Arabella ran.
Down the penthouse hallway. Through the marble lobby. Into the cold night air where city lights blurred behind her unshed tears.
She flagged down a cab with shaking hands. Her phone buzzed once — Damon.
She declined the call.
And again.
And again.
Until finally, the buzzing stopped.
Her voice cracked as she gave the driver Leila's address. Anywhere but there.
Back in the penthouse, Damon stood by the window, fists clenched, eyes unfocused.
She was gone.
And for the first time in years, it hurt.
He'd spent his entire adult life building walls so thick no one could touch him. No one could hurt him. But now, the one woman who slipped past those defenses was the one walking out of his life — because he'd been too much of a coward to tell her the truth from the start.
His phone rang again — this time, it was Marcus, his assistant.
"What?" Damon snapped.
"You need to see this," Marcus said. "That blogger who posted the photo… she just dropped another one. This time, it's worse."
Damon opened the link.
His blood ran cold.
It was a close-up, cropped from the original beach photo — Arabella in Damon's lap, his hands around her bare thighs. The caption?
"How long has this billionaire been obsessed with the same girl?"
He cursed under his breath.
The tabloids would have a field day.
They were no longer painting it as a fake contract marriage — they were spinning it as a twisted, long-standing obsession. And with Ara gone… they'd believe it even more.
Meanwhile, at Leila's place, Arabella curled up in bed with a blanket and swollen eyes.
Leila stared at her like she'd lost her mind. "Ara, you can't just run out on your billionaire husband without a plan."
"It's not about the money," Arabella said hoarsely. "He lied to me. For weeks. For years, if you count how long he knew."
"Yeah, but are you really surprised?" Leila raised a brow. "He's hot, rich, emotionally unavailable—of course he's damaged. You knew that going in."
"I didn't expect to feel this much," she whispered. "I didn't expect it to… matter."
Before Leila could answer, there was a loud knock on the door.
Arabella froze. "No."
Leila peeked through the peephole. "Yup. It's him."
"Agh, no no no—don't open it—"
Too late. Leila swung it open.
Damon stood there in black jeans, drenched from the rain, eyes dark with something between fury and heartbreak.
"We need to talk," he growled.
Arabella stood slowly, blanket still wrapped around her. "You should go."
"Not happening."
"You lied to me. You used me."
"I didn't use you," he snapped. "I protected you."
"From what, Damon?"
He stepped closer, his wet shirt clinging to every muscle. "From me."
"Too late."
Silence crackled between them like lightning.
Then he whispered, "Don't you dare walk away, Ara."
Her heart shattered.
"I already did."