Chapter 3: The Man I Never Forgot

Isadora's POV

Squeezing my hands into a tight fist, the only thing I felt right now was disgust and irritation. No, I didn't see that coming. My fate, my fucking life was on Alice. 

Grabbing my bag I stormed out of the courtroom, ignoring whatever came next, the constant screaming of my name. I was stupid, I have been stupid to have thought it was going to be an easy pizzy shit to leave the fucking bastard.

I slammed my legs in the pedals the moment I got to the car.

My mind was a whirlwind, but somehow the memories of the past haunted me. That night, five years ago. A hotel bar. A stranger with dark eyes who looked at me like I was something worth seeing. One night I had never been able to explain or erase or stop thinking about.

My mind was somewhere else entirely, the moment at the hospital waiting room where I had sat alone and stared at a pregnancy test and understood for the first time what it meant to be completely on your own.

My hands were shaking so badly. Tears streaming down my eyes. I wanted to breathe, I wanted air…I just wanted a life, a peaceful one.

‘The accusations are consistent with the findings.’

‘She is not a victim.’

‘She has had multiple inappropriate relationships with male colleagues.’

‘She has a son who's not for her current husband.’

If words could be erased from memories I would love to erase them. They struck my heart a thousand times. My vision blurbed with my own tears.

I didn't see the truck. I didn't see anything, couldn't hear anything.

And everything went dark.

★★★

Argh….my head. I couldn't help but groan in pain, splitting harsh headaches.

Beeps resounded. A steady mechanical sound that made no sense until it did.

The harsh smell of antiseptic cutting through the fog in my head.

I tried to open my eyes and immediately regretted it. The light was too bright, too much, pressing against my skull

I tried to sit up…I mean I had to. "Don't."

The voice was calm. Yet firm.

A figure in white moved toward me, and through my blurred vision I could only make out the shape of him. Tall. Broad shoulders. A white coat. The unhurried movements of someone who was used to being the most competent person in the room.

My heart monitor spiked.

He reached me and leaned over, checking something above my head with the focused efficiency of someone who had done this a thousand times, and I blinked hard, trying to force my vision to cooperate…

The fog cleared. And the world stopped…a fucking full pause.

He was still impossibly handsome. That was the first stupid thought my barely conscious brain produced. Dark hair. Sharp jaw. A face that had no business being this close to mine after three years of haunting my sleep.

His eyes found mine. Dark. Steady. Completely professional. He didn't react. Not even a flicker.

"You need to relax," he said, reaching for my wrist to check my pulse. His fingers were cool against my skin. "Your body has been through significant trauma."

I opened my mouth. Nothing came out.

My throat was sandpaper. I could feel the dryness of it, scratching with every breath. He seemed to notice because he reached for the cup of water on the bedside table without being asked, and brought the straw to my lips.

"Open." I couldn't stop staring at him.

He was real. He was here. He was standing in front of me in a white coat checking my pulse like I was just another patient and not the woman who had spent three years wondering if she had imagined him entirely.

"How do you feel?" His voice was even. Detached.

I still couldn't answer.

He frowned slightly, the first crack in his composure, and pulled the straw back. My eyes went directly to the badge hanging on his coat. "Little miss, Can you tell me if you're in pain? On a scale of…"

"Doctor Damien.”

“Your name is Damien?” His hands stilled. Just for a second. Just long enough to tell me everything.

His eyes met mine again. Something moved through them, fast and quickly buried.

"You came back." My voice was barely a whisper, raw and broken and completely beyond my control. The tears came without warning, spilling before I could stop them. "Where have you been, Damien. Where did you go? I looked for you, I looked everywhere I…"

"Hey." He stepped closer, his voice dropping, that professional mask slipping just slightly. "Hey, look at me. You need to calm down, okay? You just woke up after three days. You barely…"

"Three days?" The words landed wrong. "I've been here three days?"

"You were in a severe accident." His jaw was tight now. "And barely survived it. You were strong.”

The way he said that with a light chuckle sent chills down my spine. "Do you really not know me? Do you really not recognise me from that night? Five years ago?" My chest was tight, tears burning in my eyes.

"Miss Isadora, is something wrong?"

"Yes. Yes, everything is." I came down from the bed despite the pain that spread through me like fire. My legs were unsteady but I walked to him anyway.

"What are you…" Before he could finish I slammed my lips on his.

He went completely still. I pulled back, my eyes searching his face. "Do you remember now? We had something together. You are my son's father."

I knew I was being crazy. I knew it. But seeing the father of my child after five years and watching him look at me like I was a stranger, that was more devastating than the accident.

"It was one night." His voice was low, controlled, carefully blank. "As you said. There is nothing…"

I kissed him again.

Then the door swung open. I broke away sharply.

Roman stood in the doorway, red roses in hand, his eyes moving slowly from my face to Damien's. "Damien Douglas." Roman said coldly. 

"Roman Douglas." Damien said even colder.

I looked between them. Their eyes locked on each other like two men who shared. Wait ..’Douglas? The same name. The same blood?

"What the hell are you doing here?" Damien's voice was low. Dangerously low.

"I should be asking you that." Roman said as he stepped closer. "What are you doing with my wife?"