Chapter 18
Damien POV
The whiskey tasted terrible.
I stared at the contract documents spread across my desk. The Riverside Project. Lost to Aria Monroe.
Lost to my wife.
Ex-wife, I corrected myself.
“Mr. Blackwood?” My assistant’s voice came through the intercom. “The board is waiting for your call p>
I ignored him, opening a new search window instead.
My fingers hovered over the keyboard. Then I typed: Silver Springs pediatricians
Dozens of results appeared. I scrolled through them, looking for anything that might connect to Aria.
Nothing. She was too careful.
I tried another search: Aria Monroe child
Still nothing. No birth announcements. No social media posts. No school records.
She’d erased every trace.
My office phone rang. I picked it up without checking. “What p>
“The board wants to meet Monday morning.” My assistant’s voice was cautious. “To discuss next steps after the Riverside loss p>
“Fine.” I ended the call.
I thought back to Aria. Morrison was right. Pushing too hard would only make her run again. And this time, I might never find her.
I needed a different approach. Something that showed her I’d changed. That I could be trusted.
But how did you prove you’d changed to someone you’d destroyed?
My phone buzzed. Another text from Marcus: Still ignoring me? Fine. I’ll just have to introduce myself to your lovely ex-wife in person. I’m sure she’d love to hear about our family history.
I called him immediately. “Stay away from Aria p>
“Why?” His voice was amused. “Afraid I’ll tell her the truth”
“That has nothing to do with her p>
“It has everything to do with her. She married into this family. She deserves to know what kind of monsters p>
“Marcus.” My voice went deadly quiet. “If you go near her, I will destroy you. I don’t care that you’re my brother. I will use every resource I have to make sure you never see daylight again p>
Silence. Then Marcus laughed. “There’s Damien I remember. Cold. Ruthless. Willing to burn the world down to protect what’s his.” His voice dropped. “Except she’s not yours anymore, is she? You threw her away. And now she’s great without you p>
“What do you want, Marcus p>
“The same thing you want, little brother. Everything Father never gave us.” The line went dead.
I slammed the phone down, my chest heaving.
I dialed my head of security again. “James, I need all that security detail on Aria Monroe increased. Twenty-four seven. And I want someone watching my brother Marcus. If he goes anywhere near her, I want to know immediately p>
“Understood, sir. Should I inform Ms. Monroe about the security p>
“No.” I paused. “She can’t know. Keep your distance. But if anyone approaches her—especially Marcus—I want immediate notification p>
“Yes, sir p>
I ended the call and walked to my office window, staring out at the city lights.
My mother’s deathbed words haunted me again. Don’t become like your father. Cold men die alone.
I was my father’s son. Cold. Calculating and emotionally dead.
But maybe it wasn’t too late to change. Maybe I could become someone worthy of the family I’d thrown away.
Maybe.
I pulled out my phone and opened my messages to Aria. The last text sat there, delivered but unread: Congratulations on your win. You deserve it.
I started typing again: I know I can’t undo the past. I know I don’t deserve forgiveness. But please don’t punish our son for my mistakes. He deserves a father. Even if that father is me.
I stared at the words for a long moment.
Then I deleted them and threw the phone across the room.
It shattered against the wall, pieces scattering across the expensive carpet.
I was a coward. Too afraid to reach out, too proud to beg properly, too damaged to know how to fix what I’d broken.
My mother had been right.
Cold men died alone.
The board could wait. Let them wait. Let them whisper about how Damien Blackwood had been beaten by the woman he’d thrown away.
They’d be right to whisper.
My Work phone buzzed from the desk. A text from my head of security: Daily report on subject AM attached.
I opened the file, scanning through the mundane details. Aria had gone to her office at 7 AM. Met with her team, she attended the board meeting. Returned to her office. Celebrated at Marcello’s.
Normal and professional.
Nothing about a child.
I opened my laptop, pulling up the investigator’s comprehensive report I have viewed lots of times.. The one that cost me fifty thousand dollars and three sleepless nights.
Time to stop being a coward.
The file opened. Hundreds of pages. Years of Aria’s life, documented in cold, clinical detail.
I started reading.
“No,” I whispered, clicking frantically. “No, no, no p>
But every field related to the birth was blocked. Redacted. Sealed.
She’d made sure I couldn’t find out. Couldn’t know if I had a son or daughter. Couldn’t know the birthday, the weight, the name.
Nothing.
My mother’s voice echoed in my memory. Her last words before she died, when I was fifteen. “Don’t become like your father, Damien. Cold men die alone p>
I was already alone. I had been alone since the day I threw Aria out.
I kept reading through the report, desperate for any detail.
