Chapter 20
CHAPTER TWENTY
Juliette
The soft knock on the door came just as I wrapped my hands tighter around the mug of green tea, the steam curling up to kiss my face. My fingers trembled slightly—not from the heat, but from the bone-deep exhaustion I hadn’t been able to shake since the doctor’s office.
I padded barefoot to the door, robe knotted loosely at my waist, hair half-tamed from the messy knot I’d thrown it into earlier. When I opened the door, there he was.
Damian.
His dark jacket caught the glow of the porch light, his hands tucked into his pockets, that familiar, steady gaze sweeping over me—not with heat, not yet, but with something gentler. Something that made my chest squeeze in ways I wasn’t sure I was ready for.
“Hey,” I murmured, voice smaller than I wanted. “Thanks for coming over.”
He stepped inside without hesitation, his presence filling the space even though he didn’t say a word right away. I closed the door softly behind him, breathing in the faint trace of his cologne, something warm and woodsy that settled low in my stomach.
“I was making tea,” I offered, lifting the mug slightly as if that explained anything. “Green tea. I’m—” I hesitated, feeling suddenly foolish, “—trying to cleanse my body, or something. A reset, I guess.”
His mouth quirked at the corner, just the faintest tug of amusement, but there was no teasing in his eyes. “I could use a cleanse, too,” he murmured, his voice rough around the edges. “Tea sounds good.”
For a beat, I just stood there, blinking at him, as if waiting for the other shoe to drop. But he only held my gaze, quiet and steady, and something inside me cracked a little.
I moved toward the kitchen, my bare feet whispering over the floor as I poured him a mug. My hands still shook, but at least they were busy. When I turned, he was already settled on the couch, elbows resting on his knees, watching me with an intensity that made the air feel charged.
I crossed the room, handing him the mug, and when our fingers brushed, the contact jolted through me like a live wire. I sank down beside him, tucking my legs under me, drawing the robe tighter around my body as if it could hold me together.
For a moment, neither of us spoke. The only sound was the faint ticking of the antique clock on the wall, the quiet sips of tea, the thud of my heartbeat in my ears.
“I wasn’t sure you’d come,” I whispered, voice barely above the hush of the room.
Damian turned his head slightly, the lamplight catching in the sharp cut of his jaw. “You asked.”
And just like that, something in my chest splintered.
I looked down at my mug, fingers wrapped tight around the ceramic. “I don’t even know where to start,” I admitted. “I keep thinking if I say it all out loud, it’ll make it too real.”
He shifted beside me, just enough that his knee brushed mine—a subtle touch, but grounding, solid.
“I’m here, Jules,” he murmured. “Start wherever you want.”
The words were simple, but they softened something jagged inside me. I drew in a shaky breath, willing myself to speak, to peel back the layers I’d been hiding under all day.
And at that moment, with his quiet weight beside me, I realized this was the first time in a long time that I didn’t feel entirely alone.
I stared into my mug, watching the pale steam curl into the quiet. My fingers flexed around the ceramic like I could somehow pour all the tension in my body into it, like the tea could soak up the fear I couldn’t name out loud.
Damian sat beside me, his elbow resting on the back of the couch, one ankle crossed over his knee.
He cradled his mug in one hand, his thumb brushing along the rim in slow, absent strokes.
He hadn’t said much, hadn’t pushed, just waited — which somehow unraveled me faster than if he’d demanded answers.
I let out a breath, shaky and thin. “The doctor… confirmed what Gabrielle was already dealing with.” My voice wavered, and I swallowed hard. “Diminished ovarian reserve. IVF’s my best shot.”
Saying it out loud felt like opening a floodgate.
The words rushed out in a clumsy, tumbling spill.
“It’s not like I didn’t expect it—Gabrielle and I are twins, after all—but hearing it, having a doctor sit across from you and explain your odds in percentages and charts, it’s…
” I let out a helpless laugh. “It’s a lot. ”
Damian’s eyes stayed on me, steady and unflinching. Not pitying, just there . His thumb was still tracing the rim of his mug. For some reason, the small, quiet motion anchored me.
