Chapter 304: Turns Out We Were Both Miserable

His voice was so soft at first that I thought maybe I imagined it. "There hasn’t been a day in the last four years when I didn’t miss you so much it felt like I lost a part of myself."

My breath caught.

He lowered his voice even more when he continued, like the words were something he had carried for so long that saying them out loud was almost painful.

"I missed you so much, Oliver. It hurt."

I stared into the darkness, my mind racing to come up with the quick retort that typically came so easily to me. There were thousands of sarcastic replies I could’ve thrown his way. I could have joked. I could’ve reminded him he was the one who left.

I could have pointed out that four years was a long time to suddenly realize someone was missed. I could’ve told him that missing me didn’t erase everything that had happened.

But instead, I lay there in silence because his voice didn’t sound like the controlled man who’d been sitting across from my father all day, carefully explaining himself like someone who had rehearsed every answer.

This sounded different.

This was Damien without the armor.

I swallowed, the sound echoing in the stillness.

"Forget about the rule and tell me the rest," I whispered.

He shifted slightly, the mattress dipping under his weight, I turned my head toward him, though I could barely make out his shape in the dark.

"Everything," I added. "I only heard part of it earlier."

For a moment, he was quiet.

Then he exhaled slowly. "All right."

And then he began to share.

He told me about the first months after he’d returned to his family and realized that the promise he had made to me wasn’t enough to protect either of us.

He talked about how his father made it clear that the company would never really belong to him unless he proved that Oliver Reyes was no longer a part of his life.

At first, his words came carefully, but soon they flowed steadily as if once he started, he couldn’t stop.

He told me about the eyes watching him, the people reporting on his movements, the monitored conversations, and the decisions that were questioned.

He explained how carefully he had learned to navigate life, knowing that even the smallest slip could give his parents a reason to intervene in my life or Dad’s.

"They didn’t just threaten you," he said quietly. "They made sure I understood just how easily they could mess with your life."

I stared at him, the darkness suddenly feeling heavier. "My career?"

"Yes."

"And my father’s treatment?"

His silence answered before he spoke.

Something twisted painfully inside me, a sharp realization that rearranged the last four years in a new light.

Damien kept explaining how his early years as CEO were hardly his at all. He had the title, the office, the public appearances, all the things people associated with power, but behind closed doors, his father still had the final say.

His description painted a picture of a tightly controlled life, where every choice was weighed against the risk of what could happen to the people he cared about if he stepped out of line.

"I thought it would only last six months," he admitted. "Then a year, then I kept telling myself I just needed to survive a bit longer. It felt horrible and invasive as hell, being watched and monitored twenty-four-seven."

His voice cracked slightly, almost imperceptibly.

He shared how many nights he sat alone in his office after everyone went home, staring at his phone, contemplating whether one text would be worth the consequences.

He recounted how many times he typed my name into a contact list he could never use, only to delete it again. That admission hung between us like something fragile yet heavy.

"There were nights I almost called," he said.

I shut my eyes again. "How many?"

"Too many."

I opened my eyes once more.

He kept talking, and somehow that honesty hurt more than any excuse could have.

He didn’t pretend to have made perfect choices. He didn’t tell me everything he’d done was noble or that I should be grateful for his sacrifice.

He admitted that he had been scared. He confessed that there were times he hated himself for staying silent. He even acknowledged that he sometimes wondered if protecting me was worth losing me.

"And then," he said, "I remembered what they threatened to do if I failed."

My throat tightened.

"The silence became its own punishment," he continued. "At first, I thought I was protecting you. But after a while, I realized I was punishing myself too and each passing year made it harder to picture how I could come back to you and explain why I had stayed away."

I stared at the faint outline of him. "So you just waited?"

"Yes."

"You could’ve at least sent a carrier pigeon."

That got a quiet laugh from him, soft and almost shocked, as if he hadn’t expected humor in the midst of everything else.

I smiled despite myself.

"There were probably laws against that," he replied.

"Of course there were. Your family probably owns the whole pigeon industry."

He chuckled again, and for a few moments, the heaviness between us lifted just enough for me to finally take a full breath.

Hearing him laugh in the dark felt like an unexpected gift, and I held onto it longer than I should have.

I had spent four years thinking that Damien had forgotten me.

Now I realized that while I had been trying to build a life around the hole he left behind, he had been living in his own version of that gap.

The mattress dipped a bit as he moved closer.

He didn’t touch me.

He halted before crossing that line, he left a gap wide enough between us that I could have pulled away if I wanted.

I didn’t.

His hand floated toward mine first, hesitated, then drew back a little as if waiting for permission he wasn’t sure how to ask for.

I looked at him and his eyes had adjusted to the dark, and I could just make out the pale blue of them.

There was no confidence in his expression anymore.

Just uncertainty and It was strangely disarming.

I shifted my hand just a little closer and his fingers brushed against mine. Neither of us said anything as his hand began to settle against my waist.

My whole body froze.

Damien waited.

When I didn’t pull away, his thumb gently moved against my side, almost absentmindedly, as if he were reassuring himself that I was actually there.

"Did you miss me too, Oliver?"

I wanted to lie...I really did.

But after everything he had just told me, lying felt almost cruel.

So I nodded.

Barely, his eyes closed for a moment.

When he opened them again, something in his expression had softened completely.

"I missed you too," I whispered.

"I know–"

"No, you don’t."

He met my gaze.

"You don’t understand what it was like." I said.