The Aria I’d known had been brilliant. But I’d been too blind to see it. Too convinced by Vivian’s poison that she was just another gold-digger.
Subject founded Monroe Global sixteen months ago. Initial venture capital: $2 million, secured through four Fortune 500 investors who worked with her at Sterling.
Current valuation: $800 million.
Known acquisitions: 37
Failed deals: 0
I closed the laptop, unable to read more.
Zero failed deals. Perfect record.
While I’d been drowning in guilt and whiskey, telling myself there was nothing I could do, Aria had become everything I’d once accused her of wanting to be.
Except she’d done it without me. Without my name, my money, my influence.
In spite of me.
My office door opened without a knock. I looked up, expecting my assistant.
Instead, Detective Morrison stood there. The private investigator I’d hired for the more… delicate inquiries.
“Mr. Blackwood.” He closed the door behind him. “I have the information you requested p>
I stood. “About the child p>
“About the child.” He pulled out a thin folder. “It’s not much. Ms. Monroe has been extremely careful. But I found something p>
He placed a grainy photograph on my desk.
My heart stopped.
The photo showed Aria from three years ago, outside Royal London Hospital. Her face was thinner, paler. But unmistakably her.
And in her arms, wrapped in a blue blanket, was a tiny newborn.
“A boy,” Morrison said quietly. “I confirmed it through a hospital staff member who’s since retired. She remembered Ms. Monroe because of how young and alone she seemed p>
A son. I had a son.
My legs went weak. I sank back into my chair.
“There’s more.” Morrison pulled out another document. “I tracked Ms. Monroe’s movements over the past three years. She was extremely careful, but there’s a pattern. Regular visits to the same pediatrician’s office in London. Dr. Sarah, specializing in early childhood development p>
He laid out a timeline. “Every month for the first year. Every three months after that. The last visit was six months ago, before Ms. Monroe relocated back to the States p>
“Do you have the Dr. contact information?” My voice was hoarse.
“I do. But she won’t talk. Doctor-patient confidentiality. I tried.” Morrison paused. “However, I did confirm one thing through public school records searches in London and now in Silver Springs p>
“What p>
“There’s no record of any child enrolled under the Monroe name. Which means either the child is still too young for school, or He hesitated.
“Or what p>
“Or Ms. Monroe is homeschooling. Keeping the child completely out of public records.” Morrison’s expression was sympathetic. “Mr. Blackwood, she doesn’t want the child found. She’s taken extraordinary measures p>
I stared at the photograph. My son’s face was barely visible, just a tiny profile against Aria’s chest.
“How old would he be now?” I asked, though I already knew.
“Three years and four months, approximately p>
I’d missed three years of my son’s life.
First steps. First words. First, everything.
Because of my own cruelty.
“There’s one more thing.” Morrison pulled out a final document. “Two weeks ago, Ms. Monroe made a large payment to a private security firm in Silver Springs. The kind that specializes in personal protection p>
My blood ran cold. “She thinks she’s in danger p>
“Or she thinks the child is.” Morrison met my eyes. “The firm is discreet. High-end. The type wealthy parents use when they’re worried about kidnapping p>
“I would never”
“I’m not suggesting you would, sir.” His tone was careful. “But Ms. Monroe doesn’t know that. From her perspective, you’re a threat. You have resources, power, and a potential claim to the child p>
I slumped in my chair. “She’s protecting him from me p>
“Yes, sir. She is p>
Morrison gathered his papers. “That’s everything I could find. The trail is deliberately cold. Ms. Monroe knows how to cover her tracks. Whatever else she is, she’s an excellent mother who’s prioritizing her child’s safety above all else p>
“Thank you, Morrison.” I pulled out my checkbook. “Send me your final bill p>
“Already did, sir. This was the last follow-up.” He moved toward the door, then paused. “For what it’s worth? I’ve worked on a lot of cases involving custody disputes. Parents fighting over kids like they’re property.” He looked back at me. “Whatever happened between you and Ms. Monroe, she’s not keeping your son from you out of spite. She’s genuinely afraid. I might want to think about that before you push too hard p>
He left.
I sat alone in my office, staring at the photograph of Aria holding our newborn son.
My mother’s words echoed again. Cold men die alone.
I’d already lost Aria. I’d destroyed any chance with her the day I threw her out pregnant and terrified.
But I couldn’t lose my son too. Couldn’t let him grow up thinking his father didn’t want him.
Even if his father didn’t deserve him.
My phone buzzed. A text from Marcus: I heard about your loss today. How the mighty have fallen. Shall we discuss how I can help you win her back? Or would you prefer to keep failing alone?