“I thought I’d feel more decisive by now,” I admitted. “Like the minute I had the facts, I’d know what to do. But I don’t. I just… I keep imagining this life, this future, and I don’t even know if it’s mine or just something I’ve been clinging to out of habit.”
I felt his hand brush my knee, a light touch, barely there—but it made me suck in a breath, the contact like a match striking against skin.
When I looked up, his gaze was gentle, his mouth pulled into a faint, almost hesitant line. “You don’t have to have all the answers tonight, Jules.”
I huffed softly, blinking hard. “I don’t know how to do this alone.”
The admission left me raw, like I’d torn a page from my own chest and handed it to him. My throat tightened, and for a moment, I pressed the edge of the mug to my lips just to have something to do with my shaking hands.
Damian set his mug on the coffee table with a quiet clink. His palm came to rest over mine, still wrapped tight around the tea, and his warmth bled through the cool ceramic.
“I need to tell you something.” His voice was low, rougher now. “Something I should’ve told you sooner.”
I met his gaze, heart pounding, air suddenly thin.
“There’s a child,” he said quietly. “A twelve-year-old son. Mateo. I was a sperm donor once, years ago—before any of this, long before you. His mother passed away, and the court contacted me. Otherwise, I would have never known. And it matters now because I should’ve told you, and I didn’t. I’m sorry.”
The words hit like a bell rung deep in my chest—not a clean break, but a reverberation, a tremor working its way through bone and breath. All I could do was stare at him, my mind trying to fit his new shape into the man I thought I knew.
And yet… I didn’t pull away.
There was a quiet, stubborn thread of understanding somewhere beneath the shock. Of recognition. Because wasn’t that what we both were, underneath it all? People carrying truths we didn’t know how to share.
My eyes stung, and I blinked fast, a shaky laugh slipping out. “Well,” I whispered, “that’s one hell of a cleanse, Sinclair.”
He huffed out something close to a laugh, his mouth curving, and for the first time all night, the tension in his shoulders eased—just a fraction.
With unsteady fingers, I set the mug on the table and pressed my hands to my face, dragging in a breath that felt too sharp. “I’m a mess,” I murmured, words muffled against my palms. “I’m such a damn mess. I don’t know what to do.”
When I dropped my hands, Damian was closer, his eyes dark and focused, his thumb brushing a tear from my cheek before I even realized it had fallen.
“You don’t have to do this alone,” he murmured, his voice low, almost rough with restraint.
And just like that, the knot in my chest loosened—not all the way, but enough.
Damian’s fingers lingered at the edge of the robe, the silk parting under his touch like a held breath finally exhaled.
My skin prickled in the cool air, but it wasn’t the temperature that sent a shiver through me—it was the way his eyes softened when they swept over me, as if seeing me this way wasn’t about possession or hunger, but something quieter, more reverent.
I felt raw, exposed in every sense, but I didn’t look away.
His mouth brushed the hollow of my throat, the faintest graze, and I swore the world narrowed to just that single point of contact. My fingers instinctively curled into his shoulders, anchoring myself as if I might float away without him.
“Jules,” Damian murmured, his voice rough and low, the sound of my name breaking something open inside me.
His hands slid slowly down my sides, not rushing, not demanding, just learning me, calming me. And then, without a word, he eased me back against the cushions, his mouth trailing over my collarbone, his fingers teasing the edge of my robe aside until I trembled under his hands.
A soft gasp slipped from my lips when he kissed the inside of my knee, the deliberate press of his mouth sending heat spiraling through me. His hands gripped the backs of my thighs, easing them apart, and the last of my defenses crumbled like paper.
For a moment, I felt suspended—caught between breath and sensation, thought and surrender. And then all I felt was him.
He took his time. Oh God, he took his time.
Every slow, coaxing flick of his tongue, every low murmur against my skin unspooled the tight coil in my chest, melting the tension I’d carried for weeks.
