Chapter 5: Three Days and Counting
The morning after, I wake up with Bella's head still on my chest, her breathing slow and even, one leg thrown over mine like she's afraid I'll vanish if she lets go. Sunlight slips through the blinds in thin stripes across the bed. For the first time in years, the cracked ceiling doesn't feel like a weight pressing down on me. It feels like something that's almost over.
I don't move. I just lie there, feeling the warmth of her, letting myself believe this is really happening.
She stirs after a while, makes a small sleepy sound, and lifts her head. Her hair's a tangle, eyes still soft with sleep. She looks at me like she's checking I'm still there.
"Morning," she whispers, voice rough.
"Morning." I brush a strand of hair from her face.
She smiles—small, shy, like we're kids who finally admitted something huge. Then she scoots closer and kisses me, slow and lazy. We stay like that for a long time, wrapped up in each other, trading quiet kisses and soft touches, no rush at all.
When we finally get up, it's nearly noon. The house is still empty—Claudia at some luncheon, Sophia off doing whatever Sophia does. We make coffee together, moving easy around the kitchen, stealing glances and little touches that feel brand new and long overdue at the same time.
We eat leftover lasagna straight from the pan, sitting on the counter, legs swinging. She laughs when I get sauce on my chin and wipes it off with her thumb.
"This feels like a dream," she says quietly.
"It's not," I tell her. "It's just finally real."
She nods, but there's a flicker of worry in her eyes.
"What happens when they get home?" she asks. "Mom's going to freak if she finds out…"
"We don't have to tell them anything yet," I say. "Not until you're ready."
She looks relieved, but then adds, "And after? When we do tell them? Or when we… leave?"
Three days.
The countdown is loud in my head. Everything I've been building for years is about to come through—the money, the clean exit, the new place I've already secured under a shell company. A quiet house forty minutes out of the city, three bedrooms, big yard. Somewhere we can breathe.
But I can't tell her yet. Not until it's done and there's zero risk.
So I pull her close and kiss her forehead.
"We'll figure it out together," I say. "I'm not going anywhere without you."
She rests her head on my shoulder. "I believe you."
We spend the rest of the day stealing time—cleaning up slowly, napping on the couch with some old movie neither of us watches, just happy to be tangled together. Every touch feels like something we're finally allowed to have.
When Claudia gets home around five, we slip back into our old careful roles. Bella folds laundry in the living room. I tinker with a shelf in the garage. We don't look at each other when Claudia passes through, but I catch Bella's secret smile from across the room.
Dinner is tense. Claudia's in a mood, Sophia's glued to her phone. Bella and I sit across from each other, careful not to let our feet brush under the table.
Claudia starts in on me halfway through the meal.
"Any job applications today, Damian? Or another day gone?"
I keep my voice even. "Sent a couple."
She scoffs. "Sure."
Bella's jaw tightens, but I give her the tiniest shake of my head. Not worth it. Not tonight.
After dinner Bella says she's tired and heads upstairs early. I wait a decent interval, then follow.
Her door is cracked open. Light off. I slip inside and close it softly behind me.
She's waiting under the covers. I slide in beside her, and she curls into me immediately, head on my chest again.
We don't talk much. Just hold each other in the dark, like we're bracing for whatever comes next.
The next two days are the same—stolen moments when the house is empty, careful distance when it's not. Nights spent in her bed instead of mine, whispering in the dark, planning a future we can almost taste.
On the third night—the night before everything goes final—I'm in the garage one last time, checking the phone.
Marcus: All clear. Pickup at 0200. Driver will flash lights twice. Bring nothing.
I delete the thread, power it off, wrap it back up. My pulse is steady, but loud in my ears.
When I come inside, Bella's waiting in the kitchen, arms crossed, leaning against the counter.
"You've been quiet tonight," she says softly.
I step close. "I'm right here."
She searches my face. "Talk to me, Damian. Whatever it is, we can handle it together."
I want to tell her everything—the accounts, the deal, the revenge that's been simmering for years, how every move was made with her in mind.
But one more day. Just one.
I pull her into my arms instead.
"Tomorrow," I say against her hair. "Tomorrow I'll tell you everything. And then we're leaving. For good."
She goes still. "Leaving?"
"Yeah. You and me. A real fresh start. Somewhere no one can touch us."
Her eyes fill up. "You mean it?"
"More than anything."
She kisses me then—deep, full of promise.
We go upstairs together. That night we don't sleep much. We just hold each other, talking quietly about the little things—a dog maybe, a garden, mornings with no yelling, no walking on eggshells.
When she finally drifts off, curled against me, I wait until her breathing is deep and even.
Then I carefully slide out of bed. Dress in dark clothes—jeans, hoodie, quiet shoes.
I kneel beside the bed, brush her hair back, press a soft kiss to her forehead.
"I'm coming right back for you," I whisper. "I swear."
I leave a note on the pillow beside her: Trust me. Wait.
Then I slip out of the room, down the stairs, out into the night.
The air is cold and sharp. My breath fogs as I walk down the driveway.
Headlights flash twice at the corner.
I get in without looking back.
One last job.
Then I come home to her, and we start the life we should have had five years ago.