Chapter 22
Damien pov
They removed me anyway, their grips firm but not rough on my arms.
Day six, I tried a different approach—waiting in the parking garage until I saw her car pull in. A sleek black Mercedes. She’d done well for herself.
I approached before she could get to the elevator. “Aria. Please p>
She stopped, then turned, her eyes as cold as the day I’d thrown her out.
“You’re stalking me now?” She adjusted her purse on her shoulder.
“I’m trying to apologize.” I kept my distance, hands at my sides.
“You’re trying to ease your guilt,” she said, taking a step toward the elevator. “Those are different things p>
“I need to know about Noah.” His name came easier this time.
Her jaw tightened. “His name is none of your business p>
“He’s my son.” I moved closer but stopped when she tensed.
“He’s my son,” she said, turning to face me fully. “You gave up any claim to him when you told me to get rid of him p>
The words hit like a punch. “Aria, please. I was wrong. I was so wrong about everything p>
“You were cruel.” Her voice shook—just slightly, just enough for me to hear the pain underneath. “You didn’t just reject me. You rejected our child before he was even born.” Her hand tightened on her purse strap.
“I know.” My throat was tight.
“Do you?” She stepped closer, and I could smell her perfume—something floral and expensive. “Do you know what it’s like to be thrown out while pregnant? To have nowhere to go? No money? No one?” Her eyes were bright with unshed tears.
“No.” The word came out rough. “But I want to make it right p>
“You can’t,” she said, turning away as her heels clicked on the concrete. “Some things can’t be fixed with money or flowers or apologies, Damien. Some things stay broken p>
“Then let me try anyway.” I followed a few steps behind.
She looked back at me, and for just a moment, I saw something in her eyes. Not forgiveness. Not even sympathy. But acknowledgement—like she saw me, really saw me for who I was.
Then it was gone.
“Stay away from me,” she said quietly. “Or I’ll file a restraining order. I mean it p>
She walked away, her heels clicking against the concrete as the elevator doors opened, then closed.
I stood alone in the parking garage.
My phone buzzed—a text from my assistant: Board meeting in 20 minutes. You need to be here.
I stared at the message, then at the elevator where Aria had disappeared.
For the first time in my life, I didn’t care about a board meeting. I cared about the woman I’d destroyed and the son I’d never met.
I’d spent thirty-one years building walls around my heart, telling myself emotions were weakness, that love was a liability. Now those walls were crumbling, and all I could feel was the overwhelming weight of what I’d lost.
I drove back to Ravenwood as the city passed in a blur—traffic lights, buildings, people going about their lives like the world hadn’t just shifted on its axis.
Back at my desk, I pulled up my computer and opened a file my investigator had prepared—everything he could find on Aria’s years abroad. This wasn’t the first time I’d done this. It was the seventh. The seventh time I’d tortured myself with these details, hoping to find something I’d missed, some proof she hadn’t suffered too much.
There were no photos of the child. Noah. My son.
But the new record sent to me—there was a birth record. Date and time. Hospital in London. Noah Alexander Monroe. Seven pounds, four ounces. Healthy.
She’d given him her last name.
Of course she had. I hadn’t been there. Hadn’t wanted to be there.
I closed the file and opened my desk drawer, pulling out the small velvet box I’d been carrying for three years. Inside was a wedding ring—the real one. Not the cold platinum band from our contract marriage. This one was white gold with small diamonds, something Aria would actually wear.
I’d bought it three weeks before I’d destroyed everything, had been planning to surprise her, to tell her I wanted to try for real.
Then Vivian had gotten in my head, fed me lies about Aria being calculating and planning to use me. I let Vivian spoil my joy. Initially, I never wanted to believe her—until she showed me an audio recording of Aria promising to use me and destroy me. The words had sounded so real, so damning.
My affair with Vivian on my wedding day… God, I told myself it was to spite Aria, to uphold my father’s rule of not being weak. But the truth? I never actually had sex with Vivian. Couldn’t do it. Even when Vivian told Aria right in front of me that we’d been having an affair before our engagement, I just stood there, kept my mouth shut and let her spill her lies.
