“You shouldn’t be here,” he says finally. It’s not sharp, not meant to push me away — more like he’s warning me about walking into a storm.
“Neither should you.”
For a moment, the only sound is the steady push and pull of the tide. Then I lower myself into the sand beside him, close enough to feel the heat of his arm next to mine, close enough to smell the cologne on his skin mixed with the salty air.
The lull between waves feels thick enough to touch, the kind of silence that could either heal or break something. I open my mouth at the same time he does.
“I—”
“I—”
We both stop, half-smiling at the awkwardness.
“You first,” I say, even though part of me is terrified of what he’ll say.
His fingers tighten around the neck of the bottle before he sets it down in the sand, like he needs both hands free for this. “I’m so sorry, Lyla.” His voice is low, rough, but there’s no hesitation in it. “I’ve hated myself every damn day for keeping itfrom you. But I knew that if I told you the truth… I wouldn’t be able to stand here and not try to make it better.”
I swallow hard, the ache in my throat growing.
“I’ve spent my whole life screwing things up,” he continues, his gaze locked on mine. “Picking fights, making dumb choices. But keeping that from you? That was the biggest mistake I’ve ever made.” He shakes his head, jaw tight. “I thought I was protecting you. I thought I was keeping my promise to Aaron. But all I did was lie to the one person I…” He stops himself, breath catching, like the words are too heavy to push out.
I don’t say anything. Not right away.
Because sitting here, watching the man who’s always been unshakable look like he’s one more wave away from going under… it does something to me.
I realize I don’t want the space I’ve been keeping between us. I don’t want the careful distance or the safety of not feeling too much.
What I want — more than anything — is him.
All of him.
“I don’t care about the promise anymore,” I say quietly, my voice shaking. “I care about you. And I don’t want this to be fake. Not for the cameras. Not for anyone else. Just… real.”
His shoulders drop, like something in him finally lets go, and I move closer until our knees bump in the sand. My hand finds his, fingers sliding between his like they were always meant to fit there.
Damien’s hand slides to my waist, and before I can breathe, he’s pulling me into his lap. The movement is easy for him, like I weigh nothing, like I’ve always belonged there.
His eyes lock on mine, the moonlight turning them to liquid steel. “You wreck me, woman,” he says, his voice low and certain. “You’re my heartbeat and my breath, and when I’m not with you, I don’t feel like I’m fully myself.”
I can’t look away. My pulse is a drum in my ears, my chest tight with everything I’ve wanted to hear from him and never thought I would.
“I love you, Lyla. I’ve always loved you.”
It’s not rushed. Not a plea. Just truth. Simple and solid and undeniable.
Tears sting my eyes before I even feel them fall. I cup his jaw with both hands, the roughness of his stubble scraping my palms, and I kiss him.
It’s soft at first, my lips trembling against his, but the moment I feel him exhale — like he’s been holding that breath for years — something in me breaks open.
When I finally pull back, my forehead rests against his. “I love you too,” I whisper, my voice ragged. “I’ve always loved you.”
The words are wet between us, my tears slipping down my cheeks, some caught by his thumb as he brushes them away.
And under the steady roar of the waves, I feel it — the shift. The point where the years of silence and distance crumble, leaving only this: him and me, nothing else between us.
Damien’s mouth curves — not just a smirk, not the guarded half-grin I’ve seen him throw at the world — but a real smile. The kind that hits his eyes, makes them light up in a way I’ve never seen before.
Before I can take in the full effect, his hands slide under my thighs and he’s lifting me effortlessly. I loop my arms around his neck, still a little stunned, my legs wrapping instinctively around his waist.
