“But?” I prompted, hearing the unspoken continuation.
A small smile touched his lips. “But I find myself looking forward toa time when those complications might… simplify.”
The careful phrasing was so typically Damian that I couldn’t help smiling. “You mean when you’re not my lawyer anymore?”
“And when you feel ready,” he added, his gaze steady on mine. “Both things matter to me.”
I nodded, something like hope unfurling in my chest. “I’m getting there. On the ready part.”
“Good,” he said softly. “There’s no rush.”
Buster returned, jumping back onto the couch and settling between us again, as if declaring the serious conversation finished for now. I laughed, scratching behind his ears.
“He’s quite the chaperone,” Damian observed wryly.
“He’s always had good timing,” I agreed.
As we returned to our respective activities—Damian to his files, me to a fresh page in my sketchbook—I felt a sense of peace I hadn’t expected to find again. Here, in this house, with this man and my cat safely returned to me, I could finally imagine a future worth building.
It wasn’t perfect. I still had nightmares. The civil case against Marcus was still proceeding. I still flinched at unexpected sounds sometimes.
But with Buster purring beside me and Damian’s steady presence across the couch, I was beginning to believe in possibilities I’d once thought forever lost. And that felt remarkably like hope.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
Alex
I WOKEup screaming again, my throat raw, sheets tangled around my legs like restraints. In my nightmare, Marcus had found me—had somehow escaped custody and broken into Damian’s house. I could still feel his hands around my throat, still hear his voice: “Did you really think you could get away from me?”
Buster leapt from the foot of the bed with an alarmed chirp, disappearing into the shadows of my room. My heart hammered against my ribs as I fumbled for the bedside lamp, desperate to banish the darkness where Marcus might be lurking.
Light flooded the room. Empty. Safe. Just a nightmare.
But my body wouldn’t believe it. I couldn’t catch my breath, couldn’t stop shaking. Sweat plastered my t-shirt to my back despite the cool air. I pressed my palms against my eyes, trying to erase the lingering images, but they persisted—Marcus’s face contorted with rage, his hands reaching for me.
I couldn’t stay here alone with these images. I couldn’t.
Before I could talk myself out of it, I slipped from my bed and padded down the hallway to Damian’s room. His door was ajar—he’d started leaving it that way after my first nightmare. I hesitated at the threshold,suddenly uncertain.
What was I doing? This wasn’t like asking to sleep on his floor. This was… different.
But the thought of returning to my room, to the darkness and the memories, made my chest constrict. I couldn’t do it. Not tonight.
I pushed the door open wider. Damian was a shadowy form under the covers, his breathing deep and even. The digital clock on his nightstand read 3:17 AM.
“Damian?” I whispered.
He stirred immediately, lawyer’s instincts pulling him from sleep at the first sign he was needed. “Alex? What’s wrong?”
“Nightmare,” I managed, my voice cracking. “A bad one.”
He sat up, instantly alert. “Do you want me to make you some tea? Or we could—”
“Can I stay here?” The words tumbled out before I could reconsider. “With you? I just… I can’t be alone right now.”
In the dim light filtering through his curtains, I saw him blink, processing my request. For a moment, I thought he might refuse—might offer the floor again, or suggest we move to the living room.
Instead, he simply shifted over and lifted the edge of the duvet. “Of course.”
