Official Suspect

The mansion felt different when they returned.

Maybe it was the silence? Naomi wondered if Damon had fired the staff or something, seeing how silent everywhere felt.

Only when she saw the maids head out to help her pack her things from the booth did she think the house wasn't completely empty after all.

Damon watched her closely as she stepped into the living room, her eyes flicking over familiar things that suddenly looked distant.

The glass table, the grey sofa, the framed photograph of a seaside she’d always thought reminded her of peace. Only now did she realise that she didn't have any pictures of them together to hang on the walls…

He set her bag down by the stairs and one of the staff picked it up, heading straight for their room.

Damon turned to her. “Do you want to rest first or eat something?”

Naomi smiled faintly, her eyes tired but still gentle. “You sound like Soonie.”

“I’m not sure how to take that.”

She chuckled softly, easing herself onto the couch. “Soonie can be bossy when she’s worried.”

“I’ve noticed.”

Her laugh faded into a sigh as she leaned back. “It’s strange being home again. Everything looks the same, but it feels… different.”

Damon sat beside her, leaving just enough space between them. “That’s normal.”

“Is it?” she asked, glancing at him. “Because I keep expecting to wake up back in that hospital bed.”

“You’re awake now.”

His voice was quiet, calm, but something in it made her chest ache. She turned away, tracing the edge of a throw pillow. “Thank you. For staying.”

“You don’t need to thank me.”

She smiled again, softer this time. “I think I do.”

Damon exhaled and planted a kiss on her forehead. “You don't have to.” He said again, staring into her eyes as he cups her chin.

She nods, leaning her head on his.

He rose. “Let me get you something to eat. You haven’t had much today.”

“I’m not that hungry.”

He gave her a look. “Fine. But….are you going to make it yourself?" She asked

He nodded. Naomi chuckled. In her defence, she didn't think he knew the first thing about cooking.

“You think I'll mess it up, “ he said, taking this as a challenge.

Naomi laughs. “Can you blame me?”

Damon's eyes narrowed, braving himself to make the best soup she’s ever had. Challenge accepted.

Naomi watched him head to the kitchen. She leaned on the armrest, watching Damon cook. The soft sounds of running water and clinking glass soon filled the air. She might be wrong, Damon does know something about cooking..

Her eyes felt heavy, those damned pills! She leaned back again, eyes fluttering shut. For the first time in days, she felt the smallest thread of normalcy tug at her chest.

By the time Damon returned, she had half-dozed off. He placed the tray gently on the table, a bowl of soup, a glass of water, and a folded napkin. All arranged with precision.

His eyes landed on her peaceful face and felt a tug at his heart. He always wants her to be like this, at peace. Even though he lived for moments where she made him question his sanity. He couldn't have one without the order and is exactly where he wanted to be.

She blinked up at him, smiling faintly. “How long was I out?”

“A week?” He said, smirking. She rolled her eyes playfully, sitting up to catch a glimpse of the tray on the table.

“You really do know how to cook, uh?” She teased.

“Its a basic human skill. Do you need me to get you anything else?”

She shook her head as she picked up the spoon, took one slow sip, then sighed. “Pretty descent.” She said with a teasing smile.

Damon chuckled. “Five stars you mean?”

She smiled, taking a look around her with a sigh. “I missed this place.”

“You mean our home?” He corrected and she nodded.

Damon sat back down, watching her carefully. “The doctor said you’re healing faster than expected.”

“I just want to remember,” she murmured, setting the spoon down. “How I fell. Maybe I could remember a face or…”

“You will. Don’t push yourself.”

She looked at him. “That’s easy for you to say. You’re not the one who doesn’t know who tried to kill you.”

The words hung between them, heavier than either of them expected.

Naomi looked down at her hands, her fingers trembling slightly. “It’s strange. Sometimes I dream about it. About the sound of my shoes hitting the stairs, the pain in my ribs. But when I try to picture who did it…” She exhaled shakily. “It’s like fog. I can’t see their face.”

Damon leaned forward, elbows on his knees. “It’ll come back when you’re ready.”

“Maybe,” she said. Then, as if remembering something, her eyes widened a little. “Actually, there’s one thing.”

He straightened instantly. “What is it?”