Looking back at it now, I was so damn dumb. Why didn’t I see it? If Aria was supposedly helping her family, wouldn’t they have supported her? Instead, they turned against her. And when she signed those divorce papers, I heard a week later that her parents kicked her out of the house.
That’s when it all came crashing down. I’d been used. They orchestrated the whole thing to push Vivian on me—knowing I never even liked Vivian. They turned me against Aria, against the one person who’d actually been real with me from the start.
My phone rang—Marcelo this time, my business partner.
“What?” I answered without looking at the screen.
“What the hell is wrong with you?” His voice came through sharp and angry.
I leaned back in my chair. “Good afternoon to you too p>
“Don’t play games with me, Damien.” He sounded furious. “I’ve been hearing things. Very disturbing things p>
My jaw clenched. “What things p>
“That you’ve been showing up at Aria Monroe’s office building. Multiple times. That security has had to escort you out. That you cornered her in a parking garage today.” He paused. “Are you trying to destroy yourself p>
I closed my eyes. Word traveled fast in our circles.
“I was trying to talk to her,” I said.
“You were stalking her.” His voice was cold now. “Do you understand what you’re doing to your reputation? To our business p>
“Our business?” I stood up from my desk. “Since when do you care about my personal life affecting business p>
“Since you started acting like a complete lunatic,” he said, not backing down. “Do you know what people are saying? That Damien Blackwood has lost his mind. That he’s harassing a pregnant woman he threw out years ago. That he can’t be trusted p>
“She’s not pregnant now.” The words came out defensive.
“That’s not the point.” Marcelo’s frustration was clear. “The point is you’re turning yourself into a stalker. You’re giving her ammunition for that restraining order she threatened. And you’re making yourself look weak p>
“Maybe I am weak.” I walked to the windows.
“Then keep it private,” he said, his tone shifting slightly—less angry, more concerned. “Handle your guilt on your own time. Go to therapy. Write in a journal. But stop showing up at her workplace like some obsessed ex-boyfriend. It’s pathetic p>
The word stung because it was true.
“She has my son,” I said quietly.
Marcelo went silent. I could hear his breathing change on the other end.
“What did you say?” His voice was different now.
“She was pregnant when I threw her out. She has a three-year-old son. My son. And I didn’t know he existed until this week p>
The silence stretched longer this time.
“Damien,” he said my name like he was talking to someone on a ledge. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know p>
“Nobody knew.” I pressed my forehead against the glass. “She kept him hidden. Kept him safe. From me p>
“But you can’t do this,” Marcelo said, his voice gentle now but firm. “You can’t stalk her. You can’t corner her in parking garages. That’s not how you fix this p>
“Then how?” The question came out raw. “How do I fix something this broken p>
“I don’t know,” he sighed. “But not like this. All you’re doing is proving her right about you—that you only care about what you want, that you don’t respect her boundaries p>
His words hit hard.
“So what do I do?” I asked.
“You back off,” he said simply. “You give her space. You prove through your actions that you’ve changed. Not by forcing yourself into her life, but by respecting her wishes p>
“And if she never gives me a chance?” My voice was barely above a whisper.
“Then you live with that,” Marcelo answered honestly. “Because that might be the consequence of what you did. And no amount of stalking or begging or showing up uninvited is going to change it p>
I stood there, phone pressed to my ear, staring out at the city. He was right. I knew he was right. But knowing didn’t make it easier.
“I hear you,” I finally said.
“Good,” Marcelo’s voice softened. “Now go home. Take a breath. And figure out the right way to do this. Because what you’re doing now isn’t it p>
I hung up, looking out at the city one more time. Somewhere out there was my son—a little boy who didn’t know I existed, who Aria had protected from me all these years.
And she’d been right to.
But that was going to change. I didn’t know how. I didn’t know when. But I was going to prove to her that I wasn’t that man anymore, even if it took the rest of my life.
I grabbed my coat from the back of my chair and left my office without a word to my assistant.