Updated Nov 23, 2025 • ~9 min read
Damon read in silence.
I watched his face cycle through emotions—confusion, anger, pain, devastation. His knuckles went white where he gripped the journal, and more than once I thought he might throw it across the room.
But he kept reading. Every word. Every damning entry.
When he finished, he closed the journal slowly and set it on the side table. Then he stood there, staring at nothing, his jaw working.
“Damon—” I started.
“She killed herself.” His voice was flat, dead. “That’s what you found. Confirmation.”
“I found a gossip article that suggested—”
“It’s true.” He scrubbed both hands over his face. “The official report says accidental overdose. Mixing medications. But I knew. I’ve always known.”
My breath caught. “You knew Ophelia committed suicide?”
“I found her.” The words came out strangled. “In the bathroom. Pills everywhere. A note that said ‘I’m sorry’ and nothing else. My mother insisted we keep it quiet—couldn’t have the scandal. So we paid people off, sealed records, told everyone it was sudden but natural.” His laugh was bitter. “Natural. As if there was anything natural about finding your wife dead on the bathroom floor.”
I moved toward him, wanting to comfort but not knowing how.
“I thought it was my fault,” he continued, still not looking at me. “Thought I’d failed her somehow. Worked too much, been too distant, missed signs of her depression. I’ve spent six months drowning in guilt, wondering what I could have done differently.” He finally met my eyes, and the rage there was incandescent. “She did it deliberately. Knowing what it would do to me. Knowing I’d blame myself. And she did it anyway.”
“Damon—”
“And this—” He gestured at the journal. “This confession about taking you away from me, about stealing what you had together—”
“We didn’t have anything together,” I interrupted. “Damon, I never told you how I felt. I never—”
“I knew.” The words stopped my heart. “Maybe not consciously at first, but I knew. The way you looked at me when Ophelia first introduced us. The way you’d laugh at my jokes, really laugh, not the polite society laugh Ophelia used. The way you’d light up when I walked into a room.”
I couldn’t breathe.
“I knew,” he repeated, softer now. “And I was drawn to you too. God, Keira, I was so drawn to you.”
“Then why—” I couldn’t finish the question.
“Because Ophelia was there. Pursuing me aggressively. Making it clear what she wanted. And you—you held back. You were shy, uncertain. I thought I was reading signals wrong. Thought maybe what I felt was one-sided.”
“It wasn’t.”
“I know that now.” He moved closer, and I could feel the heat of him, the barely contained emotion. “But back then, Ophelia was overwhelming. She pursued, she conquered, she made decisions for both of us before I even realized what was happening. The engagement happened so fast—six months from our first date to the proposal. And by the time I came up for air, you were gone.”
“I couldn’t stay,” I whispered. “I couldn’t watch you marry her.”
“I almost called it off.” The confession hung between us. “The day you left for New York. I came to your apartment to talk to you, to tell you I’d made a mistake with Ophelia. But you were already gone. No note, no explanation. Just gone.”
Tears streamed down my face. “I didn’t know.”
“Neither did I. About any of this.” He gestured at the journal again. “All this time, I thought our marriage was real. Loveless, maybe, but real. I thought Ophelia chose me, wanted me. But she just wanted to win. Wanted to take you away from me to punish you for being—” He read from the journal. “—’Everything I’m not.'”
“She was sick,” I said, though the words felt hollow. “Mentally, emotionally. She must have been, to do all this.”
“Does that excuse it?” Damon’s voice was sharp. “Does being sick excuse manipulating both of us? Stealing years we could have had together? Having an affair? Letting me question Lily’s paternity while she was too much of a coward to just do the test?”
“No,” I admitted. “It doesn’t excuse it. But maybe it explains it.”
He was quiet for a long moment. Then: “The last entry. About giving you guardianship to fix what she’d taken. Do you think that’s true?”
I thought about it. “I think Ophelia wanted absolution. Wanted to believe she was doing something good, something selfless, to balance out all the selfish things she’d done. But I also think she was still manipulating us, even in death.”
“By throwing us together.”
“By throwing us together,” I agreed. “Giving us forced proximity, a shared purpose, a reason to be in each other’s lives. She couldn’t control whether we’d act on it, but she set the stage.”
“And if we do?” Damon stepped even closer, close enough that I could count his heartbeats. “If we let ourselves have what she took from us all those years ago—are we honoring her final wish? Or spitting on her grave?”
