Chapter 3
MIA
The twins’ bedroom feels impossibly small with Damon in it, his presence swallowing up the space. He stands near the doorway, his arms crossed, his broad shoulders looking like they could brace the frame if the house ever decided to crumble. His gray eyes track the twins, now asleep on their bed.
Even in sleep, Emma and Ella look dwarfed by him.
Damon doesn’t move closer. His hands are shoved into his jacket pockets, his eyes fixed on the girls. It’s the stillness of him that unnerves me, the way he watches them like he’s trying to make sense of something he doesn’t yet understand.
“They’re beautiful,” he says quietly, his voice low enough not to disturb them.
I glance at the twins, my heart tightening in my chest. Their faces are peaceful in sleep, their cheeks flushed pink from the warmth of their room. They don’t know how close danger has come to finding us again. I want to keep it that way for as long as I can.
“Thank you,” I murmur, stepping past him to adjust the edge of Ella’s blanket where it slipped from her shoulder.
His eyes linger too long, especially on Emma’s face, and my stomach twists. I stand and move toward him, trying to keep my voice calm. “They’re asleep. I think it’s time we talk about the next steps.”
When he doesn’t move, I say pointedly. “Downstairs.”
His gaze doesn’t shift. “They look… familiar.”
I freeze, my throat tightening. “People say twins all look alike. You know, a shared face.”
He finally looks at me, those steel-gray eyes pinning me in place. There’s nothing hostile in his expression, just that unsettling, searching intensity. “No,” he says. “That’s not what I mean.”
Before I can reply, his attention drifts back to the twins. His jaw tightens, a faint crease forming between his brows. I see his eyes catch on Emma’s nose, the shape of Ella’s chin.
Panic bubbles up in my chest. “Damon, let’s just go downstairs. I don’t want to wake up the kids again.”
I expect him to say no, but he nods and follows me back to the living room.
Downstairs, the house feels quieter than it should. The kind of quiet that pulls at my nerves and makes my skin prickle. Damon sits on the edge of the couch, his forearms resting on his knees.
He looks the same as I remember him. The same rugged handsomeness, though the years have hardened him.
Damon is tall, with dark hair that's almost black—the same thick, wavy texture as Emma and Ella’s.
His dark hair is streaked with silver at the temples, framing eyes that echo my daughters futures.
He’s built like he was made for combat, with his broad shoulders straining the seams of his black shirt and his muscular arms inked with tattoos that snake down to his forearms.
Handsome doesn’t quite cover it. Hardened, maybe. Beautiful, in a dangerous sort of way. The kind of man you couldn’t ignore even if you wanted to.
My heart hasn’t stopped racing since he walked through the door. His intensity, the sheer force of his presence, does something to me I don’t want to name.
“We need to discuss custody implications,” he says. His tone is even, but his eyes burn with something I can’t quite place. “If Jason tries to claim paternity—”
“He can’t.” The words spill out of me before I can think. “I made sure of that. When he… when he tried to force the issue, I insisted on a paternity test. He refused, knowing what it would show. The court denied him any rights.”
Damon sits back slightly, his broad shoulders rolling as if he’s processing the weight of my words. “But Jason doesn’t care about rights, does he?”
“No,” I admit softly. “He doesn’t.”
It’s the truth, plain and simple. Jason never cared about the law or boundaries or anyone else’s autonomy. His obsession with control has always been about what he believes is his, what he can take and keep.
Damon’s gray eyes flicker toward the stairs, and my stomach twists. I know what he’s thinking about. Who he’s thinking about.
“Emma and Ella, they’re not his,” I repeat. “He knows that. It’s why he refused the test.”
Damon nods slowly, his expression unreadable. “But he acts like they are.”
I stiffen, my nails digging into my palms. “He acts like we belong to him. Like we’re his property. It’s what he does. It’s all he knows.”
Damon’s jaw tightens, the muscle ticking as he processes what I’ve said. I can see it in the way his hands flex against his thighs, the way his eyes narrow—he’s furious. Not at me, but at Jason. At the audacity, the gall of someone like Jason to think he could claim what wasn’t his.
“You’ve been dealing with this alone,” he says, his voice low. It’s not a question.
I nod, swallowing the knot in my throat. “What choice did I have? Jason’s... relentless. And every time I’ve trusted someone to help, it’s ended badly. He has a way of... punishing people who get in his way.”
