Chapter 9 The Kindness

Chapter 9 The Kindness


Lara's pov

The next week together with Damien was really peaceful.
And somehow terrifying in its own way.

I kept waiting for the other side of him. For Damien to reveal his true motives. For the kindness to end and the cruelty to begin.
Because that's how it always went, right?
But it didn't happen.

Instead, Damien was just very cool, kind and also respectful.

The thing that excited me was the fact that he did something without wanting to be appreciated.

Like the morning I woke up to find morning breakfast outside my door. It was my favourite meal I met, and how did he know I love blueberry muffins? That I didn't know.

I stared at them and was confused. I had never mentioned loving these specific muffins to Damien.

How did he know?

Or the afternoon I found a copy of Wuthering Heights on my nightstand.
My favorite book. The one I'd read so many times when I was a teenager, the original copy of the book I got for myself was lost.

Again—I'd never told him.

It happened again and again. Thai food from that specific restaurant I'd mentioned loving once at a company party three years ago. Lavender soap in my bathroom because I'd told someone—not him, someone else—that lavender helped me sleep.

But he remembered everything from where he worked with my father and I was just the boss's daughter then running through the office.

He'd been paying attention even then.
The realization made something warm and terrifying bloom in my chest.

I started leaving my room more than before. Initially, I went to the library, then to the kitchen and then into many rooms in the mansion exploring like a kid in a zoo.

The house was beautiful. Huge, yes, but not in that cold, ostentatious way the Ward mansion had been. This place felt lived in. Warm. Like an actual home instead of a showcase.

There were plants everywhere,real ones, thriving and green. Artwork that looked chosen for love rather than investment value. Comfortable furniture that invited you to sink in and stay awhile.

One afternoon I found myself in the east wing and peeking inside.

Most of the rooms were guest rooms, but a door caught my attention, I pushed it open and I froze.

It was a beautiful office filled with floor-to-ceiling bookshelves.

But that's not what made me freeze.
It was the photos.

I saw the photos of my father everywhere inside the office.On the desk. On the bookshelves. Framed on the walls.

My father at his desk, laughing at something off-camera. My father at a company party, arm around a young Damien who couldn't have been more than twenty-three. My father giving a speech, his face was alive.

I walked further into the room, my heart pounding.

On the bookshelf, I spotted a bottle of whiskey.My father's favourite alcohol when he was alive. It was quite expensive and most times it was mainly used for special occasions.

And beside it was a collection of first edition books. Hemingway. Fitzgerald. Steinbeck. All authors my father loved.

There was a framed photo on the desk that made my throat close up. It was from my college graduation. My father standing beside me, both of us grinning at the camera. I remembered that day. How proud he was. How he told everyone that his daughter was going to be great and change the world.

God, I missed him.

I picked up the photo, my hands trembling. That's when I broke down.
I cried.
I sank into the chair behind the desk, clutching the photo to my chest, and cried like I hadn't allowed myself to cry since the funeral.

Because at the funeral, I had to be strong. Had to hold it together for the guests, for Lucas, for everyone watching.

But here, alone in this room full of my father's memory, I could finally fall apart.

"I miss you," I sobbed to the photo. "I miss you so much, Daddy. I'm so sorry. I'm sorry I didn't listen. I'm sorry I married him. I'm sorry I let him destroy everything you built."

I sat there for a long time crying my eyes out.

Then I felt a hand on my shoulder.

I looked up to check who the person was and then I found Damien standing beside me. He really felt my pain. His facial expression said it all.

I….I'm sorry," I stammered . "I didn't mean to—I shouldn't have come in here—"

"Lara, stop." Damien knelt beside the chair, and looked into my eyes. "You have nothing to apologize for."

"I miss him so much," I whispered, fresh tears spilling down my cheeks. And he's gone and I can't get him back."

"I know," Damien said softly. "I miss him too."

Something in his voice made me cry harder.
And then Damien did something that surprised me.

He pulled me into his arms and hugged me.

One hand cradling the back of my head, the other wrapped around my shoulders, while I sobbed into his chest.

He didn't try to shush me. Didn't tell me it would be okay. Didn't do any of the comfort things people usually do.

He just held me and allowed me to grieve.

It was the first time anyone had held me since that night at the hotel. The first time I'd felt truly safe in someone's arms.

"He was so proud of you," Damien murmured into my hair. "He talked about you constantly. His brilliant daughter who was going to take over the company and make it even better than he ever could."
"I failed him," I said. "I let Lucas destroy everything—"

"No." Damien pulled back just enough to look at me. "You didn't fail anyone. Okay?

"But I signed the papers. I trusted him. I was so stupid—"

“You aren't stupid, darling”, you only trusted your husband.

"I wanted to believe him. God, I wanted to believe him so badly.

"Your father wouldn't blame you," Damien continued. "It was Lucas”. And he'd be so damn proud of the fact that you survived. That you're still here, still fighting."

"I'm not fighting," I whispered. "I'm hiding.
In your house. Living off your charity—"

"You're healing," Damien corrected.
"There's a difference. And when you're ready, you'll fight. I know you will."

I looked into those dark green eyes that had haunted me since that night—and saw nothing but sincerity.
He really believed I could come back from this. That I could rebuild.

Maybe I could believe it too. Just a little.

"Thank you," I said . "For everything.For keeping his memory alive."

"He was the best man I ever knew," Damien said simply. "I couldn't forget him if I tried."

We stayed like that for a moment longer—him kneeling beside me, me still clutching my father's photo.

Then Damien stood, offering his hand.
"Come on. Let me get you some tea."

I let him pull me up, I followed him out of the office and down to the kitchen.

And for the first time since my father died, the grief didn't feel quite so suffocating.


