Chapter 322: And Who the Hell Is Isabella?

Another pause. I couldn’t quite make out what the other person was saying, but Damien’s expression told me all I needed to know, this was not someone he wanted to talk to.

"I said I’m taking time away."

I stood; my stomach twisted. I moved quietly toward the hallway, drawn in by the sharpness in his voice.

"I’ll come back when I’m ready."

Another pause, then Damien’s tone grew sharper, colder. "No, that isn’t happening."

I halted just before the doorway. He turned slightly away from me, one hand braced against the wall as if he needed something solid to hold onto. "What part of that was unclear?"

My heart raced. The other person said something, and Damien closed his eyes for a moment before speaking again, his voice dropping dangerously low. "No. I’m not discussing this tonight."

Another pause, and then his voice turned even colder, the kind of icy calm that screamed years of practice. "You can discuss whatever timeline you want with whoever you want. Isabella is not getting a proposal from me."

I froze. For a split second, I couldn’t catch my breath. Isabella Sommers. The name struck me with an uncomfortable familiarity.

I’d heard it before, online, in articles, in rumors. The woman people had linked to Damien for months. The one who’d been seen with him at company events.

Proposal? What the fuck did he mean by proposal? Like...like a business proposal or...? Marriage?

Damien continued, his voice dropping into that dangerous tone that signaled he was finished being polite. "I don’t care what the board expects."

A pause.

"I said I’ll handle my responsibilities."

Another pause.

"No, I don’t need a reminder of my position."

His voice lowered even more.

"And I certainly don’t need you arranging my personal life for me, You’ve done enough."

The call ended, and I stood frozen. Damien lingered there for a moment, phone still pressed to his ear as if he needed a second to shake off the heavy weight of the person his mother expected him to be. Then he lowered it and turned to face me.

His expression shifted immediately. "Oliver."

I crossed my arms, mostly to keep my hands from doing something rash.

"Who was that?"

He hesitated, which told me what I needed to know.

"My mother."

My heart sank, his mother...Evelyn fucking Lockwood.

He regarded me carefully, as if measuring how much damage control would be necessary. "How much did you hear?"

"Enough."

He exhaled slowly. "Oliver—"

"Are you going back?"

His brows furrowed. "Going back where?"

"The city."

"No."

"You just said you were going to return."

"When I’m ready."

"So you are going back."

"Eventually."

I laughed, but it didn’t sound funny. It came out sharp and wrong in the stillness of the hallway. "Right."

"Oliver."

"And what was that about Isabella Sommers?"

His face went still. My chest tightened, the earlier warmth of the evening evaporating so quickly I felt disoriented.

"Why is your mother discussing a proposal for that actress?"

"She’s not someone I’m proposing to."

"That’s not my question."

"Oliver—"

"You told her it wasn’t happening."

"Because it isn’t."

"Then why is she bringing it up with you?"

He took a step toward me. I stepped back. The movement seemed to affect him more than my words did, a flash of something raw crossing his face before he locked it down again.

"I just got you back," I said, my voice trembling despite my best efforts to stay calm. "Do you get that?! I finally let myself believe you were staying, and now I’m here listening to your mother talk about sending you back to the city and marrying someone else!"

"That’s not what’s happening."

"Then tell me what is happening!"

My voice echoed through the stillness of the house. Damien didn’t raise his voice. He didn’t get defensive. He just looked at me, steady and unwavering in a way that somehow made everything worse. "I’m not leaving you."

I looked away, trying to swallow the panic that was rising in my throat. It tasted like every unanswered message and every empty morning from those four years, and I hated how easily it resurfaced. "You left me for so fucking long...I can’t go through that again. It’s not fair, you can’t keep doing this to me!"

Damien stepped closer. "You won’t, I promise."

"You can’t promise that like it’s easy!"

"I know it isn’t."

I looked at him. His eyes were steady, that same icy blue that once made me believe in impossible things and still somehow did.

"I’m not going anywhere because my mother wants me back in the city. I’m not marrying Isabella because my family thinks it would be good for the company. And I’m not giving you up."

I shook my head, even though part of me desperately wanted to believe him. "You don’t understand."

"I do."

"No, you don’t."

"I do!"

He stepped closer again. This time, I didn’t pull away. His hand came up to my face, warm and gentle, and for a moment, the hallway felt smaller, quieter, as if the rest of the world had been muted. "Oliver."

I swallowed, then he kissed me. It wasn’t urgent or frantic. It was just warm and thoughtful, like he was trying to pull me out of the spiral I’d fallen into and place me back somewhere safe. I closed my eyes. For a moment, everything fell quiet. When he pulled back, his forehead rested against mine. His arms wrapped around me tightly, holding me like he genuinely meant it.

"I won’t leave you," he whispered. "I promise you, Oliver. I love you so much."

My hands curled into the back of his shirt. I breathed against his shoulder, letting the solid warmth of him push back against the worst of my panic. He held me tighter.

One hand moved to the back of my neck, his thumb brushing gently beneath my hair. His fingers found the necklace he’d given me all those years ago, the one I’d never stopped wearing. He touched it carefully, as if reminding himself it was still there.

"Shhh, I came back for you," he murmured. "Nothing has changed that."

I closed my eyes. The panic didn’t vanish completely, but it became more manageable, settling into something quieter that I could set aside for now. Eventually, I pulled back enough to see him.

He waited, patient in a way that still felt dangerous. I looked into those icy blue eyes, trying to separate the man standing in front of me from the boy I had once loved at Preston Hall, from the CEO on the phone, from the person who had vanished for four years yet still made me believe he was home.

There was one question I couldn’t shake anymore. my voice came out softer than I expected. "Who is Isabella to you?"

Damien went completely still. And suddenly, the rumors I had spent weeks convincing myself were just noise didn’t sound so much like noise anymore. They had a name. And that name was now standing between us.