Damon exhales sharply, his gaze locking on mine. “Not this time.”
I want to believe him. God, I want to believe someone can stand up to Jason and win. But I’ve learned to be careful with hope. Hope can break you faster than fear.
He leans forward. “If Jason escalates—and he will—you call me. No hesitation. Understood?”
“Yes,” I say, though the word feels fragile
Damon doesn’t push for more. He doesn’t ask the question I can feel lingering in the air.
Are they mine?
The image is seared there: Ella, clutching her stuffed unicorn, chatting with him as if she’d known him her whole life.
Damon hadn’t hesitated. His large, calloused hand had cradled her back with surprising gentleness, and he’d listened to her chatter with a patience that felt too natural, too right.
Watching them together, something inside me cracked open. A glimpse of what might have been. The kind of father he could have been. Should have been. Strong, steady, protective, but warm, too, in a way Jason never could be.
And Ella had seen it, hadn’t she? She’d felt safe with him in a way I hadn’t expected. I can’t take it anymore.
“I’ll bring you some coffee,” I say and hurry into the kitchen and lean against the counter, trying to calm myself. He doesn’t know, he doesn’t know.
I start getting the coffee ready, putting the grounded beans into the coffee maker. I’ve lost track of the number of times I drink coffee in a day. Caffeine fuels me, it keeps me awake and alert to make sure I don’t miss anything.
When I turn around, Damon is there, leaning against the doorframe.
His broad shoulders seem too big for the narrow space, his tattoos peeking from under his rolled-up sleeves like secrets begging to be told.
He’s watching me, his gaze steady and unyielding, like he’s trying to piece together a puzzle with too many missing pieces.
I turn back to the counter, focusing on the small task of scooping coffee into the filter. Something, anything, to keep my hands busy.
“Mia,” Damon says, his voice low, cutting through the quiet. He doesn’t move closer, but he doesn’t have to. His presence is enough to fill the space, to make it impossible to ignore him.
I swallow hard, my hands shaking as I pour water into the coffee maker. “I think I’ve told you everything you needed to know. Do you want to scope out the house?”
He doesn’t answer right away. When he speaks again, his tone is softer but no less insistent. “You don’t have to handle this alone anymore.”
The words hit me harder than they should. My throat tightens as the coffee begins to drip.
I turn to face him, my hands gripping the edge of the counter. “It’s not that simple,” I say.
Damon takes a step closer, just one, but it’s enough to make my pulse quicken. “Then explain it to me.”
The words tumble out before I can stop them. “Jason wasn’t always like this. Or maybe he was, and I was just too blind to see it. He seemed so stable, dependable. When I found out I was pregnant, I was terrified, and he was there. He promised to take care of me and the baby. I thought he meant it.”
I look down at my hands, my knuckles white against the counter. The words come faster now, like a dam breaking. I didn’t tell him everything… back when we were together.
“At first, everything seemed fine. He was supportive, protective even. But then... little things started to change. He became controlling. Dismissive. Then angry. By the time I realized how dangerous he was, the twins were already born.”
I pause, the memory cutting through me like a knife. “He told everyone on base they were his. He acted like they were his property. Like I was his property.”
Damon’s jaw hardens, his hands curling into fists at his sides.
I know what he’s thinking. He was on that base with us, but he never saw the signs.
But I don’t blame him in any way. I was too good at doing what I did—hiding my bruises under long-sleeved tees, putting on too much makeup, flashing bright smiles that hid the pain. Nobody ever tried to look past that.
“Jason has this way of making you feel like you have no options,” I say. “Like he’ll destroy anyone who stands in his way.”
“I wish you had told me,” Damon says. “I wish I had known.”
“What would you have done differently?” I ask.
He looks up at me. “I would have killed the bastard.”
My heart skips a beat. Would he have, really? I don’t know. He and Jason used to be friends, or at least a semblance of it, when they were still on active duty.
“You should have told me, Mia,” he says.
I let out a shaky breath. “I told you, nothing about Jason is simple. The one time I tried to leave, he found out. I don’t even know how, but he did. And the consequences...” I stop, swallowing hard. “I couldn’t risk it. Not again.”
The room feels too small, too warm. I move to the sink, gripping the edge as I try to steady myself.
“I’m not him,” he says, his voice quiet but firm. “Whatever he did before, whoever he hurt—he’s not going to do it again. Not while I’m here. And I’m not making the same mistakes.”