Damien POV
The room was already dim when I lay down, not dark, but quiet enough that everything felt heavier than it should. The curtains had been drawn halfway, leaving a thin stretch of night pressing faintly through the glass. The air held a stillness that usually came with rest, yet it did nothing to ease the tension sitting beneath my ribs.
I had not slept, and I had not even tried.
Each time I closed my eyes, the same moment returned—the study, the conversation, the way she stood there speaking with certainty, and the way he listened without interruption. It was not the words that lingered, but the attention he gave them.
The door opened.
I did not turn, but I heard it clearly—the soft shift of air, the quiet close of wood against frame, and the measured rhythm of footsteps moving across the room. Darius did not speak right away. He never rushed into words; he allowed silence to settle first, as though deciding whether anything needed to be said at all.
