Tous les chapitres de : Chapitre 41 - Chapitre 50

The morning after I found the letters felt like waking up inside someone else’s nightmare. I was still on the bedroom floor, back against the side of the bed, knees pulled to my chest. My eyes were swollen from crying half the night.Damien had already left. I knew because the entire place was quiet, and there was no note, no text saying “I’m sorry” or “Come talk to me.” Just silence.I sat there for a long time, staring at the carpet. My fingers kept brushing over the faint bruises on my thighs from the day before, the good kind, the ones that usually made me smile when I remembered how they got there. Today they just felt like evidence.Eventually I stood up, my legs were stiff. I walked to the closet and pulled out the small bag I used to carry to the diner when I still had to take three buses. I didn’t touch any of the designer stuff he’d bought me. I grabbed my old jeans, the faded hoodie with the hole in the sleeve, a couple of plain T-shirts, and the worn sneakers that still ha

The next few days at Sofia’s place was calm and peaceful. I woke up on the lumpy couch every morning with a stiff neck. Sofia would be humming in the kitchen, usually burning something while cursing at her ancient toaster. She’d slide a plate toward me with a grin and say something like, “Breakfast of champions, slightly burnt toast and eggs that may or may not have shells in them.”I’d laugh weakly and eat anyway. It was better than the silence of the penthouse. School helped keep me busy. I threw myself into lectures, took extra notes, stayed late in the library pretending to study when really I was just avoiding going back to Sofia’s too early. I even picked up a couple of short shifts at the diner, nothing full-time, just enough to feel useful. Mike was weirdly nice now that he knew I owned the place. He kept offering me the good tables and asking if I needed anything. It felt fake, but I took the tips anyway.Damien kept his word. He didn’t show up at Sofia’s door again. No dram

The next day at Sofia’s felt slower than the others. I woke up to the sound of her cursing at the coffee maker again. She’d managed to burn the toast again and was muttering something about how “this damn thing hates me personally.” I walked into the kitchen in one of her oversized T-shirts, hair a mess, eyes still puffy from crying myself to sleep.“Morning, sunshine,” she said, sliding a slightly burnt piece of toast toward me. “Breakfast is lightly carcinogenic but filled with extra love.”I managed a weak laugh and took the plate. “Thanks. You’re spoiling me.”“Someone has to. Your billionaire isn’t here to feed you caviar and strawberries or whatever rich people eat for breakfast.”We ate in comfortable silence for a few minutes. The coffee tasted bitter but familiar, it grounded me. For someone who works at a diner, Sofia was a really bad cook.After breakfast I helped her fold laundry on the couch. My mind kept drifting back to the photos I’d seen in Damien’s office, little Dam

The morning after I came back felt different. I woke up wrapped in Damien’s arms, my head on his chest, his heartbeat steady under my ear. For the first time in days, the weight on my chest felt lighter.He was already awake. I could tell by the way his fingers traced slow, lazy circles on my bare back. When I shifted, he pressed a kiss to the top of my head.“Morning,” he murmured, voice still rough with sleep.“Morning,” I whispered back.We stayed like that for a while, no rush, no pressure, just breathing together. His hand kept moving gently over my skin, like he was reassuring himself I was really there.Eventually my stomach growled, loudly.Damien chuckled. “Hungry?”“Starving,” I admitted. “I think Sofia’s version of breakfast was mostly burnt toast and emotional support.”He smiled a little, but real. “Then let’s fix that.”We got up. I pulled on one of his shirts (it still smelled like him), and he threw on sweatpants. We moved to the kitchen together, it felt strangely dom

The next few days settled into something that almost felt like peace. We weren’t fixed, not completely, but we were trying, really trying.Damien went to his second therapy session without me having to remind him. I went back to my normal class schedule and even picked up a few more shifts at the diner. He picked me up after work most nights, but he no longer insisted on coming inside or hovering.He’d wait in the car, kiss me when I got in, and ask how my day was, small things and normal things. It felt good and fragile, but good.One evening we were in the kitchen making dinner together, nothing fancy, just pasta and sauce from a jar because neither of us felt like cooking properly and we gave his staff long breaks, because we wanted the house all to ourselves. I was stirring the sauce while he chopped vegetables, and the radio played some old R&B song in the background.I glanced over at him. He looked relaxed for once, sleeves rolled up, hair a little messy, humming under his brea