On the third day towards evening, Damien drove to the clinic in a haze of conflicted thoughts, His heart pounded in a rhythm that mirrored the guilt twisting in his chest.
He had just walked into the clinic when a familiar voice called to him.
"Damien."
He turned to see Silvy standing in the waiting room, her arms folded, her gaze sharp and probing.
"Do you have a moment?" she asked.
He followed her into her office. Silvy sat down behind her desk and gestured for him to do the same.
"Before you see Alex," she began, her voice calm but firm, "we need to talk."
Damien frowned. "Is something wrong with him?"
Silvy studied him for a beat before shaking her head. "Physically, he's stable. Better than when he came in. But that's not the issue here."
"Then what is it?"
She exhaled folding her hands on the desk. "Damien, I don't know how much you care about Alex. I don't know how involved you are—or think you are—but whatever it is, you need to exclude him from any schemes, plans, or vengeance you might still be brewing against the Mastersons."
Damien opened his mouth, but she raised her hand.
"No interruptions. Just listen. That boy needs stillness. He needs to eat properly, sleep without flinching at every sound, and wake up without the weight of someone else's war sitting on his chest. Do you understand what I'm saying?"
He nodded, slowly at first, then with conviction. "Yes. I do. I promise I won't let anything upset him anymore."
Silvy arched an eyebrow. "Is that within your power—to ensure nothing disturbs his peace and quiet?"
"I will make it within my power," Damien said, lowering his gaze. His voice trembled slightly, the weight of the past days heavy on his shoulders. "I have… a lot to make up for. I've wronged him in ways I can't even justify."
Silvy leaned back in her chair and let out a long sigh. "I warned you, didn't I? Haven't I told you should seek justice and not be blinded by revenge?. That vengeance is a double-edged sword—one that cuts deeply into the innocent."
"I know. I was blinded. I thought I was being smart, methodical. But I was a damn fool," Damien whispered. "I let my anger distort everything I saw. And now… I'm afraid I've lost the chance to make it right."
Silvy tapped her fingers against the desk. "That's not up to you. That's up to Alex. But I'll give you some advice—and I suggest you hold onto it with everything you've got."
Damien lifted his head slightly, eyes narrowing in focus.
"Whatever Alex chooses to tell you in the coming days, listen. Listen without anger. Without judgment. Don't assume you know what's going on. Try to understand his reasons, even if they seem incomprehensible at first. If you truly care about him, don't be another storm in his life. Be the calm."
Damien swallowed hard. "Is there something you're not telling me?"
Silvy looked at him carefully, her expression inscrutable. "That's something you need to hear from him. Not me."
She stood and walked to the door, opening it for him. "He's waiting outside. And don't forget—he has another appointment next week. Don't let him miss it."
Damien nodded and stepped out into the twilight air. The sky had shifted into hues of coral and mauve, casting a golden glow over the clinic's entrance.
And there he was—Alex.
He stood by the steps, dressed simply in a soft cream sweater and dark slacks, looking out at the horizon as though the wind might whisper answers he couldn't find himself. His color had returned, and though his posture remained guarded, he seemed more… present than before.
Damien's heart tightened painfully at the sight.
He walked toward him. "You look much better," he said, keeping his voice level, though inside he felt like a dam threatening to burst.
Alex turned, his amber eyes cool, expression unreadable. Then a cold smirk ghosted over his lips.
"Yeah. I feel much better," he said, voice tinged with a sharp edge. "Sorry to disappoint you. I know you probably would've preferred I stayed on my deathbed a little longer. But unfortunately, I'm a resilient bastard."
Damien flinched inwardly. The words landed like a slap, but he didn't let it show. He clenched his fists at his sides. He deserved that. Maybe more.
"Alex, I—" he started, but stopped himself. Now wasn't the time for apologies. Not yet.
"I drove here myself," he said instead. "I thought I'd take you back to the villa. I… live there now too."
Alex raised an eyebrow, then let out a bitter chuckle. " You moved into the villa? Why don't I find that surprising? Whatever…just lead the way to the car."
They walked to the car in heavy silence, the kind that weighed on the chest like a storm waiting to break. Damien could feel the tension thick between them, every step echoing with words unsaid. A bitter taste rose in his throat—acidic, sharp, like guilt given form.
He had no right to feel wounded by Alex's biting sarcasm, and yet the sting lingered. Not because the words were cruel, but because they revealed something deeper—Alex truly believed Damien hated him.
But he didn't.
Damien wasn't even sure what name to give the tangle of emotions he felt for Alex—regret, guilt, longing, maybe even something dangerously close to tenderness. All he knew, with absolute certainty, was that it wasn't hate. Never had been.