Chapter 314: A Heart That Never Learned to Let Go

His response was soft, and when I looked up, I saw him watching me with an expression I struggled to define. There was a weariness in his eyes, something almost heartbreakingly tender, as if those three words held much more significance for him than he was willing to let on.

For a fleeting moment, I wondered if he was reflecting on what I was thinking: all the simple evenings we could have shared, the squabbles over dinner and silly TV shows, the mornings when one of us would grumble about being tired while the other pretended not to care.

It was funny how easily I could envision that life now, especially given how many years I spent trying to avoid picturing it to not make my life even more miserable.

"I don’t regret taking charge of the company," he said after a pause, lightly tracing my hand with his thumb. "I don’t regret the work I’ve done or the people I’ve been able to assist. There are aspects of my life that mean a lot to me, even if it isn’t the life I would have chosen for myself."

I nodded, focusing more on our hands than on his face. "I understand."

"I don’t think you do."

I glanced up. Damien’s expression had softened, but there was still a hint of something protective beneath it. "There were nights when I came home and realized that I’d spent the entire day surrounded by people without truly being with anyone."

His words made my heart ache. He glanced towards the kitchen window, where the glass reflected the dim room around us more clearly than it revealed the darkness outside. "The penthouse was lovely.

Honestly, it was too spacious, but it was lovely. Everything was precisely where it was meant to be, everything was luxurious, and everything functioned perfectly. There were people whose main job was to ensure I didn’t have to worry about anything at all."

"That sounds like a tough problem to have." He shot me a look. I offered a small smile. "I’m just saying, if you ever want a break from having people do everything for you, I’d happily take on some of those tasks."

"You’d probably complain about them within an hour."

"I’d complain about them while doing them."

"I know would, Sunshine." His smile was faint, but it didn’t linger long.

"There were times when I’d come home, take off my jacket, and just stand in the kitchen," he continued. "I had no reason to be there. I wasn’t hungry... I didn’t need anything. I’d just stand there because it was the only room in the penthouse that felt like someone should have been there."

I was at a loss for words. The vision of Damien standing alone in that vast penthouse was hard to reconcile with the man beside me.

I had spent years picturing him surrounded by people, wealth, and success...everything I had convinced myself he desired more than he wanted me. I had imagined him moving forward without a backward glance while I stayed behind, trying to figure out how to do the same.

I never envisioned him standing in an empty kitchen wishing I were there.

"Sometimes," he continued quietly, "I would imagine you waiting at home for me to come home from work."

My fingers tightened slightly around his.

"You’d probably complain that I was late...probably hit me with a pillow a few times," he said, a flicker of amusement in his voice. "Even if I was just five minutes late."

"Five minutes is late."

His lips curved into a smile. "You see?"

"What?"

"You haven’t changed."

I wanted to make a joke, but the tenderness in his eyes stopped me.

"I imagined you in the kitchen," he continued. "You’d probably be cooking something simple because you never had the patience for complicated recipes and because you were tired from work too...but you still wanted us to eat something home made for dinner. You’d be wearing a really cute apron."

I laughed softly, shaking my head. "What would I be cooking?"

"Something you liked."

"That’s not very specific."

"I didn’t care what you cooked." He said, "I just wanted you there."

The humor faded from my face. Damien’s gaze fell back to our hands. "I imagined coming home after a long day and finding you there.

You’d ask how work went; I’d share about whatever meeting frustrated me that day, and you’d probably grumble about your students."

"I would definitely complain about my students."

"I know."

"And you’d listen?"

"I’d listen."

"Even if I talked for an hour?"

"I’d listen for two."

I swallowed hard, increasingly unable to look away from him.

"I thought about those things more than I should have," he confessed. "Not because I wanted a perfect life; I didn’t... I just wanted something ordinary. I wanted to come home and know someone I really cared about was waiting for me."

My throat tightened. It was almost cruel how closely his dream mirrored mine.

"I wanted that too," I admitted.

Damien froze. My gaze fell to our intertwined hands, captivated by the way his thumb caressed my knuckles.

