CHAPTER 4: THE MOTHER’S VERDICT

Damien: Pov.

The family estate looked the same as it always had.

Tall windows. Perfect lawns. The kind of quiet that felt expensive. I parked in front of the main steps and sat in the car for a moment longer than I needed to. I already knew what this conversation would be about. My mother never called me here for small things.

A staff member opened the door before I reached it.

“She’s waiting in the sitting room, sir.”

I nodded and followed him down the hall. The house smelled faintly of polished wood and the flowers she always kept in the entrance. Nothing had changed. Everything felt heavier anyway.

My mother sat near the window with a cup of tea in her hands. She did not stand when I entered. She only looked at me over the rim of the cup, measuring me the way she always did.

“Sit down, Damien,” she said, her voice calm.

I sat across from her. The chair was stiff. Or maybe I was.

She set the cup down carefully.

“The company is steadying,” she said. “The worst of the scandal is beginning to fade. But the public still remembers. They will keep remembering until you give them something new to look at.”

I stayed quiet.

“Vanessa is the right choice,” she continued. “She understands our world. She knows what is expected. She will not bring another scandal to this family.”

“I’m not ready to rush into anything,” I said.

Her expression did not change.

“This is not about readiness. This is about responsibility. You allowed yourself to be blinded once. The family paid for it. The company paid for it. I will not watch it happen again.”

I felt my jaw tighten.

“Ava was not—”

“Do not say her name in this house.” Her voice stayed calm, but the words cut cleanly. “That woman nearly destroyed everything your father built. You trusted her. You defended her. And look where it left us.”

I looked away from her. The light from the window fell across the carpet in a long, pale line.

“I am not asking you to love Vanessa,” she said after a moment. “I am asking you to choose wisely this time. Publicly. Clearly. Before the board starts questioning your judgment again.”

The silence stretched between us.

I wanted to argue. I wanted to tell her that I was tired of performing for the public and for her. But the words stayed stuck in my throat. Part of me already knew she was right about the company. Part of me was still too raw to fight her the way I once would have.

“I’ve already spoken to her mother,” she said. “A private dinner can be arranged this week. Something quiet. Something that signals you are moving forward.”

I stared at the floor.

“Damien.”

I looked up.

“You will not make the same mistake twice,” she said. “I will not allow it.”

The finality in her voice left no room for discussion. I felt the walls of the room press closer. This was how she had always won — not by shouting, but by making every other option feel impossible.

I stood up slowly.

“I’ll think about it.”

“You will do more than think about it,” she replied. “You will decide. Soon.”

I left the sitting room without another word. The hallway felt longer than usual. Outside, the air was cooler. I got into the car and drove back toward the city with my hands locked tight around the steering wheel.

The skyline came into view, bright and distant. I used to love this drive. Now it only felt like I was returning to a life that no longer fit.

When I reached the apartment, I did not turn on the main lights. I walked straight to the study and sat down at the desk. For a long time I did nothing. The city moved beyond the windows while I stayed still.

Eventually I opened the bottom drawer.

Inside, under a few old files, was a single photograph I had never been able to throw away. Ava on our second anniversary. She was sitting on the kitchen counter in our old apartment, wearing one of my shirts, smiling at the camera like she had no idea the world could turn against her.

I stared at the photograph.

“Why did you do it?” I said quietly.

The words came out rough.

“I trusted you with everything. I gave you my name, my home, my life. And you stole from me. You stood in front of me and lied. You shouldn’t have done it, Ava. You shouldn’t have destroyed us like that.”

My voice stayed low, but the anger and the hurt mixed together until I couldn’t tell them apart.

I set the photograph on the desk and left it there.

The decision I was being pushed toward sat in my chest like a stone. I knew what was expected of me. I knew what would make the board and the public and my mother comfortable again.

But looking at Ava’s smile in the low light, I also knew something else.

I was about to lock myself into a life that would look whole to everyone else and feel empty to me.

And for the first time since the divorce, I wondered if I had already started making the second biggest mistake of my life.