The rain had begun hours ago—gentle at first, like a soft lament over the mansion's stone terrace, but now it fell in steady sheets, veiling the city below in a curtain of gray. From the arched window of her guest room, Ava watched the storm blur the skyline, her fingertips resting on the cool glass.
She couldn't remember the last time she had cried. Even when her father sold her off like a pawn on a chessboard, even when Damian's mother looked her in the eye and dismissed her like dust—she had held it together.
But tonight, her eyes burned.
The confrontation with Damian hours ago still echoed in her chest. He'd accused her of seeking pity, of playing the fragile wife in front of the media. She had defended herself, yes—but his words cut too close to where she was still bleeding inside.
"You're just a convenient headline, Ava."
That was what he had said. And for once, she had no clever retort.
Now, the only thing keeping her company was the rain tapping the glass and the slow unraveling of everything she had believed about her marriage. Not that she'd had illusions—not really. But some small, foolish part of her had hoped.
She turned away from the window, wrapping her arms around herself as she moved toward the bed. A tray of untouched dinner sat cold on the table. Sleep seemed impossible. The mansion, though opulent and warm, felt hollow. Too big. Too silent.
A soft knock broke through the stillness.
Ava froze.
She wasn't expecting anyone. Not at this hour.
The knock came again, more insistent.
Drawing a slow breath, she crossed the room and opened the door.
Damian stood in the hallway, soaked to the skin, his dark hair plastered to his forehead, his shirt clinging to his chest like a second skin. Raindrops slid from his lashes, his hands clenched at his sides.
"I... I didn't know where else to go," he said quietly, almost like a confession.
Ava's heart stuttered.
"What happened to you?" she asked, stepping back. "You're drenched."
"I went for a drive. Ended up in the storm. The road near the cliff—my tires slipped. I didn't crash, but... I needed to think."
He looked up then, and in his eyes she saw something raw—vulnerability, stripped of arrogance.
"You came here... to think?"
"I came here," he said, voice tightening, "because when everything else in my life spins out of control, you're the only constant. Even if we're arguing."
She blinked.
It wasn't an apology. Not exactly. But it wasn't nothing.
"I didn't mean what I said earlier," he continued, stepping inside, ignoring how his wet clothes dripped on the hardwood. "I was angry. Cornered. And I lashed out."
She folded her arms. "So I'm your emotional punching bag now?"
"No." He paused, then lowered his gaze. "You're the only person I can be honest with. The only person I trust to not abandon me when I show weakness."
Ava's throat tightened.
She had waited so long to hear something real from him. And now that it was here, it didn't feel triumphant. It felt heartbreaking.
"Damian," she said softly, "you can't keep pushing me away just to pull me back when it's convenient."
"I know." He looked down. "I know I've been—cruel. Detached. That's what I was trained to be."
"By your mother?"
His silence was answer enough.
She stepped toward him, took his hand.
"You're not alone in this marriage," she said. "But you make me feel like I am."
Rain pounded against the roof above them, thunder murmuring in the distance. The warmth between their hands was the only steady thing.
"I don't want to lose you, Ava," he whispered.
"Then stop treating me like something disposable."
A flicker of something passed across his face—pain, maybe. Or regret.
Then, before she could say more, he pulled her into his arms.
Not possessively. Not with the arrogance of a man who believed the world owed him love. But with the desperation of someone who had just realized what he stood to lose.
His lips found her forehead.
"I'll change," he murmured. "I don't know how, but I will. Just... don't leave. Not yet."
Her arms wrapped around him. She buried her face into his wet chest, the rain from his clothes seeping into her nightgown. And still, she didn't pull away.
In that moment, the storm outside no longer mattered.
All that mattered was the storm slowly quieting inside him.
The next morning came quietly, with soft light filtering through the rain-streaked windows.
Ava stirred awake to the sound of breathing beside her. For a moment, she thought she was dreaming.
Damian was on the edge of her bed, still dressed in the shirt and trousers from last night, now dry and wrinkled. He looked like he hadn't slept—his eyes rimmed with exhaustion, his jaw shadowed with stubble.
"You stayed?" she asked, voice still raspy from sleep.
"I didn't want to leave."
He reached for her hand, this time without hesitation.
"I meant what I said last night," he continued. "About changing. About you being the only constant in my life. I know I've done everything wrong, Ava. But I want to make things right."
She studied him carefully. There was no mask this time. No CEO composure.
"I'll believe it when I see it," she said softly. "But... I'm willing to try, if you are."
He nodded.
Then, unexpectedly, he smiled.
It wasn't wide. It wasn't confident. But it was real.
Downstairs, the storm had passed, leaving puddles scattered across the stone courtyard. The staff moved quietly, pretending not to notice the shift in the air.
In the kitchen, Mrs. Langley—the elderly housekeeper—watched from the corner of her eye as Damian pulled out a chair for Ava and poured her tea. She said nothing, but the lift of her brow suggested surprise.
After breakfast, Damian turned to Ava with something nervous in his expression.
"My mother's charity gala is in three days," he said.
Her fingers tightened around her cup.
He saw the flicker in her eyes. The memory of that woman's cold voice.
"I want you there," he said. "As my wife. Not for appearances. Not as a pawn. As my partner."
Ava hesitated.
"Damian... are you sure?"
"I've never been more sure of anything."
She held his gaze, searching for the catch, the trap.
There was none.
"All right," she said finally. "I'll go."
He leaned closer. "And after the gala... I want us to go away. Just you and me. No press. No board meetings. Just... us."
Ava's breath caught.
"Why?"
"Because if I'm going to change," he said, "I want to start by knowing who I'm changing for."