All Chapters of Only His On Paper: Chapter 21 - Chapter 30

The world blinked in and out like a dying star.Voices blurred… one urgent, one low, one sharp with panic but all I could feel were the hands. One behind my back, another against my cheek. Warm. Strong. Real.“Don’t just stand there, Mark… open the door.”Damian. His voice wasn’t loud, but it cut clean. No trace of the fight, no trace of the man who told me I didn’t matter. Just command. Just fear.“I’ve got her,” he said, arms wrapping around me like armour, like a net catching something he hadn’t meant to lose.I couldn’t open my eyes. Couldn’t speak. But I felt it; him. The way he lifted me. Careful. Too careful. Like he thought I might break if he breathed wrong.Somewhere in the haze, the car door opened. Rain and warmth battled in the air, the storm outside dripping through my consciousness-like memory.“She’s burning up,” Mark’s voice. Close now. “We should get her checked”“No.” Damian again. Sharper this time. “Not with reporters everywhere.”He pulled me into the car like he

The conference room emptied in whispers and stiff backs.No one looked at me.Not really.Not like before.The silence left behind wasn’t quiet. It was shattered.Glass silence. Blade silence.Mark touched my shoulder like he didn’t know what else to do, and I didn’t pull away. I just sat there, staring at the screen long after it had gone black.My name was on it.My words. My signature.My betrayal.Except it wasn’t mine.I stood slowly. My legs didn’t want to hold me, but I made them. One foot in front of the other. That’s what I’d always done, even when it burned, even when the whole world told me to fold.I barely made it to the hallway bathroom before the sob hit.I locked the door and collapsed against the sink, my breath a mess of sharp exhales and blurry noise. My reflection looked like a stranger, with wet eyes, pale skin, and mascara smudged like guilt.I wanted to scream.At him.At myself.At the silence, he left behind.Tell me you didn’t send those emails.I did. I told

I stood there long after he walked away, the silence louder than anything either of us had said. The suitcase was still by the door. My pride, is still cracked open. And my heart… still undecided.But I stayed.Not because he asked. Not even for Lily.Because when he said, “She’s not just after you,” something in his voice made the decision for me.I turned back, each step toward the hallway heavier than the last. Damian’s study door was shut now. Locked, probably. Still, I paused outside it like I used to pause outside my childhood bedroom afraid of what waited on the other side, but more afraid of what didn’t.That night, I couldn’t sleep.I lay on top of the covers in my old clothes, the necklace Lily gave me pressed against my collarbone like an anchor. Outside, the storm rolled in again quiet thunder, sky bruising with memories I wasn’t ready to unpack.Around 2 AM, the hallway creaked.I didn’t move. But the door opened anyway.Softly. Deliberately.Damian stood there in sweatpa

I didn’t sleep.Not really.I just lay there, staring at the ceiling, every sound in the apartment dragging across my nerves, the faint creak of the hallway floorboards, the wind tapping the windows, the way the open door seemed to breathe in the dark like it was alive.My heart wouldn’t calm down. It pounded hard in my chest, then climbed higher, beating right in my throat.“Non posso perderti anche tu.”I kept replaying it. The way he said it, soft and wrecked like it slipped out before he could stop it.He had no idea I was still awake.He didn’t know I was awake.He didn’t know I heard.And that made it worse.Because I believed him.And believing Damian Kingsley was dangerous.By morning, the air felt heavier and tighter. Naomi knocked once, then came in without waiting, holding a mug of tea and wearing that look that told me something was already wrong.“You need to see this.”She handed me her phone.At first, I didn’t understand what I was looking at. Then the panic set in.It

The jet landed in Milan a little past noon. Damian barely spoke the whole flight, just the occasional glance, one refill I didn’t ask for, and once, his fingers brushed mine. Too long to be nothing.Outside, the light felt… different. Brighter, somehow aged. Like the air remembered more than it let on.A black car waited by the steps. The driver didn’t greet us, just opened the back door, quiet, expression blank. Damian got in first. Shoulders tight. I followed.He didn’t sit close. But he didn’t keep his distance either.Milan looked like it had been painted and left to dry centuries ago.The roads twisted through groves of olive trees and villas falling apart at the edges, like they belonged to the land now, too old to move. The sun hit everything like it didn’t care who saw it. Silent. Still.Then we saw the house.And something in the air… dropped.The villa sat like it had grown from the stone, ivy choking the sides. The walls were pale, but time had darkened the corners. The lake