Damian's shoes clicked sharply against the marble as .
For the second time.
His driver hurried to open the car, but Damian lifted a hand.
"I'm walking," he said.
The butler stiffened. "Sir, it's late—"
"I said I'm walking."
He needed air.
He needed space.
He needed to breathe before he did something stupid like storm back inside and drag his family home by force.
He walked down the long driveway, hands in his pockets, face cold but heart burning.
Every step felt wrong.
Every step felt like the opposite of what he wanted.
Because leaving her behind made him feel like he was losing her all over again.
And he hated it.
OUTSIDE THE GATES
He finally stopped at the glowing iron gates, chest rising and falling with a tightness he hadn't felt in years.
How could she still affect him like this?
Three damn years later.
He had expected her to cry, to be shaken, to be the Lena he once knew—quiet, fragile, easy to intimidate.
But the woman standing in front of him now?
She was unbothered.
Beautiful.
Strong.
And absolutely indifferent.
Like he was nobody.
He swallowed hard.
He had been cruel.
Cold.
Stupid.
He had pushed her away every single day of that contract marriage.
And now he was paying for it.
THE TWINS
He turned slightly, glancing through the gate one last time.
Inside the mansion, he had seen them up close—just for a few seconds.
Two little boys.
Same dark hair as him.
Same sharp eyes.
Same stubborn jaw.
His sons.
His.
The reality hadn't fully hit him until now.
He had children.
Two of them.
A family he never knew he had.
His throat tightened as an unexpected warmth spread through him.
He had missed their first words.
Their first steps.
Their first birthdays.
Three years of their lives—gone.
And he hadn't even known they existed.
He closed his eyes.
"Damn it, Lena…" he whispered to himself.
THE DRIVE BACK
Damian finally returned to the car, and the driver silently opened the door.
"Home," Damian muttered.
But once he sat inside, silence swallowed him whole.
The car moved, but his mind stayed behind in that mansion.
He could still hear the way she said his name:
Cold.
Flat.
Unmoved.
"Damian."
Like she was speaking to a stranger.
Not the man she once adored.
Not the husband she ran from.
Not the father of her children.
His jaw clenched.
He had lost her once because of pride.
He wouldn't lose her again.
He couldn't.
FLASHBACK — THEIR LAST NIGHT
His fingers pressed against his forehead as memories crashed over him.
He remembered the last real moment they had together.
Lena had entered his office timidly, holding something in her hands—a sonogram.
He didn't know that then.
"Damian, I need to tell you something," she'd whispered.
He hadn't even looked up from his computer.
"I'm working."
"It's important…"
"I said I'm working, Lena. Not now."
Her silence that followed was long.
Painful.
Heavy.
He never looked up.
Not even once.
And by morning…
She was gone.
BACK TO PRESENT
The car stopped at a red light.
Damian leaned his head back, pressing a hand over his chest where it hurt the most.
"What a fucking mess," he muttered.
The driver glanced subtly through the mirror but wisely stayed quiet.
When they finally reached his penthouse, Damian walked in like a ghost.
The place felt too big.
Too empty.
Too quiet.
He loosened his tie, threw it on the floor, and sat on the edge of his bed.
He couldn't get her face out of his mind.
Couldn't forget the way those boys stared at him—curious, confused, innocent.
He had no right to feel hurt.
He had done this.
He had driven her away.
But now that she was back…
He wasn't letting her slip through his fingers again.
Not this time.
Not ever again.
He picked up his phone.
Damian → Investigator
Find everything about her current life.
Where she works.
Her income.
Her routine.
Her friends.
Her plans.
Her location 24/7.
A pause.
Then another message:
And don't lose sight of those boys. Not for a second.
THE INVESTIGATOR'S RESPONSE
Understood, sir. We'll begin surveillance immediately.
Damian put the phone down and leaned back.
His eyes drifted to the ceiling.
He wasn't proud of it.
He knew monitoring her was a violation.
He knew she'd hate him even more if she found out.
But he had lived three years without knowing where she was, if she was safe, if she needed help.
Never again.
She wasn't disappearing from him a second time.
He wouldn't let it happen.
He couldn't let it happen.
He lay there for a long time, staring into the darkness, thinking of her voice, her eyes, her anger.
And the last thought he had before falling asleep was:
"Lena Hart, run all you want.
I'm not letting you go again."