The Weight Of Years

Naomi sat at the dining table, still in Damon's shirt, fingers curled around a mug of untouched coffee that had long gone cold. She couldn't sleep last night and deluding herself that she might this morning or later in the day was silly.

Damon’s footsteps echoed faintly from upstairs. He was getting ready for work, she thought. He probably slept so well last night while she could barely shut her eyes! He was just too…composed.

And maybe that was what irritated her most. How could he be so calm when her entire world felt like it was folding in on itself?

She didn’t want to stay another second under the same roof. The air here was heavy, too filled with ghosts of memories and arguments they’d never finished. Not to mention the answered questions in her head. Before he could come downstairs, she was already on her feet.

Naomi changed into a simple white blouse and grey skirt, clothes she had requested one of the house staff to fetch from Damon's room, tied her hair into a low bun, and slipped her feet into heels. She caught her reflection briefly in the mirror by the door; eyes tired, lips set in a straight line, the faint bruise from the blast still healing beneath the concealer. She looked collected, but she didn’t feel it.

By the time Damon came down, jacket slung over one arm, she was already heading out.

“Hey..” he began, but she didn’t stop.

The door shut behind her before he could find the words to stop her.

♤

Her office felt colder than usual.

The rain from the previous night had cleared, but the grey clouds lingered, casting a dull light through the windows.

Naomi sank into her chair and stared at the stack of files before her. The weekly report sat on top, her handwriting on the cover.

Tita seemed to hover by her office door, eyes studying her as though she knew something she didn't. Nqomi noticed the smirk on Tita's face and frowned. Whatever it was, she wasn't in the mood for it. So much was happening right now and she would mop the floor with her face if she tried to upset her.

Naomi tried to work, but her mind wandered back to Soonie’ apartment, her picture with Damon plastered on the wall.

Soonie had that picture because she's been stalking her or Damon. Hell, or even both of them!

As though her mind had a mind of its own, she recalled Amanda’s warnings, an ache that had settled in her chest since last night.

And somewhere under all that chaos was Damon’s face; the quiet grief she’d seen in his eyes when she’d mentioned the divorce again.

Amanda had told her to trust him. That he was the only one on her side. Did she know about Soonie too? How could Damon, who was in possession of her father's properties and company, be the only one in her corner?

“Don’t think about him,” she muttered to herself. “He made his choice years ago.”

But it didn’t help. She thought about it still.

By noon, she gathered the weekly reports, her heels clicking steadily against the polished floor as she made her way to Damon’s office.

The corridor outside his floor was quiet, as always, Patrick was at his desk, absorbed in calls, and the soft hum of printers filled the silence.

She was here to turn in the weekly reports and that's it. Nothing more, nothing less.

She pushed the doors open and stepped inside, Damon looked up immediately. His expression softened, a faint relief crossing his features. He shuts the file in his hands close, eyes fixed on her as she gets closer and closer to his table.

She set the folder down on his desk. “The weekly reports. I thought you might want to review them before the board meeting, Sir.”

He took them but didn’t look down. His gaze stayed fixed on her. “I'll do that.”

She nodded curtly and turned to leave.

“Naomi…wait.”

Her steps faltered. The sound of his voice, almost pleading, tugged at something she didn’t want to feel.

He rose from his seat. “We need to talk.”

“We already have,” she replied, keeping her tone even as she turned back to face him.

“Not properly,” he said. “Not without you running off halfway through.”

“I didn’t run off,” she said quietly. “I walked away.”

He sighed, stepping around the desk.

“There's so much explanation that needs to be done and none of this will make sense unless I tell you what's really going on..”

Naomi folded her arms. “What other explanation is there? You stole from my father, took his properties and his company. He trusted you.”

“Thats not what happened.”

“Really? Why was my father's will changed then? Why did my father transfer his assets to you after assigning them to me in the first place?”

Damon froze. He's heard that before but for once, he finally understood what it must have looked like."It's not what it looks like..”

“Let's just…divorce. Okay? I'm done with this.”

“You keep saying you want a divorce, but you won’t even tell me why you hate me so much…”

“Don’t,” she snapped, cutting him off.

His words died instantly.

Naomi turned back to him, her eyes flashing. “Don’t you dare stand there and act like you don’t know what you did.”

