she felt sick.

"Good," he said, taking the bowl away. "You'll do that again for lunch."

"I'm not your project."

"No. You're my wife. There's a difference."

He said it like it meant something. Emma turned away from him.

By evening, she'd eaten twice more. Damien had sat through every meal, scrolling through his phone but not actually working. Around six, he got up.

"Where are you going?" she asked.

"To change. I've been in this suit for twenty-four hours."

He came back in sweatpants and a t-shirt, looking less like a billionaire and more like a regular person who was exhausted.

"You should sleep," Emma said. "You look terrible."

"So do you."

"I have an excuse."

"So do I. I'm not leaving you alone."

"Why?"

He didn't answer right away. Just looked at her like he was trying to figure out what to say. Finally: "Because when I thought you were really hurt, I couldn't breathe. And I don't like that feeling."

Emma's chest got tight.

"You can go to your room. I'll be fine."

"No, you won't. You'll probably get out of bed and do something stupid."

"I can barely move."

"Exactly." He grabbed a pillow from the corner chair. "Move over."

"What?"

"The bed is big enough. I'm sleeping here. You try anything, I'll know."

"Damien"

"Move."

She moved. He got in on the other side, staying far away, his back to her. They didn't touch. They barely breathed in the same direction.

But he was there.

Around midnight, Emma woke from a nightmare. Margaret's hands. The falling. The taste of blood that wasn't real but felt real.

She was shaking.

Without a word, Damien shifted closer. Not touching her. Just near enough that she could feel him. Could hear him breathing. Could know she wasn't alone.

"I'm here," he said quietly.

She didn't respond. But the shaking stopped.

In the morning, she woke to find him gone. For a second, panic hit. Then she heard his voice downstairs, hard and cold.

"I don't care if it's a billion-dollar deal. I'm not coming in today... No, I can't reschedule... Monday. I'll be back Monday."

He hung up and came back upstairs with more broth and fresh fruit.

"You canceled work?" Emma asked.

"Yeah."

"Why?"

"Because you need to eat. And I need to make sure you actually do it."

Over the next two days, that became the rhythm. Damien made her eat. He sat with her while she painted in bed, watching her like she might disappear if he blinked. He brought her water constantly. He made sure she took her medication.

It was annoying. It was also the kindest thing anyone had ever done for her.

On the third day, Claire showed up with flowers.

"Oh my God, what happened?" She rushed to Emma's bedside, all concern and worry.

"Malnutrition. Low blood pressure. Nothing serious," Emma said.

"Nothing serious? You could have died!" Claire's eyes landed on Damien, who was leaning against the wall. "You should have told me. I would have helped."

"I'm handling it," Damien said.

"I'm sure you are, but"

"I said I'm handling it."

Something flickered across Claire's face. Hurt, maybe. Or something else. It was gone too fast to tell.

"Okay," Claire said, her voice bright again. "Well, I'm here now if you need anything, Em."

After she left, Emma said, "That was rude."

"I don't care."

"She's your friend."

"She's my assistant." He looked out the window. "And I don't like her hanging around you."

Emma would have called him out on it, but she was too tired. And if she was honest, she didn't want Claire there either. Damien was better.

By day four, Emma could stand without the room spinning. She took a shower and actually felt human again.

When she came out, Damien was on the phone again, his voice sharp.

"Cancel the Singapore trip... I said cancel it. I don't care about the timeline... I'll deal with it when I get back."

"You're canceling Singapore?" she said.

He hung up. "Yeah."

"That's a massive deal."

"So?"

"So you can't just cancel it because I got sick."

He turned to face her. "Watch me."

There was something in his eyes that made her stomach flip. Not anger. Something heavier.

"Damien"

"You almost died, Emma. You were literally collapsing from not eating because my family was cruel and I did nothing. I'm not leaving you alone right now. Deal with it."

She didn't argue after that.

That night, they shared the bed again. This time, when he shifted closer, she didn't move away. She let him be near her.

In the hallway, Claire stood outside the door, watching them through the crack.

Twenty years. She'd waited twenty years for Damien to need her like this.

And Emma had been here for what? Two months?

Claire turned and walked away, her phone already in her hand.

She had work to do.