The next morning, the house felt colder.
Not because of the weather, but because Elina wasn't in his bed.
Damon woke alone.
She hadn't left a note. Just a silence that screamed louder than any goodbye.
He found her in the sunroom, curled on the couch, pretending to sketch. But the paper was blank. Her pencil hadn't moved in hours.
"Elina," he said softly.
She didn't look at him.
"Did you sleep?" he asked.
"I don't know," she answered. "Does it matter?"
Damon walked closer, unsure how to cross the invisible wall between them.
"I didn't mean to hurt you," he said.
She let out a bitter laugh. "You didn't just hurt me, Damon. You broke something that was never yours to touch."
He flinched.
"You think confessing makes it better?" she asked, finally facing him. "That now I'm supposed to just… forgive?"
"I never asked for forgiveness," he said. "Only honesty."
"And yet, you lied for years," she snapped. "You had a choice back then—to come forward, to speak up—but you chose to run. And now I wonder…"
She paused.
"If you only told me now because you were afraid I'd find out anyway."
Damon's jaw tensed.
He wanted to deny it. But part of her was right.
"I told you because I couldn't keep pretending," he said. "Because I'm tired of running—from what I did, and from you."
Elina stood, pushing past him. "Well, you should've kept running."
---
That night, Damon couldn't sleep.
He replayed her words. Her silence. The shift in her eyes—like she was no longer just angry… but strategic.
He thought of the leaks. The timing. The way they struck at the core of what he buried.
And the way Elina never looked surprised.
> She knew more than she let on.
She'd been too calm. Too ready.
A cold thought slithered into his chest.
> What if she didn't come back by accident?
What if she came back… for revenge?
---
Elina sat on her bed, staring at her parents' old photo.
She thought Damon's truth would set her free.
Instead, it shackled her.
She still wanted justice—but what if that justice had become twisted?
What if she wasn't punishing a monster anymore, but a broken man who was trying to make things right?
Her head said walk away.
Her heart said stay.
And her soul?
It just whispered, "You're falling apart."
Chapter Fourteen – Silence and Suspicion
The next morning, the house felt colder.
Not because of the weather, but because Elina wasn't in his bed.
Damon woke alone.
She hadn't left a note. Just a silence that screamed louder than any goodbye.
He found her in the sunroom, curled on the couch, pretending to sketch. But the paper was blank. Her pencil hadn't moved in hours.
"Elina," he said softly.
She didn't look at him.
"Did you sleep?" he asked.
"I don't know," she answered. "Does it matter?"
Damon walked closer, unsure how to cross the invisible wall between them.
"I didn't mean to hurt you," he said.
She let out a bitter laugh. "You didn't just hurt me, Damon. You broke something that was never yours to touch."
He flinched.
"You think confessing makes it better?" she asked, finally facing him. "That now I'm supposed to just… forgive?"
"I never asked for forgiveness," he said. "Only honesty."
"And yet, you lied for years," she snapped. "You had a choice back then—to come forward, to speak up—but you chose to run. And now I wonder…"
She paused.
"If you only told me now because you were afraid I'd find out anyway."
Damon's jaw tensed.
He wanted to deny it. But part of her was right.
"I told you because I couldn't keep pretending," he said. "Because I'm tired of running—from what I did, and from you."
Elina stood, pushing past him. "Well, you should've kept running."
---
That night, Damon couldn't sleep.
He replayed her words. Her silence. The shift in her eyes—like she was no longer just angry… but strategic.
He thought of the leaks. The timing. The way they struck at the core of what he buried.
And the way Elina never looked surprised.
> She knew more than she let on.
She'd been too calm. Too ready.
A cold thought slithered into his chest.
> What if she didn't come back by accident?
What if she came back… for revenge?
---
Elina sat on her bed, staring at her parents' old photo.
She thought Damon's truth would set her free.
Instead, it shackled her.
She still wanted justice—but what if that justice had become twisted?
What if she wasn't punishing a monster anymore, but a broken man who was trying to make things right?
Her head said walk away.
Her heart said stay.
And her soul?
It just whispered, "You're falling apart."