CHAPTER NINE: A HOME THAT WASN'T HIS
The short walk from the preschool to Aria's apartment felt like a lifetime compressed into minutes.
Eli skipped ahead, swinging Damien's hand with innocent enthusiasm, while Damien followed in stunned silence. Each step seemed to take something out of him—hope, regret, awe—blending into a quiet storm beneath his sharp, composed exterior.
Aria walked beside them, heart beating too fast, breaths too shallow.
She wasn't ready for this.
For them together.
For Damien inside her small, fragile world.
But Eli kept glancing over his shoulder, smile stretching from ear to ear, and Aria knew—there was no undoing this moment. No putting the truth back into the shadows.
Halfway through the street, Eli looked up at Damien.
"Do you like pancakes?"
Damien cleared his throat, voice rough.
"Yes. I do."
"My mommy makes the best ones. They are fluffy like clouds."
"Is that so?" Damien murmured, a ghost of a smile appearing.
"That sounds… wonderful."
Aria's stomach flipped. She couldn't remember the last time she'd heard that softness in him.
They reached the building—an old, quiet structure with peeling paint and a buzzing outdoor light. Damien studied the place without judgement, but Aria still felt the sting of shame.
He lived in a penthouse with marble floors and floor-to-ceiling windows.
She lived here.
Eli rushed inside, dragging Damien with him.
Damien paused at the doorway.
His gaze swept over her small living room—the thrift-store couch, the faded rug, the shelf lined with Eli's drawings, the single lamp she rarely turned off.
Aria braced herself for a reaction.
But Damien's expression didn't harden.
Didn't wrinkle with distaste.
Instead, his eyes softened.
This wasn't a place with luxury.
But it was a place with love.
Warmth.
Safety.
Something he himself had never truly had growing up.
Eli tugged him again.
"This is my house!"
Damien stepped inside fully, gaze lingering on everything—the toys carefully placed in a basket, the toddler books stacked neatly, the photographs on the wall.
One picture made him freeze.
Aria and Eli at the park—Eli no older than two, wearing a small hat, Aria laughing openly for the camera.
Damien reached out with trembling fingers and touched the edge of the frame.
Aria swallowed hard.
She hadn't realized how deeply this would cut.
Eli climbed onto the couch and unzipped his backpack.
"Look at what I drew in school!"
He pulled out a drawing—three stick figures holding hands under a crooked sun.
Aria. Eli.
And a third figure drawn taller, with dark hair.
Damien's breath hitched.
Aria froze.
Eli held up the drawing proudly.
"This is our family."
Aria's chest cracked open.
Damien looked at her—really looked—his expression raw and unguarded.
"Eli…" Damien whispered, kneeling beside the couch.
"Who… who is this?"
He pointed to the tall figure.
Eli beamed.
"That's my daddy."
A small, broken sound escaped Damien's throat before he could stop it.
Aria felt the floor tilt beneath her.
Damien steadied himself with a hand on the couch.
His eyes glistened.
"You… you draw a father?" he asked, voice cracking.
"Have you ever… met him?"
Eli shook his head.
"No. But I know he's good. Mommy said good dads exist."
Aria felt her knees go weak.
Damien turned to her slowly—pain, gratitude, anger, longing all mixing into something overwhelming.
"You told him that?" he whispered.
Aria nodded, barely able to breathe.
"I didn't want him to grow up thinking… fathers were useless."
Damien stared at her, something inside him softening and breaking all at once.
Eli thrust the drawing toward Damien.
"You can have it," he said simply.
"I made it for my daddy."
Damien's breath punched out of him.
He lifted the paper with shaking hands, staring at it as if it were the most valuable thing he had ever held in his entire life.
His voice trembled.
"Thank you, Eli."
"You're welcome." Eli smiled widely, then hopped off the couch.
"Are you staying for pancakes?"
Damien blinked, caught off guard.
"If your mother allows it."
Eli looked at Aria with big, hopeful eyes.
"Mommy, can he?"
Aria hesitated.
She should say no.
She should protect her space.
Protect her boundaries.
Protect what little stability she had left.
But Eli's excitement was a living thing—bright and pure and impossible to deny.
And Damien's expression—carefully controlled but aching with hope—made her chest tighten unbearably.
Finally, she exhaled.
"Yes," she said softly.
"He can stay."
Eli squealed with joy and rushed to the kitchen.
Damien stood slowly, still clutching the drawing.
Aria turned toward the stove, trying to steady herself as she pulled out flour and eggs.
She could feel Damien behind her—close, intense, silent.
When she grabbed the mixing bowl, he spoke.
"Aria."
She froze.
His voice was low, thick, tremoring with things he wasn't ready to name.
She turned slowly.
Damien was standing at her kitchen doorway, one hand braced against the frame, as if the weight of everything he felt was too heavy to hold upright.
He lifted the drawing slightly.
"I missed three years," he murmured.
"But I won't miss any more."
Her breath hitched.
"Damien—"
"No."
His tone was soft but firm.
"I'm not here as the CEO you ran from. I'm not here to control or threaten or demand."
He stepped closer.
Close enough that she felt the warmth of him seep into her skin.
"I'm here because that little boy—our son—deserves me."
His eyes softened.
"And because I… need him more than I knew."
Aria swallowed hard.
He reached out, gently touching the corner of Eli's drawing.
"And I intend to earn my place in his life."
Her chest trembled.
"You can't just walk in and take over," she whispered.
Damien nodded slowly.
"I know. And I won't."
He took another step closer, his voice lowering.
"But I'm not leaving, Aria."
Silence thickened between them.
Not heavy.
Not threatening.
Inevitable.
Distantly, Eli called from the living room, "Mommy! Daddy! Pancakes!"
Damien closed his eyes at the word Daddy, pain and joy mingling in the deepest part of him.
When he opened them, his voice was a quiet vow.
"I'm going to be here," he whispered.
"Every day. For him. And for whatever is left between us."
Aria felt her heart fracture—not in pain, but in fear of hoping too much.
Damien stepped back slowly, giving her space.
But his eyes told her the truth:
This was only the beginning.
And nothing—absolutely nothing—would ever be the same again.