Chapter 173 Chapter 173
Chapter 173 Chapter 173
Dominic’s POV
Therapy. He almost laughed when the word first came out of Dr. Meredith’s mouth like it was supposed to mean something other than defeat.
Dominic Hale didn’t do therapy. He did damage control, negotiations, litigation anything that involved control. Therapy wasn’t that. Therapy was surrender. Still, he showed up.
Every Tuesday at 9 a.m., he walked into a minimalist office with pale gray walls and a single plant that looked more alive than he felt. Dr. Meredith sat across from him, hands folded, patient, quiet. She didn’t ask him to talk about Elia, or Liana, or Z-Core. She just asked,
“What keeps you awake at night?”
At first, he gave her the corporate answer: “Work.”
By week three, he said, “Memory.”
By week five, he said nothing at all. Just sat there, fingers tapping against his knee, chest heavy with everything he’d buried under the word revenge.
It took him six sessions to admit that he’d exhumed Elia’s grave. Eight to admit that he didn’t know whether he’d done it for truth or punishment. Ten to admit that he’d sent two million dollars to Liana and didn’t expect her to respond.
“
And that was how it began, the slow reluctant peeling of his armor.
After each session, he sat in his car for twenty minutes before driving anywhere. The silence after therapy was different, it was raw and echoing. It didn’t feel like peace yet, but it wasn’t war either. It was something in between.
It was work and for the first time in years, he wanted to do it right. He started writing the updates three weeks later.
They were not letters but emails. It was simple and structured like reports. He didn’t expect replies. That was the point.
Subject: Session 9, Acknowledgment
He hesitated before hitting “send.” Then he did.
No answer. He didn’t need one but Liana read it and the next one. And the one after that. She told herself it was just curiosity, just an attempt to make sure he wasn’t spiraling again. But it became a habit, morning coffee, inbox, Dominic.
Each message was short, measured, like he was trying to rebuild his language from the ground up. No manipulation. No dramatics. Just reflection.
Subject: Session 12, Anger
Liana found herself rereading that one. It was so un-Dominic that she almost didn’t believe it.
For years, his words had been weapons, now, they were just human. Messy, searching, imperfect.
He didn’t ask how she was. Didn’t ask to meet. Didn’t slip in apologies disguised as invitations. The absence of expectation was… disarming.
He was no longer performing remorse. He was living it. Meanwhile, Dominic’s world got smaller.
He sold two of his properties. Canceled the press appearances.. The realization was both freeing and terrifying.
“
n.”
She nodded. “So what’s your oxygen now?”
He thought for a long time. “Still figuring that out.”
Every night, he wrote notes. Sent some. Deleted most. Therapy had taught him that not everything needed to be shared. Some truths existed only to be named, not witnessed. But Liana… she remained the exception.
Subject: Session 15, Accountability
I told
She stared at that one for a long time, finger hovering over “reply.” She wanted to tell him she was proud, that she noticed the change, that he sounded… lighter. But she didn’t. Because that wasn’t what this was about.
He wasn’t asking for forgiveness. He was learning how to exist without it and maybe, for both of them, that was the truest kind of healing.
Weeks turned into months. The emails became less frequent, but deeper. He wrote about fear. About silence. About learning to live without being needed.
In one message, he admitted he’d visited his mother’s old apartment and stood in the doorway for an hour without going in. In another, he described sitting by Elia’s empty grave and realizing that closure was just another word for acceptance.
He never mentioned love. Not once and yet, between the lines, Liana could feel it—steady, unforced, stripped of ownership.
She found herself looking forward to the emails. Sometimes she’d read them twice. Once as a witness. Once as someone who used to love him.
He wasn’t the man she left. He wasn’t the one who built empires out of grief and called it survival. This Dominic was learning how to live without a script and that, she realized, might be the first honest thing he’d ever done.
Subject: Session 20, Progress
Today, I told Dr. Meredith that I don’t want to be
Liana read it at her desk long after sunset. The office was empty except for the hum of the city beyond the windows.
For the first time in months, she smiled because of what they didn’t say.
No plea. No subtext. Just a man standing in the quiet aftermath of his own chaos, learning how to breathe again. She didn’t reply. But she did whisper, to no one but herself,
“I see you, Dominic.”