Chapter 147

Chapter 147

Damian’s POV

The drive back to the mansion was silent, not the comfortable kind. Not the familiar, practiced silence Damian had mastered over the years—the one that came from control and certainty. This silence was heavy, oppressive, filled with words that had already been said and truths that could never be taken back.

The car moved smoothly along the road, tires rolling against the tarred floor, but Damian barely registered the passing streets. His hands were folded tightly in his lap, fingers clenched as though holding onto something invisible. His jaw ached from how long he had kept it locked.

Beside him, Gregory sat quietly, his cane resting between his knees, his gaze fixed out the window. The old man had said nothing since they left the courthouse, but Damian could feel his presence like a steady weight—watching, thinking, waiting.

Damian’s mind wasn’t in the car, it was still in the courtroom, still on Evelyn. The moment replayed in his head without mercy.

The way she had looked when Vanessa spoke, the way her face had drained of color, the way her hand had flown instinctively to her chest, as though something inside her had cracked open without warning.

And then his own mouth, betraying him before his mind could catch up.

He hadn’t planned to say he was sorry. It had slipped out in that quiet, fragile moment when the truth finally stood naked between them. He hadn’t said it aloud, not with his voice. He had mouthed it, slowly, desperately. Like a man reaching across a widening distance, hoping the other person might still see him.

Evelyn had seen it, and she had shaken her head. Not angrily, not dramatically. Just once, and that hurt more than anything else that had happened that day.

Damian closed his eyes briefly, breathing in through his nose, then out through his mouth. The image refused to fade—the grief in her eyes, the way she looked like she was mourning something far larger than a lie or a stolen child.

She was grieving time, trust, safety, and she was grieving him.

The car slowed as they approached the mansion gates. Gravel crunched beneath the tires as they rolled open, Damian stared ahead, suddenly aware of how unchanged everything looked. The same iron gates, the same long driveway, the same house waiting at the end like nothing inside it had been irreversibly damaged.

But everything had changed.

The car came to a stop, a guard opened the door, nodding respectfully, but Damian barely noticed. He stepped out slowly, the weight in his chest making every movement feel deliberate.

Gregory followed more carefully, leaning slightly on his cane as he straightened.

They walked inside together.

Staff moved quietly in the background, careful, observant. Damian shrugged off his jacket and handed it to a passing maid without a word, he loosened his tie, then paused, his fingers stalling halfway.

“I saw you,” Gregory said calmly.

Damian stopped walking.

“You mouthed something to her,” Gregory continued. “In the courtroom.”

Damian swallowed. “She didn’t accept it.”

“No,” Gregory agreed. “She didn’t.”

They stood in the hallway for a moment, the distance between them filled with unsaid things. Gregory studied Damian closely, his eyes sharper than his years suggested.

“She shook her head,” Damian said quietly. “Like… like she was telling me it was too late.”

Gregory nodded slowly. “Because for her, it is.”

Damian let out a breath that sounded almost like a laugh, but there was no humor in it. “I destroyed her.”

“You hurt her,” Gregory corrected. “There’s a difference. One can still be faced. The other… lingers.”

Damian dragged a hand down his face. “She lost a child, and she didn’t even know it.”

Gregory’s grip tightened on his cane. “That,” he said gravely, “is a wound that doesn’t heal quickly.”

They moved toward the sitting room, both men lowering themselves into chairs opposite each other. “I accused her,” Damian said. “I questioned her integrity. I made her feel dirty. Like she’d deceived me.” His voice cracked slightly. “All while she was carrying two of my children.”

Gregory’s gaze softened, but his voice remained firm. “And now you know the truth.”

Damian laughed bitterly. “Too late.”

After a while, Gregory spoke. “You should go to her.”

Damian looked up sharply. “What?”

“You should go to her,” Gregory repeated. “Not to fix things, to ask forgiveness, and to acknowledge what you did.”

Damian shook his head immediately. “I don’t even know where she lives.”

“I do,” Gregory said.

Damian’s chest tightened. “Then tell me.”

Gregory shook his head. “No.”

Frustration flared. “Why?”

“Because if you truly want to go to her,” Gregory replied calmly, “you’ll ask the person who earned her trust when you lost it.”

Damian stared at him.

“Reed,” Gregory said.

Damian leaned back, staring at the ceiling. “She wouldn’t want to see me.”

“Perhaps not,” Gregory said. “But avoiding her won’t absolve you.”

Damian closed his eyes again. Evelyn’s face rose immediately—pale, stunned, hollow-eyed. The way she had held herself together only because she had no other choice.

“I ruined her sense of reality,” Damian said hoarsely. “I turned her life into chaos.”

“And now,” Gregory said, standing slowly, “you must decide whether you’ll remain the man who caused that chaos… or the man who finally takes responsibility for it.”

Gregory turned and walked away, leaving Damian alone in the sitting room. Damian remained there long after, staring at nothing.Then, finally, he reached for his phone.

He scrolled, then found the name he had been avoiding.

Reed.

His thumb hovered over the screen for a long m
oment before pressing call.

As the phone rang, Damian leaned forward, elbows on his knees, head bowed.