Damon paced his office like a man with a loaded gun in his chest.
His assistant had left hours ago, the building was quiet, but his mind wouldn't shut off. Every time he closed his eyes, he saw Elina—her smile from last night, the way her hand had lingered in his, the kiss she didn't expect but didn't completely resist.
She was slipping through his fingers again. And this time, it was his fault.
He picked up the letter he had written—handwritten, something raw and old-fashioned.
> Elina,
I never meant for you to carry this pain. I never meant to vanish. I never meant to ruin your life...
He hadn't signed it yet.
Because some part of him still hoped he wouldn't need to give it to her.
That maybe, just maybe, she'd love him again before the truth shattered everything.
---
The Next Morning
Elina showed up at his penthouse just after 9 a.m.—unannounced.
She looked breathtaking in beige, all soft cashmere and smooth edges. Warm, elegant, deceptive.
"Morning," she said with a small smile. "I thought I'd bring breakfast."
Damon blinked. "You… brought breakfast?"
"Fake girlfriends do that, don't they?" she teased lightly, holding up a bag from their favorite bakery.
He couldn't help it—he smiled. "Only the dangerously charming ones."
Elina stepped inside, handed him a coffee, and sat like she belonged there. As if she hadn't spent the night before confirming he might have killed her parents.
She was calm. Too calm.
Damon didn't notice.
---
They sat on the couch, pastries between them, the sun pouring in through the tall windows.
"This," he said quietly, "feels… real."
She sipped her coffee, eyes unreadable. "Maybe that's the problem."
His brows furrowed. "What do you mean?"
"I mean…" She turned to him. "You disappeared for seven years, Damon. Do you ever think about how much that cost me?"
"Every day."
There it was again. That flicker of honesty in his voice. Regret she wasn't ready to believe.
Elina leaned in. "Then why haven't you told me the truth yet?"
Damon stilled. Her question cut deeper than she intended.
She watched the conflict bloom in his eyes.
"Elina," he started, "there's something I need to tell you. Something I should've told you a long time ago."
Her heart beat faster. But her face stayed still.
"Then tell me," she said softly.
He looked away. Struggled. "I was... involved in something. An accident. Years ago."
Every nerve in her body went tight.
She waited.
"I never meant for it to happen," he said. "I was young. Stupid. I ran from it. And when I saw you again, I thought maybe—"
His voice cracked. "Maybe I could rewrite what I ruined."
Elina's hands curled into fists in her lap.
This was it.
The moment she'd waited for.
But he stopped short. He didn't say her parents. Didn't say their names. Didn't confess to all of it.
He was still hiding.
Still protecting himself.
So she smiled. Slowly. Sweetly.
"Thank you for being honest," she said.
He looked relieved.
And that relief made her heart ache in a way that felt unfair.
Because even though she wanted to hate him…
She didn't.
Not yet.
But she would.
Soon.