Chapter 87 Can’t Pretend Anymore
Elena’s POV
There’s a difference between avoiding something… and realizing you can’t anymore.
I had spent months convincing myself that distance solved everything. That if I stayed far enough, quiet enough, strong enough—I could rewrite my life without Damian in it.
I believed it.
Or at least, I tried to.
But now?
Now he had held our daughter.
Now he had looked at her like she mattered.
Now he had said he was leaving his wife.
And worst of all…
Now I couldn’t pretend I didn’t feel anything.
Mila stirred in my arms, her tiny fingers curling into the fabric of my shirt like she needed to anchor herself to me.
I pressed my lips to her head.
“You see what you’ve done?” I whispered softly. “You’ve complicated my life.”
She blinked up at me, innocent as ever.
Of course, she had no idea.
None.
The house felt too quiet again.
Julian was gone.
Damian was gone.
And I was left alone with thoughts I didn’t want.
I sighed and gently placed Mila in her crib before walking out to the balcony. The evening air was cool, brushing against my skin, calming but not enough.
I needed clarity.
Instead, all I had was noise.
A soft knock interrupted my thoughts.
I frowned.
Not again.
I walked to the door slowly this time, almost certain I knew who it would be.
And I was right.
Damian.
Again.
“You really don’t give up, do you?” I said, leaning against the doorframe.
He didn’t respond immediately. His eyes searched mine, like he was trying to figure something out.
“I said I’ll come back,” he replied simply.
“That wasn’t an invitation.”
“I didn’t take it as one.”
Of course he didn’t.
I sighed and stepped aside. “You have five minutes.”
He walked in, this time with less hesitation. Like he was starting to get used to being here.
That thought alone made something twist in my chest.
“I’m not here to argue,” he said.
“Good. Because I’m tired.”
“I’m here to talk.”
I crossed my arms. “You’ve been doing that.”
“No,” he said, shaking his head slightly. “I’ve been reacting. There’s a difference.”
That made me pause.
Because he was right.
And I didn’t like that.
“What do you want, Damian?” I asked quietly.
He exhaled, running a hand through his hair. “I want to fix this.”
“You can’t.”
“I can try.”
“Trying doesn’t undo the past.”
“No,” he agreed. “But it can change what happens next.”
I looked away.
Because that was the problem, wasn’t it?
The next.
He stepped closer, not too close, just enough to make his presence impossible to ignore.
“I messed up,” he said, his voice lower now. “In more ways than one.”
I let out a dry laugh. “That’s an understatement.”
“I didn’t believe you,” he continued, like he needed to say it out loud. “When you tried to tell me. I didn’t even consider it.”
There it was.
The truth.
Out in the open.
“I remember,” I said quietly.
His jaw tightened. “And I’ve been thinking about that moment over and over again.”
“Good for you.”
“Elena—”
“No,” I cut in, turning to face him. “You don’t get to come here and unload your guilt like it fixes anything. Do you have any idea what that did to me?”
His silence answered enough.
“I was alone,” I continued, my voice steady but sharp. “Pregnant. Scared. And the one person who should’ve been there was busy questioning my integrity.”
His eyes flickered with something heavy.
“I know,” he said.
“No, you don’t,” I replied immediately. “Because if you did, you wouldn’t be standing here asking for a second chance like it’s something you’re entitled to.”
“I’m not entitled to anything,” he said quickly. “I know that.”
“Then what are you doing here?”
“Because I can’t walk away from you.”
The words hit harder than I expected.
“And I won’t,” he added.
I laughed softly, but there was no humor in it. “That sounds like a decision you made alone.”
“It is.”
“Exactly my point.”
Silence fell again.
Heavy.
Then—
“I love you.”
The words were quiet.
But they landed like thunder.
I froze.
For a second, I thought I imagined it.
“You don’t get to say that now,” I whispered.
“I’ve always felt it.”
“No,” I shook my head, stepping back. “No, you don’t get to rewrite history like that.”
“I’m not rewriting anything,” he said, his voice firm now. “I’m finally saying what I should’ve said a long time ago.”
I stared at him.
At the man who had broken me.
At the man who was now standing in my living room, looking at me like I was something he couldn’t afford to lose.
“You’re married,” I said quietly.
“I’m leaving.”
“You said you’re leaving.”
“I’ve already started the process.”
“That doesn’t change the fact that you stood at an altar and chose someone else.”
His expression tightened.
“I made a mistake.”
“A mistake?” I repeated, disbelief creeping in. “That’s what you’re calling it?”
“Yes.”
“That ‘mistake’ cost me everything!”
“And it’s costing me you,” he shot back.
That shut me up.
Because there it was.
The truth neither of us wanted to say.
We stood there, staring at each other, years of tension, anger, and unspoken feelings hanging between us.
Then Mila cried.
Soft at first.
Then louder.
I turned immediately, instinct taking over, but Damian moved at the same time.
We both reached the crib.
Our hands brushed.
We both stilled.
Mila’s cries filled the room, grounding us in something real.
Something bigger than both of us.
I picked her up, soothing her gently, but she didn’t settle immediately.
Damian hovered beside me, unsure.
“Here,” I said without thinking, handing her to him.
He took her carefully.
And just like before…
She calmed.
Almost instantly.
We both noticed.
Of course we did.
“She knows you,” I said quietly.
His throat moved slightly. “Or maybe she just likes me.”
I huffed softly. “Don’t get ahead of yourself.”
But something shifted in my chest.
Watching him hold her.
Watching how natural it looked.
How right it felt.
Dangerous.
Very dangerous.
“You see?” he said softly, eyes still on her. “We can’t pretend this isn’t something real.”
I swallowed.
“I’m not asking you to forgive me overnight,” he continued. “I’m not asking you to forget anything.”
“Then what are you asking?” I whispered.
He finally looked at me.
“A chance,” he said. “To prove I can be better. For her… and for you.”
I held his gaze.
My heart was loud in my chest.
Because this?
This was the moment I had imagined a hundred times.
The moment where he chose me.
Fully.
Clearly.
No confusion.
No hesitation.
And yet…
It didn’t feel simple.
It felt complicated.
Messy.
Real.
“I don’t trust you,” I said honestly.
“I know.”
“I don’t believe you won’t hurt me again.”
“I understand.”
“I don’t know if I even want this.”
He nodded slowly. “That’s fair.”
I let out a shaky breath.
“But…” I hesitated.
His eyes sharpened slightly.
“But I can’t pretend I don’t feel anything either.”
There.
I said it.
The truth.
Bare.
Uncomfortable.
And impossible to take back.
Something in his expression softened.
Not victory.
Not relief.
Just… understanding.
“That’s enough,” he said quietly.
“For now.”
And for the first time in a long time…
I didn’t push him away.
I didn’t shut the door.
I didn’t run.
Because maybe…
Just maybe…
Some stories don’t end when you think they should.
Some of them wait.
Until you’re ready to face them.