The morning sickness got worse in week four.

I had been managing it until then. The nausea came very hard, and I had no appetite to eat so I skipped some breakfasts.

But that morning was out of it, it hit me like a freight train.

I woke up at 6 AM with very bad stomach pain. I could barely make it to the bathroom before I almost split my intestine out. My whole body was shaking.

It went on forever. Wave after wave of nausea, until my stomach was empty and I was just dry heaving.

I heard footsteps in the hallway outside.
Damien's voice, concerned: "Lara? Are you okay?"

"I'm fine," I tried to call out, but my voice was hoarse and weak.

The door was opened. I should have locked it. God, I should have locked it.

Damien appeared in the doorway, took one look at me kneeling on the bathroom floor, and was beside me in seconds.

"Hey, hey. It's okay."

"Please leave," I said,I don't want you to see me like this—"

But he was already there, kneeling beside me, gathering my hair back from my face as another wave of nausea hit.

"I've got you," he said quietly. "Just breathe."

I wanted to die. To just disappear into the floor.

This was humiliating. Disgusting. No man should see a woman like this.

But Damien didn't flinch. Didn't look disgusted. He just held my hair back with one hand and rubbed gentle circles on my back with the other.

When the nausea finally passed, I slumped against the bathroom wall, exhausted.

Damien grabbed a washcloth, wet it with cool water, and handed it to me.

"Thanks," I mumbled, wiping my face with the towel.

He sat back on his heels, studying me with those too-observant eyes.

And now the question is here, the judgement.

But he just said, "How long has this been going on?"

"A few weeks," I admitted quietly.

Damien nodded slowly. "Food poisoning? Stress?"

He was giving me an out. A way to lie without technically lying.

I should have just nodded and blamed it on the stress or bad food or anything else.

But I was so tired of lying.

"Something like that," I said instead.

Damien's eyes focused on me for a long moment. And I knew that he knew.
But he didn't say anything. He didn't ask the questions he clearly wanted to ask.

He just stood up and offered his hand.

"Come on. Let me get you back to bed. I'll bring up some ginger tea and crackers.
They help with... stomach issues."

The way he said it—so careful, made it clear we both knew what we weren't saying.

I let him help me up, my legs shaky.
He guided me back to my room, got me settled in bed, and left.

Ten minutes later, he returned with a tray. Ginger tea, saltine crackers,
and—surprisingly—a sleeve of those ginger candies that pregnant women use for morning sickness.

He set the tray on my nightstand without comment.

"The tea should help," he said. "And if you need anything else, just call me. Okay?"

I nodded.

Damien started to leave, then paused at the door.

"Lara?"

"Yeah?"

"Whatever you're going through... you don't have to go through it alone. Okay?
I'm here."

Then he was gone, closing the door behind him.

I stared at the ginger candies on my nightstand.
He definitely knew I was pregnant.

But he just didn't ask whose baby it was, and didn't demand answers.

He just... took care of me.

Like it was the most natural thing in the world.

I picked up one of the ginger candies and I unwrapped it.

Lucas had never taken care of me when I was sick. He had never for once held my hair back or brought me tea or done any of the small things that Damien did without being asked.

Lucas never acknowledged my existence unless he needed something from me.

But Damien? Damien noticed everything.
He knew my needs before I even knew I had them. Made me feel seen and valued and safe.

I popped the candy in my mouth, the ginger sharp and soothing on my tongue.

And I thought: Maybe not all men are like Lucas.

Maybe there are good men in the world. Men who kept their promises and those who gave without expecting anything in return.

Men like Damien Otto.

The thought terrified me.

Because if Damien was truly good, then what did that mean for me?

Then why did I marry a monster when a man like this existed in the world?

What did it mean that I was carrying another man's baby while living under Damien's roof, accepting his kindness, letting him take care of me?

I didn't have answers.

All I knew was that for the first time in years, I didn't feel completely alone.

And maybe that was enough for now.

I sipped the ginger tea, letting it warm me from the inside out, and closed my eyes.

Outside my window, I could hear birds singing. The sun was rising, painting the sky in shades of pink and gold.

A new day. A new chance.

Maybe I could survive what Lucas had done to me and I could even learn to trust again.

I don't know yet.

But maybe... eventually.

I pulled the blankets up to my chin, one hand resting on my still-flat stomach.

"We're going to be okay," I whispered to the tiny life growing inside me. "Somehow, we're going to be okay."

And for the first time, I almost believed it.

Damien's pov

I closed the door to Lara's room and leaned against the wall, exhaling slowly.
She was pregnant.

I had noticed it for days—the morning sickness she tried to hide, the way she'd stopped drinking wine at dinner, the loose clothes she'd started wearing.

But seeing her this morning, so sick and vulnerable, had confirmed it.
Lara was pregnant with Lucas Ward's baby.

The thought made me sick.

That bastard had gotten her pregnant, then thrown her out like garbage and left her to die on the streets while he played house with his mistress.

I wanted to kill him, to find Lucas Ward and make him pay for every single thing he'd done to her.

But that wasn't what Lara needed right now.

What she needed was safety and stability. Someone who wouldn't judge her or demand answers she wasn't ready to give.
I could be that for her and I wanna be that for her.

Even if it meant watching her carry another man's child.

Even if it meant never telling her how I really felt about her.

Because her wellbeing came first.

I pushed off the wall and headed to my office.

There was work to do. Investigations to pursue. Evidence to gather
.
Because I meant what I told Lara.
If Lucas Ward had poisoned Richard Montgomery and I was certain he did—I would make sure he paid.

Not just for Richard's death.

For everything he'd done to Lara.

For every tear, every bruise and every moment of suffering he'd caused.

Lucas Ward would pay. He would really pay.