The Don Lost His Love

I gave a calm nod. "Fine."

Damian actually froze.

He had a whole speech prepared to talk me down, probably even planned to offer me a seaside villa as a bribe for my silence, but my total compliance left him with a strange sense of emptiness.

He made a move to get out and hug me, but Sophia tugged on his sleeve, whispering about a pain in her chest.

Damian could only offer me an apologetic smile.

"Elena, you’re the best. When I get back, I’ve got a real surprise for you."

I didn't argue.

Surprise or shock—it didn't mean a damn thing to me anymore.

I watched the silhouette of the Rolls-Royce fade into the distance, then turned to my mentor.

"Don't wait until the day after tomorrow. If you can swing it, I want to leave tomorrow."

When work ended, Damian did something unprecedented—he showed up himself to pick me up.

The moment I got in, he handed me a sleek thermos, claiming he’d had a specialist brew some medicinal soup just for me.

Just as the words left his mouth, his phone lit up on the console.

A text from Sophia: [Big brother, the medicine is so bitter. I want one of those candies you peel for me by hand.] The silence in the car was deafening.

Damian cleared his throat awkwardly, trying to smooth it over. "She’s acting like a child right now, don't read into it. Elena, I’m already reaching out to the top specialists in the world. Once she’s cured, or... once she’s gone, there won’t be anything standing in our way."

He thought he was promising me a future. He had no idea he was busy killing our present.

"Take tomorrow off," he said, taking my hand with a look of conciliation. "I’ll take you to pick out the jewelry for the wedding. Whatever you want, it’s yours."

"No thanks. I don't have time tomorrow."

The truth was, he’d already taken Sophia to look at that jewelry set. The sales clerk had even mistaken Sophia for the bride-to-be.

Damian misread my tone, his voice gaining a sharp edge of irritation.

"Elena, what the hell else do you want from me? I’ve given you everything I can give. Why can't you just show a little understanding for the position I’m in?"

"I’m not angry," I said, looking at him calmly. "I just really don't have the time."

Damian stared at me for a long beat, searching my face for a crack in the armor. Finally, he let go of my hand, defeated.

"Fine. You’re busy. When you’ve cleared your head, come find me."

He dropped me at the front door but didn't bother getting out. Sophia was waiting for him at the hospital.

Back inside, I started clearing out the last of my things.

My phone rang. It was Damian, sounding agitated. "Elena, the bridal shop said you canceled the fitting? What the hell are you playing at?"

I’d been the one handling every single detail of this wedding.

Now that I’d dropped the reins, he was finally sensing that something was wrong.

Then, through the phone, I heard Sophia’s voice, thin as a thread.

"Damian... go be with Elena. I’ll be fine on my own. Don't let her be unhappy because of me. My life isn't worth much anyway; it’s not worth you missing time with her..."

Damian muttered a soft comfort to her: "Sophia, stop that. Just lay back down."

His voice was full of ache for her, but when he turned back to me, it turned to ice.

"Elena, you know Sophia is unstable right now, yet you choose this exact moment to cancel the fitting and refuse the jewelry? Are you doing this on purpose just to be spiteful?"

Listening to his petty accusations, I let out a jagged, self-deprecating laugh.

"The wedding’s being pushed back anyway. There’s no rush."

"Elena!" he growled. "If you keep acting this damn spoiled, maybe we shouldn't have a wedding at all!"

The line went dead.

A sharp throb hit my chest. The boy who once shielded me from a hail of bullets, promising me a home, had finally vanished under the weight of his own favoritism.

I picked up a photo of us and fed it into the shredder without a second thought.

I packed my bags in silence and left two things on the table.

One was my miscarriage report.

The other was the proof that Sophia’s terminal illness was a total fake.

With that finished, I called a cab for the airport.

Goodbye, Damian.

Actually—let's make it never again.