“I don’t know.”
“Neither do I.” His hand came up, hovering near my face, not quite touching. “But I know that finding this journal changes things. Knowing the truth changes things.”
“The DNA results still matter,” I said, though my voice shook. “We still don’t know if Lily’s yours.”
“Don’t we?” He finally touched me, his fingers brushing my cheek. “I’ve watched you with her this past week. Watched you love her unconditionally, without hesitation, without needing any test results to tell you she’s worth loving. That’s not just duty, Keira. That’s not just honoring your sister’s will. That’s real.”
“She’s easy to love.”
“So are you.”
The words hit me like a physical blow. I stared up at him, hardly daring to believe what I was hearing.
“Damon, you’re grieving. You’re angry at Ophelia and confused about everything—”
“I’m angry at Ophelia,” he interrupted. “But I’m not confused about you. About this.” His thumb traced my cheekbone. “I’ve wasted seven years not telling you the truth. I’m not wasting another minute.”
“What truth?”
“That I chose wrong seven years ago. That I should have fought for you instead of settling for someone who pursued me. That every day of my marriage, there was this tiny voice in the back of my head wondering what if.” His blue eyes burned into mine. “What if I’d waited? What if I’d gone after you? What if I’d been brave enough to choose the woman I actually wanted instead of the one who was convenient?”
My heart was going to explode. “Damon—”
“I know this is terrible timing. I know we should wait for the results. I know there are a thousand reasons why this is a bad idea.” He cupped my face in both hands now. “But I’ve spent seven years living with regret. I don’t want to spend one more day not telling you the truth.”
“What truth?” I breathed.
“That I’m in love with you.” The words were quiet, devastating, perfect. “That I think I’ve been in love with you since the day Ophelia first brought me to your apartment and you opened the door with paint in your hair and a smile that made me forget how to breathe. That choosing Ophelia was the biggest mistake of my life. And that finding you again, having you here, being given this second chance—it feels like the universe trying to correct a cosmic wrong.”
I was crying now, full-on sobbing, and I couldn’t tell if it was from joy or grief or the sheer overwhelming weight of everything.
“Say something,” he whispered. “Please say something.”
“The DNA results come tomorrow,” I managed through the tears. “What if Lily’s not yours? What if she’s Evan’s and there’s a custody battle and everything gets even more complicated?”
“Then we’ll handle it. Together.”
“What if people say we’re moving too fast? That it’s wrong, being together when Ophelia just died?”
“Then they can say it. I don’t care.”
“What if I’m not ready?” The question came out small, terrified.
His expression softened. “Then we go slow. As slow as you need. I’m not going anywhere, Keira. Not this time.”
I looked up at him—this man I’d loved for seven years, who’d just confessed he loved me too, who was standing in my dead sister’s suite at three in the morning after reading a journal that exposed every ugly truth about our past.
It was messy. Complicated. Probably wrong on seventeen different levels.
But it was also the truth.
“I love you too,” I whispered. “I’ve loved you so long I don’t remember what it feels like not to love you.”
His intake of breath was sharp. “Keira—”
“But we can’t do this. Not yet. Not until after the results.” I stepped back, putting distance between us before I did something stupid like kiss him. “We need to know about Lily first. Need to deal with whatever that brings. And then—”
“And then?” His voice was rough with barely contained emotion.
“And then maybe we can figure out what this is. What we are. Together.”
He nodded slowly. “Okay. After the results. We wait until after the results.”
“Promise me.”
“I promise.” He picked up the journal. “Can I keep this? I want to read it again. Process everything.”
“It’s yours. All of it. Ophelia’s secrets, her lies, her truth. You deserve to know it all.”
He moved toward the door, then paused. “Keira?”
“Yeah?”
“Thank you. For finding this. For showing me. You could have hidden it, let me keep believing the lie.”
“You deserve the truth.”
“So do you.” His eyes met mine one last time. “The truth is, I love you. I choose you. And tomorrow, after we get those results, I’m going to spend every day proving it.”
He left, closing the door softly.
I stood there, shaking, my entire world tilted on its axis.
Damon loved me.
He’d always loved me.
And in less than six hours, we’d find out if Lily was his.
I thought I’d be unable to sleep, but exhaustion and emotional overload knocked me out the second my head hit the pillow.
When I woke, sunlight was streaming through the windows.
And my phone showed two missed calls from Tyler Dawson.
The results were in.
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