"I wanted to come home to you," I confessed. "I wanted the mundane, boring ass moments...like-- like grocery shopping, cooking dinner, arguing over whose turn it was to do the dishes, you complaining about work while I pretended to listen even though I’d already drifted off halfway through our conversation."

"You wouldn’t have pretended very well."

"No, I wouldn’t have." He smiled and I continued. "I wanted to know that when I had a terrible day, you’d still be there when I got home,"

I added. "I longed to wake up beside you and not have to wonder if you’d still be there the next morning. I wanted a life that wasn’t impressive to anyone else, just one that felt like ours."

Damien stared at me for a few seconds, and I could see something shifting behind his eyes. "I would have given you that," he said softly.

The words struck me because I knew he meant it. "I know you would have."

But thanks to his fucking dumbass, stupid parents...we never had that until now did we?

His hand tightened around mine, and for a moment, silence enveloped us. The kitchen was quiet enough that I could hear the clock ticking and the soft hum of the refrigerator. Somewhere down the hallway, the house creaked gently, but we ignored it.

Damien eventually reached his free hand toward my chest, his fingers brushing against the necklace resting there. I instinctively looked down.

He touched the pendant with the same tenderness he had shown when he first gave it to me years ago, his thumb gliding slowly over the surface.

"You still wear it," he murmured.

I met his gaze. "You noticed that already."

His fingers lingered on the pendant. "I wasn’t sure if you would still keep it."

"I almost didn’t." I said truthfully and his beautiful blue eyes met mine.

"There were times when I thought I should throw it away," I confessed. "Not because I didn’t care about you, but because caring...it fucking hurt, you know? I thought if I rid myself of everything that reminded me of you, maybe, eventually, I wouldn’t think about you so often."

"Did it work?"

I chuckled softly. "Obviously not."

His expression turned achingly gentle.

"I couldn’t do it," I said. "I couldn’t throw it away."

His thumb brushed over the pendant again. "I’m glad. I know this sound so selfish, knowing all you’ve been through with me gone...but I’m so happy you couldn’t let go."

I wasn’t sure what to say next. There were still so many emotions swirling inside me: relief, fear, anger, love, and the bittersweet ache of having something back I had convinced myself I would never reclaim.

Four years was a long time...long enough for people to change, to build new lives, to forget promises made. But Damien hadn’t forgotten. At least, that’s what he was telling me. And some stubborn part of my heart still yearned to believe him.

"I love you, Oliver," he said.

His words were so soft that they almost got lost beneath the refrigerator’s hum. My breath caught in my throat. "And I’m happy you didn’t give up on me."

I stared at him. For years, I had imagined what it would be like to hear those words again. Often, I envisioned myself reacting angrily, walking away, or laughing bitterly and telling him he had missed his chance.

But in that moment, I never anticipated simply standing there with tears threatening to spill over as he implied he was glad I hadn’t let go...it felt like he had opened a door inside me that I had kept locked for years.

"I never really knew how to give up on you," I admitted.

Damien’s expression softened.

"I tried," I went on. "I tried so many times. There were days I thought I was finally getting over you, but then something trivial would happen. I’d hear a song you liked, glimpse something that reminded me of you, or walk by a restaurant we used to visit, and suddenly, I’d be thinking about you again."

His fingers shifted from the necklace to my cheek. "I hated you sometimes," I whispered.

"I know."

"And then I’d miss you."

"I know."

"And then I’d hate myself for missing you."

His thumb brushed gently beneath my eye. "I’m sorry."

I closed my eyes for a moment, leaning into his hand.

"I don’t want to lose you again," I confessed.

"You won’t, I promise."

I opened my eyes. There was no hesitation in his gaze when he said it.

"But, I can’t promise everything will be easy," he added. "I can’t erase the past, and I know you still have fears. But I’m here now."

I studied him for a long moment. Then, tired of being afraid for this one night, I stepped closer and placed my hand against his chest. I could feel his heartbeat steady beneath my palm.

"I love you too," I said.

Something shifted in his expression. It was subtle, but I noticed it. The composed, almost unreadable Damien known to the rest of the world seemed to fade for an instant, revealing the man I remembered from years ago.

He leaned down slowly, giving me ample time to change my mind, and when his lips found mine, the kiss was soft.