Chapter 36 Calm After The Storm
Damian's POV
The next few days blurred together.
No shouting. No accusations. Just silence - the kind that eats at you when the damage is already done.
Isla's number lit up my phone more times than I could count.
At first, I answered. I thought maybe she'd have something new to say - an apology that sounded real, a reason that made sense.
But all she did was cry, curse, and beg.
"You can't just walk away, Damian. You don't get to erase me!"
"I didn't mean to hurt you, I was scared-"
"We can fix this, please, we can still-"
I stopped picking up.
After that, the texts came. Threats, mostly.
Then apologies. Then silence again.
The cycle of guilt and desperation that used to control me... now just felt like background noise.
I blocked her eventually.
Because I realized something simple - I didn't owe Isla anything anymore. Not my time, not my guilt, not even my anger.
For the first time in months, I felt something close to peace.
But peace was dangerous.
Because peace meant quiet, and quiet meant room for the one thing I couldn't shut out - Elena.
Every time I closed my eyes, I saw her face that night.
The way her voice trembled when she said, "You came all the way here to tell me that?"
The way she looked at me - not with hate, but heartbreak. And somehow, that hurt worse.
I tried texting her again. Nothing dramatic. Just small things.
"I hope you're okay."
"You were right about everything."
"I'm sorry."
"Please just... talk to me."
No response.
I thought about showing up again. But I couldn't do that to her - not after the mess I'd already made.
She deserved space.
Even if that space killed me.
So I started doing what I should've done a long time ago - trying to become the kind of man she could forgive.
I cut ties with Richard. Stopped showing up to family events. Deleted every trace of the life that made me lose her in the first place.
And maybe it was pathetic, but every night before I slept, I'd draft messages I never sent.
Messages that started with I miss you and ended with I'll wait.
Sometimes, I'd drive by her building just to see the lights on. I never went in - I didn't have that right. But knowing she was there, breathing, living... it was enough to keep me from falling apart.
Maybe she'd never forgive me.
But if she ever looked my way again, I wanted to be worth forgiving.
And deep down, I knew - I still loved her. I never stopped.
Elena's POV
Love is stupid.
That's the conclusion I came to after two weeks of trying - and failing - to hate Damian Vale.
It should've been easy.
After everything he'd done, after all the lies, I should've felt nothing but disgust.
But love doesn't make sense, does it? It doesn't vanish just because someone deserves it to.
So instead, it lingers - quietly, cruelly - in the way I check my phone every morning, knowing exactly whose name I hope to see.
And yes, his texts came.
Soft ones. Careful ones.
The kind that sound like confessions written at 2 a.m. when you're half drunk on regret.
"I'm sorry."
"You don't have to forgive me."
"I just want you to be okay."
I deleted them. Every single one.
But somehow, I memorized the words anyway.
It's pathetic, I know. But part of me misses him - not the chaos, not the lies, but the quiet parts. The way he looked at me like the world finally made sense. The way his laugh could pull me out of a bad day.
And the worst part?
I still dream about him.
In those dreams, it's always the same - he knocks, I open the door, and for once, everything feels right.
But then I wake up and remember who he is, who I am, and what we've become.
He's trying to change. I can see that, even from afar.
And maybe that's what scares me most. Because if he's changing for real, then what's my excuse for still running away?
I tell myself it's over. I tell myself that love isn't supposed to hurt this much.
But every time I close my eyes, I see his face the night he told me the baby was his - not pride, not guilt, just this broken kind of honesty that made me ache.
Maybe I hate that I understand him.
Maybe I hate that I still care.
But I promised myself something.
No more falling. Not for him. Not for anyone.
If love really means losing yourself, then maybe I'm better off single.
Still...
Sometimes, when the city goes quiet and the world slows down, I swear I can almost hear him say my name.
And it still makes my heart stop.
Maybe that's the cruelest part of it all - love doesn't end when you walk away.
It just waits.
Now, I don't know what to do with these feelings.
And as much as I pretend not to care, part of me knows - if he ever showed up again, if he ever said my name the way he used to - I'd break all over again.
But until then, I'll keep pretending that I'm fine.
Pretending I don't miss him.
Pretending that the ache in my chest is just a memory fading.
Even if, deep down, I know it isn't.
Because maybe love doesn't die.
Maybe it just hides - waiting for the moment you finally stop running.