My hands tangled in his hair, hips arching helplessly toward him as I dissolved into the steady, relentless pleasure he drew from me.
When the release came, it ripped through me with a raw, unsteady sob—not just from the pleasure, but from the sheer, aching relief of being seen, of being held together when I was sure I was coming apart.
Damian kissed his way back up my body, his mouth brushing over the curve of my waist, the rapid thrum of my pulse at the base of my throat.
When his eyes met mine again, there was a softness there that undid me all over again—no cocky grin, no swagger, just Damian, stripped bare of everything but the need to be close.
Without a word, he slipped an arm beneath me, lifting me effortlessly from the couch. I buried my face in his neck, breathing him in, letting the solid strength of him anchor me as he carried me toward the bedroom.
At that moment, I realized nothing had been fixed. Nothing was certain. But for the first time, I wanted to believe we might figure it out anyway.
Together.
Damian laid me down on the bed as if I were something precious, his arms cradling me even when the mattress was already beneath my back. The bedroom was dim, the soft glow from the hallway casting faint light across the room, turning the shadows on his face into something almost achingly beautiful.
For a moment, neither of us moved.
He hovered above me, eyes searching mine, his breath uneven, his hands braced on either side of my shoulders as if he were still holding himself back, still giving me a chance to pull away.
But I didn’t want space, not now. I reached up, tracing my fingers along his jaw, feeling the rough scrape of stubble, the tense line of his mouth.
“I’m still angry,” I whispered, the words trembling out of me before I could stop them. “I’m still scared.”
His mouth softened at the corners, his eyes dark and steady. “I know.” His voice was rough, like gravel and silk all at once. “Me too.”
My thumb brushed the edge of his lip, and then I pulled him down to me.
The first kiss was slow. Not hesitant—we were too far past that—but careful, as if we were relearning each other in the quiet. His mouth moved over mine with unhurried purpose, his hands framing my face, thumbs brushing the curve of my cheekbones like he needed to memorize every inch of me.
There was no rush now. No sharp edges, no frantic need to sate the ache between us. Just the slow, steady unraveling of tension as Damian touched me like he had all the time in the world.
My hands found their way beneath his shirt, fingertips tracing over the hard planes of his back, the knot of tension at his shoulders, the faint tremor in his arms when I whispered his name against his skin.
He shuddered at the sound, a low groan escaping his throat, and I felt his restraint slip, just a little.
When he finally slipped inside me, it wasn’t desperate or frenzied. It was slow, almost reverent—a quiet claiming, a silent promise neither of us dared speak aloud yet. His forehead pressed to mine, his breath mingling with mine, his hands tangled with my own as we moved together in the dark.
I didn’t know where we’d go after this, didn’t know if the pieces we were clumsily trying to fit back together would hold. But in that moment, in my bedroom, with his body pressed to mine and his mouth brushing soft, shattering kisses against my skin—I let myself believe.
And when the world finally fell away, when the last trembling sigh escaped my lips and his arms closed tight around me, I thought—maybe this was the beginning. Maybe this was what it meant to stop running and finally stay.
For a long time, neither of us spoke.
I could hear the faint dripping from the rain outside my window, the occasional shift of his fingers as they drifted through my hair.
It should have felt fragile, this silence—like something waiting to break—but instead it wrapped around us like a cocoon, soft and protective, something I hadn’t realized I craved until I had it.
His lips brushed the top of my head, barely there, and I felt the words he didn’t say catch in my throat.
I should tell him I’m sorry. I should tell him I’m grateful. I should tell him I’m terrified.
Instead, I let my fingers curl gently against his chest, feeling the beat of his heart beneath my palm, and whispered, “Stay.”
Just that. Just one word.
His arm tightened around me, a slow, quiet squeeze that said everything neither of us was brave enough to put into sentences.
“I’m here, Jules,” Damian murmured, his voice rough and low against my hair. “I’m not going anywhere.”