Naomi frowned in concentration, her brows knitting. “A tattoo. I remember seeing it. On their hand, I think. Or their wrist.”

Damon’s chest went tight. “A tattoo?”

“Yes.” She bit her lip, trying to recall. “It was small… maybe a butterfly? Blue wings. The light hit it just before I fell.”

Damon froze.

The air around him seemed to change, a shift so subtle that Naomi didn’t notice. He sat perfectly still, the muscles in his jaw tightening as his mind replayed what he’d seen earlier that morning.

Soonie.

The faint blue butterfly inked just above her wrist. The way she’d hidden it when she caught him looking.

His breath caught, could it be...

Naomi tilted her head. “Do you think that means anything?”

Damon forced himself to blink, to breathe, to keep his expression neutral. “It could,” he said finally. “It’s something, at least.”

Naomi looked thoughtful. “Do you think they were someone from work?”

“Possibly.”

She sighed, rubbing her temples. “I hate this. Not knowing. Everyone is walking on eggshells around me.”

“You’re safe now,” he said softly.

“I thought I was safe then too.”

That struck deeper than she intended. Damon leaned back, his face calm but his mind racing.

A butterfly tattoo.

Could it really be Soonie? He didn’t want to believe it. For Naomi’s sake, if nothing else. She trusted that girl with her life. And yet… Damon had always trusted his instincts, and something about Soonie had set off alarms from the very first day.

Maybe it was the way she looked at him, half hostility, half something else. Or the way she inserted herself between him and Naomi, always hovering, always questioning.

He’d brushed it off then, but now…

Now it felt like more.

“Damon?” Naomi’s voice pulled him back.

He blinked, realizing he’d gone quiet too long. “Yeah?”

“You okay?”

“Yeah,” he said quickly, forcing a small smile. “Just thinking.”

“About what?”

“About you getting better.”

Naomi didn’t buy it, but she let it go.

He watched her eat a little more of the soup, his mind turning in circles. Every instinct screamed at him.

If he was wrong, Naomi would never forgive him.

And if he was right…

Then he’d been right to keep his distance all along.

♤

Later that night, Naomi was half-asleep when Damon helped her upstairs. She leaned against him, her steps slow, careful. He guided her through the hall, his hand steady at her back, the warmth of his touch grounding her.

When they reached the bedroom, she paused by the doorway. “It feels like I haven’t been here in years.”

“You’ve only been gone a few days.”

“Feels longer.”

He helped her sit on the bed, adjusting the pillows and smoothing the blanket over her. The gentleness in his movements surprised even him. He hadn’t realized how much he’d missed this, missed her.

Naomi watched him quietly. “You’re being too careful.”

“Define too careful.”

She smiled weakly. “You should rest too.”

“I will,” he lied.

The room was dim, only the bedside lamp casting a pool of light across the floor. Naomi’s eyes fluttered half-shut, exhaustion finally catching up to her.

“Damon?” she murmured.

“Yeah?”

“Do you think we’ll ever find out who did it?”

He looked down at her; her lashes resting against her cheeks, her breathing slow.

“Yes,” he said quietly. “We will.”

“You sound sure.”

“I am.”

She smiled faintly, already slipping into sleep. “You always sound so sure.”

He waited until her breathing evened out before standing. For a long moment, he just stood there, watching her. Then he turned away, walking to the window.

The city lights blinked faintly in the distance. Somewhere out there, someone had tried to end her life. Someone close enough to have touched her, to have stood beside her, to have smiled in her face.

His hands curled into fists at his sides.

A butterfly tattoo.

He closed his eyes, taking a slow, deliberate breath. He couldn’t tell her yet. Not until he knew for certain.

Naomi stirred slightly, murmuring something in her sleep. Damon turned back toward her, his expression softening. He crossed to her side, adjusting the blanket again even though it didn’t need adjusting.

“I’ll find them,” he whispered. “Whoever it was. I swear it.”

She didn’t hear him, not really, but the words hung in the air, heavy with promise.

And as he sat there, keeping silent watch over her, one thought wouldn’t leave him.

If Soonie really was behind this… if she had betrayed Naomi like that…

Then he wouldn’t let her see another sunrise.