“You brought paperwork?”
“I’m trying to be practical.”
“I came here because I thought the man who held me at three in the morning might show up. Instead, you brought documents.”…
PART 3
Damien couldn’t sleep that night. Every time he closed his eyes, those two pairs of storm-gray eyes stared back at him from the darkness. His multi-million-dollar penthouse suddenly felt like an empty tomb.
The next morning, he bypassed his assistant and hired the most discreet, high-end private investigation firm in New York. “Find Mara Bennett,” Damien ordered, his voice raw. “I want to know where she lives, where she works, and everything about those boys. By tonight.”
By 5:00 p.m., a thick manila folder rested on his mahogany desk. Damien opened it with trembling fingers.
As he scanned the pages, his heart stopped.
According to the medical receipts and legal records from five years ago, Mara hadn’t just disappeared on her own. The day after she walked out of Mercer Capital, a wire transfer of two million dollars had been deposited into a newly opened account under her name, followed by a signed non-disclosure and child support waiver bearing her forged signature.
Attached to the legal threat was a letter on heavy, embossed stationery. His mother’s stationery.
Victoria Mercer had discovered the pregnancy. She had threatened to blacklist Mara from the financial industry, tie her up in endless custody battles, and ruin her family unless she took the money and vanished from New York forever. Mara had rejected the money—leaving the funds completely untouched in an escrow account for five years—but she had fled to upstate New York to protect her unborn children from the ruthless wrath of the Mercer family.
Damien felt a violent wave of nausea. He hadn’t just been a coward; he had been a blind fool. His mother had orchestrated a two-million-dollar lie to keep her empire “pure,” and he had let it happen.
He stormed into his mother’s estate in Connecticut an hour later, throwing the folder onto her antique tea table. Victoria looked up, her expression tightening into cold disapproval.
“You lied to me,” Damien roared. “You told me Mara took a payoff and moved to Europe! You told me she terminated the pregnancy!”
Victoria didn’t even flinch. She elegantly set down her teacup. “I did what was necessary to protect you, Damien. A girl like that would have dragged our name through the mud. You have a legacy to uphold.”
“They are my sons!” Damien shouted, his voice cracking with an agonizing mixture of rage and grief. “And you stole five years of their lives from me. You’re dead to me, Mother. Do you hear me? We are done.”
FINAL
Two days later, Damien drove out to a quiet, tree-lined suburb two hours outside the city. He parked down the street from a small, modest house with a yellow front door. In the front yard, a plastic sandbox and two small bicycles lay on the grass.
He stepped out of the car, his expensive Italian suit feeling entirely out of place.
Mara was on the porch, folding laundry into a plastic basket. When she saw him walking up the driveway, her body instantly went rigid. She stepped down, blocking the path to the front door where the muffled sounds of children’s cartoons could be heard inside.
“I told you to leave us alone, Damien,” she said, her voice tight and defensive.
“I know about my mother,” Damien said softly, stopping several feet away. He held out a copy of the investigation file, along with a legal document he had signed that morning. “I didn’t know she threatened you. I didn’t know she tried to buy you off. But that doesn’t excuse my cowardice five years ago. I came here to give you this.”
Mara reluctantly took the papers. As she read through them, her eyes widened.
Damien had legally legally signed over a blind trust of half his net worth directly to the boys, completely structured so that Victoria Mercer could never touch them or contest custody. Furthermore, he had voluntarily waived any right to force his way into their lives through a court order.
“I’m not here with lawyers, Mara,” Damien whispered, tears finally blurring his vision. “I’m not here to fight you, or to force them to know me. I threw away that right when I pushed that envelope across the table. I just… I wanted you to know that they are safe from my family. And that I am so, so sorry.”
He turned to walk away, his chest aching with a pain he knew he deserved.
“Damien.”
He stopped, turning back slowly.
Mara was looking at the documents, then up at him. The fierce, defensive anger in her eyes had softened into something resembling weary understanding. She looked toward the front door, then back to the man who had once held her at three in the morning.
“They ask about their father,” Mara said quietly, her voice trembling. “I never told them you were a bad man. I just told them you were… lost.”
Damien swallowed the lump in his throat, unable to speak.
“We are having dinner at six,” Mara said, lifting her chin, though a small, fragile tear slipped down her cheek. “It’s just mac and cheese. Nothing expensive. Nothing designed to impress. But if you want to stay… you can help them with their shoelaces.”
A ragged breath escaped Damien’s lips. He looked at the yellow front door, then at Mara, and nodded.
