Chapter Six : Meeting

Today was the day.

Mama was coming.

Not just to visit. To judge. To see the man I’d married, the fortress I now lived in, the life I’d chosen over the one she helped me build. My stomach twisted not with guilt, but with dread. I was terrified she would see right through me. That she would see him and know he wasn’t what I claimed he was.

Or worse, that she’d see he was something far more dangerous.

A soft knock came at the door.

“Amara,” Niles’ voice, calm and measured. “Mrs. Collins has arrived.”

I took a deep breath. “Send her in.”

The living room was quiet when I stepped out. Damian stood near the fireplace, exactly where I knew he’d be. He was positioned like a sentinel, his back straight, his hands clasped in front of him. He was dressed in black again, tailored trousers, a high-collared turtleneck that rose to his jaw, gloves covering his hands. His hair was perfectly combed, his expression unreadable.

But I saw the tension in his shoulders. The slight tightness around his eyes. He was nervous. And that terrified me more than anything.

The door opened.

Mama stepped in, small but unshakable, her head held high, her eyes sharp as glass. She wore a simple navy dress, her silver cross pendant resting over her chest, the one she’d worn every Sunday since I was a child. Her gaze swept the room, then landed on Damian.

And for a heartbeat, the world held its breath.

“Mr. Blackwell,” she said, stepping forward. “Thank you for having me.”

Damian didn’t move. Didn’t smile. “Mrs. Collins. Welcome.”

She reached out her hand.

I froze. So did Damian.

His body didn’t flinch, but I saw it, the microsecond of panic, the way his fingers twitched inside the gloves, the way his breath stilled. He didn’t take her hand. Instead, he gave a small, formal nod. “I don’t shake hands.”

Mama’s hand hovered in the air for a beat too long before she slowly withdrew it. Her eyes narrowed, but she didn’t react. She just folded her hands in front of her, calm as a storm before it breaks.

“I see,” she said quietly. “And why is that?”

Damian’s voice was steady, cold. “Personal reasons.”

She studied him. The gloves, the high collar, the way he stood just slightly apart, as if the air itself were a buffer. Then she turned to me.

“Amara?”

I stepped forward, forcing a smile. “He’s particular about germs. Works in a sterile lab environment. He’s been in isolation for years. Medical research, high-risk pathogens. He’s not allowed to touch anyone without full protective gear.”

It wasn’t a lie. Not really.

Mama’s eyes flickered between us. “I see.”

Silence settled, thick and heavy.

Then Damian spoke. “Would you like tea, Mrs. Collins?”

“Yes, please,” she said, still watching him. “Black. No sugar.”

He turned and walked to the kitchen island, pouring from a silver pot with gloved hands. He placed the cup on a saucer, set it down on the table in front of her with precise care.

No skin. No contact. Not even a fingertip near hers.

She sat, crossed her legs, and took a slow sip. “So. You married my daughter three months ago. No family. No friends. No announcement until it was already done.”

Damian remained standing. “The circumstances were urgent.”

“Urgent,” she repeated. “And what, exactly, were these circumstances?”

I opened my mouth, but Damian spoke first.

“Amara was facing professional ruin. Public humiliation. I offered her a way out.”

Mama’s eyes narrowed. “And what did you get out of it?”

He didn’t blink. “Security. Stability. A partnership.”

“A partnership,” she echoed. “Not love.”

“No,” he said, his voice flat. “Not love.”

I flinched, but didn’t look at him.

Mama turned to me. “And you agreed to this? A marriage with no love?”

“It’s not about love,” I said, my voice stronger than I felt. “It’s about survival. About reclaiming what was taken from me. And Damian, he’s giving me that chance.”

She looked at him again. “And you’ll protect her? Respect her?”

“I will,” he said, his gaze shifting to me. “She’s not a pawn. She’s a partner. And I honor my commitments.”

Mama sipped her tea. Then set the cup down. “You’re a strange man, Mr. Blackwell. Dressed like you’re afraid of the air. Speaking like you’ve rehearsed every word. But you look at my daughter when you think no one sees.”

Damian didn’t react.

But I felt it, the way his breath caught, just slightly.

“And that,” she said, standing, “is the only thing that matters.”

She walked to me, pulled me into a tight hug. I buried my face in her shoulder, breathing in the scent of her jasmine perfume, the warmth of her skin. The physical contact was a jolt, a reminder of what Damian could not have.

“I don’t understand everything,” she whispered. “But I see you’re not broken. Not yet. And that’s enough for now.”

She pulled back, cupped my face. “Call me. Every day. No excuses.”

“I will,” I promised.

She turned to go, but paused at the door.

Then she looked back at Damian.

“You’re dressed like a man hiding from the world,” she said. “But you stepped into the light for her. That tells me something.”

He didn’t answer.

But for the first time, I saw something flicker in his eyes. Something raw, almost human. Shame. Longing. Hope.

She left.

I walked her to the private elevator, my arm linked with hers.

When the doors closed behind us, she turned to me.

“He’s decent,” she said quietly. “Cold. Controlled. But decent.”

I nodded.

“But Amara,” she added, frowning, “why was he dressed like that? Gloves. High collar. Like he’s afraid of catching something just from being in the same room? You said it was lab protocols, but that was more than protocol. That was… fear.”

My heart pounded.

I forced a light laugh. “He’s extreme, Mama. You know how scientists are. One speck of bacteria and ten years of research goes up in smoke. He’s not just protecting himself, he’s protecting the world.”

She studied me. “You’re lying.”

“No, I’m not,” I said, too quickly.

She sighed. “Fine. Keep your secrets. But remember, love isn’t the only thing that can trap a woman. Loyalty can, too. And silence.”

The elevator dinged. She stepped in.

“I’ll call you tomorrow,” she said.

The doors closed. And I was alone.

I walked back into the penthouse slowly, my mind racing.

Damian stood at the window, exactly where I’d left him, his back to me.

“She knows,” I said softly.

He didn’t turn. “No. She suspects. But she doesn’t know.”

I stepped closer. “You didn’t have to do that. Stand there. Let her question you. Let her see you.”

“I did,” he said, his voice low. “Because she’s your mother. And you love her.”

I swallowed. “You didn’t lie.”

“No,” he said. “I gave her truth. Just not all of it.”

I looked at him. Really looked. The gloves. The turtleneck. The way he held himself, like his own skin was a prison. And then I remembered the press of his hands on my arms yesterday. The warmth. The way he’d whispered, I forgot what this felt like.

“You gave her enough,” I said.

He turned then, his silver-gray eyes locking onto mine.

“And you?” he asked. “Did I give you enough?”

I didn’t answer right away.

Because the truth was complicated.

He hadn’t given me love.

He hadn’t given me promises.

But he’d given me something rarer.

He’d given me power.

And in a world that had stripped me of everything, that was the only thing that mattered.

“Yes,” I said. “You did.”

He nodded, once.

Then turned back to the city.

And I stood beside him. Silent. Watching the world below, knowing that the storm was coming.