Chapter seven

The bedroom felt too quiet, a bit too still like even the walls were waiting for something to happen. Damian sat at the edge of the bed, elbows on his knees, hands clasped together, watching me from across the room like I was a stranger he wasn’t sure how to reach anymore.

“Emmah,” he started, his voice filled with exhaustion, “I... I want to fix this. All of it. I know I messed up, and I know sorry is such a small word for what I did. But I’m done with Tasha. Completely. I swear to you, you’ll never hear her name from me again.”

I didn’t respond. I stood by the window, arms folded tightly across my chest, watching the night sky stretch wide.

“You’re all I want now. You… and the baby.” His voice softened at the mention of the child.

The baby.

I closed my eyes for a second, letting that single word press against the cage of my thoughts. A child that came into existence during such a chaotic time. A child I once thought would bring us closer. Now? I wasn’t so sure. Maybe I just wanted to be unbothered and to cut all the strings.

Damian stood and crossed the room slowly, hesitating as he reached for my hand. “We could try again, Emmah. A fresh start. Please… give just me that chance.”

I turned to look at him and he had a sincere look in his eyes, maybe even scared. But I didn’t feel anything. Not anger. Not hurt. Not even love. Just… emptiness.

“It’s too late, Damian,” I whispered, pulling my hand away.

He looked like I had slapped him. “What do you mean?”

“I’m not keeping the baby,” I said, almost too casually.

His jaw tensed. “You don’t mean that.”

“I do.”

Then there was silence between us. Damian took a shaky breath, stepping back.

“I can’t let you do that.”

“You don’t get to let me do anything anymore,” I replied, my tone was calm but cutting deep. “This is my body and my choice. And this… this isn’t about punishment. It’s about peace. For me.”

He looked at me like he was trying to say a thousand things at once but couldn’t find the words. Then, with a look of desperation, he moved toward me again this time his hand brushed my waist, his lips ghosting the side of my neck.

I went still.

“Don’t,” I murmured.

His touch weakened. “Emmah, I need to feel close to you again. Please.”

“No.” I stepped away.

That simple refusal froze him in place.

“I can’t do this,” I added, moving to the bathroom and locking the door behind me.

I stayed there for a while. I wasn’t crying or thinking. Just breathing.

By morning, I was already dressed before the sun had fully risen. I didn’t wait for breakfast. Didn’t wait for explanations.

My phone lit up with a message from my father’s assistant.

“The convoy will be waiting outside at 10:00 a.m. sharp. Your father wishes to see you privately.”

I didn’t tell anyone where I was going. Not Damian. Not Grandpa. Not even the help. I just walked out the front doors like a ghost.

The convoy was impossible to miss, five black SUVs, tinted windows, uniformed security. My father’s way of reminding everyone who I belonged to. And for the first time, I didn’t feel the usual weight of that reminder.

I got into the back seat of the middle car without saying a word.

My father was waiting in his study, standing tall beside my oldest brother, Liam. They both gave me the same unreadable and calculating, but slightly relieved to see me.

“You look tired,” Liam remarked, his voice clipped. “You okay?”

I nodded.

My father gestured to the seat across from him. “Sit, Emmah. There’s someone I want you to meet.”

That’s when the door opened, and a man walked in. He was tall with a perfectly outlined jaw. The kind of man who didn’t need a second look to leave a lasting impression.

He was wearing a black suit with no tie and his sleeves were rolled halfway up like he couldn’t be fully formal. His dark hair was swept back, and he had the kind of calm confidence that was almost arrogant but not really.

He extended a hand. “Declan.”

“Emmah,” I said, taking it briefly.

“I’ve heard a lot about you,” he said with a small smile. “Though I’m sure you’ve heard nothing about me.”

I nodded again, politely.

My father stepped in. “Declan is the only son of my closest friend and business partner. He just returned from London to take over their international dealings.”

I glanced at him. So that explained the accent.

“I thought it’d be good for the two of you to get to know each other. No pressure. Just dinner, some company. You’ve been through enough, Emmah.”

I forced a smile. My father’s idea of compassion was always strategic.

Declan didn’t try to flirt. He didn’t even compliment me. He just sat with ease and asked me what books I liked, what I thought about the state of the country, if I’d ever been to Rome.

It was… refreshing. But, I wasn’t ready for any of it.

After about an hour, I politely excused myself. My father didn’t argue, just kissed my forehead and asked me to consider staying longer next time.

The drive back to the Richard mansion was quiet. My thoughts were only about him. Declan.

Declan was intriguing. He was different but not in a way that threatened to pull me under. With him, I felt a strange sense of stillness. Not passion or confusion. Just… air.

When I stepped back into the mansion, the staff greeted me like I hadn’t been gone long. I couldn’t find Damian anywhere around. Maybe that was for the best.

I slipped into my bedroom, took off the diamond bracelet I still hadn’t returned, and stared at it for a long time.

I didn’t tell anyone where I had gone. Not because I wanted to lie but because I didn’t owe any of them the truth anymore. Not even Grandpa.