Damon exhaled. “Ab0ut your father’s assets I..”

“Six years, Damon!” she exploded. “Six goddamn years, and you expect me to just forget that?”

Her voice rose, trembling with emotion she couldn’t contain anymore.

Patrick, somewhere outside, might have heard her, but she didn’t care.

“I was eighteen when we got married,” she went on, her words pouring out faster now. “Barely an adult. I didn’t even know what I wanted from life yet, and suddenly, I was Mrs. Naomi Sinclair. You were older and I trusted you. You made vows to me at the altar that you’d protect me, that you’d be there. And then when the wedding was over, you disappeared!”

Damon’s jaw tightened. “I didn’t disappear. I..”

“Yes, you did!” she yelled, her voice breaking. “For six years, you were nothing but a ghost! No calls. No messages. The only way I knew you were safe was because of the tabloids. Do you know what that felt like? You were at every event, made time for every gala and you never showed up for my graduation.”

His hands clenched at his sides. “You don’t understand what was happening then…”

“I don’t understand?” she scoffed bitterly. “I lost my father, Damon. Aaron Pearl, remember? The man who trusted you more than anyone. He died, and you didn’t even show up at his funeral. You didn’t console me, you didn’t send flowers. You didn’t do anything.”

Her voice cracked on the last word, and she looked away, blinking furiously.

It wasn't about her fathers properties anymore. Hell, it was never about the damned assets! It was the fact that she had questions that he didn't have answers to. He wants her now but what happened back then? Even if he wanted to keep his distance because he felt guilty, he could have shown up for her fathers funeral at least! What bloody excuse did he have?

Damon bowed his head, his eyes now etched with apologies. “Naomi..”

“I called you,” she said quietly. “That night. I called you because I was scared. Because I needed you…”

She wrapped her arms around her shoulders, shuddering at the night she almost got assaulted.

“I called you because I was scared! They…theu tried to…they were these drunk boys from campus who followed me after class, and I… I thought…”

She stopped, her throat closing up.

Damon’s eyes darkened instantly. “What?”

She met his gaze, tears spilling down her face. “They tried to touch me, Damon! I called you because I didn’t know who else to call. And you didn’t answer! You didn’t call back! You didn’t even check! You…”

The silence that followed was unbearable.

Damon looked like he’d been punched; every muscle in his body tensed, his jaw rigid, his breathing shallow.

“Who are they?”

Naomi laughed bitterly through her tears. “You want to know why I hate you? That’s why. Because I waited for you every single day for six years, and you were nowhere. Because when I needed my husband, he was too busy hiding from me. I hate you. You lied to me! You knew I was struggling because I didn't have anything or anyone to bank on because it was all taken away from me! You are so despicable.”

Damon took a step forward, but she backed away instantly, holding up a hand. “Don’t. Just don’t.”

He froze.

“I’m done, Damon,” she whispered. “Sign the papers.”

And before he could speak again, before the regret and pain in his eyes could break her resolve, she turned and left his office.

The door slammed behind her, the echo ringing in his ears long after she’d gone.

Damon stood there in silence.

His heart was pounding, his mind replaying every word she’d said. Six years. He had thought staying away was the safest way to protect her; from the man who had killed her father and threatened him with her life… from his family politics, from the things he’d been forced to do for the company.

He had convinced himself she was better off without him near.

But hearing it now… it all sounded like cowardice. Like excuses.

He dropped heavily into his chair, staring blankly at the divorce papers lying on the corner of his desk. Her signature stared right back at him, she was done.

Really done this time.

He ran a hand over his face, exhaling shakily, her voice echoed in his mind:

“They tried to touch me, Damon.”

A cold rage spread through his veins.

He grabbed his phone, thumb hovering over the keypad.

“Patrick,” he said the moment the line connected. His voice was calm, too calm. “Get me a police report from six years ago. A campus assault report at the university district during Naomi's study period. I want their names.”

Patrick hesitated. “Sir?”

“Find them,” Damon said flatly, cutting him off. “And when you do… make sure they don’t breathe the same air as my wife again.”

He ended the call and leaned back in his chair, staring out the window at the city below.

He pressed his hand to his chest, right over where it hurt the most. He had lost her once because he’d stayed silent.

He wouldn’t make the same mistake again.