Eyelids softly fluttered open, revealing the hazel eyes. Aveline barely registered the ceiling of her bedroom.
'Gasp!'
She gasped loudly, sitting up abruptly, her wide eyes darting across the room. The ceiling above her was familiar, but it felt… wrong. Her mind reeled.
Was it a dream?
Or did Damien arrive on time?
Before she could even grasp reality, she felt movement beside her. A warm hand gently cupped her head, steadying her trembling form.
"Nina…"
The voice was smooth, velvety, instantly soothing. For a moment, she almost melted into the warmth of it. But then she turned and met those dark brown, almost black, eyes staring at her with quiet concern.
Her breath caught in her throat. Damien.
His presence was overwhelming, familiar yet foreign at the same time. Exhaustion lined his handsome face, his sculpted features softened by the dim glow of the bedside lamp. She could smell the lingering scent of alcohol in his breath, overpowering the classic leather cologne he always wore.
She wasn't sure what was real anymore. The burning sensation of the injection, the suffocating pain in her chest, the betrayal, it all felt too vivid to be a nightmare. And yet…
"Damien…" her voice cracked, barely above a whisper.
"Oh, Nina…" He sighed, his arms wrapping around her, pressing her close against his chest. His hands gently cradled her head, fingers threading through her hair in a soothing motion. "Nightmares aren't real." His voice was gentle, coaxing her back to reality.
But was it really just a nightmare?
Aveline tried to hold it together, tried to push away the turmoil inside her, but the overwhelming pain, the betrayal, the burning, the fear—crashed over her in waves. Her breath hitched, and before she could stop it, she broke down.
She cried.
She sobbed like a child, tears soaking into Damien's vest. The rawness of her emotions, the aching in her chest, made her shoulders shake violently.
Damien panicked, tightening his hold on her. "Nina… What happened? Was it just a nightmare, or did someone say something? Nina…"
But no words came out. Aveline curled into herself, seeking comfort in his warmth, but the pain refused to fade.
Damien's desperate attempts to console her fell on deaf ears. Eventually, he gave up speaking and simply held her, his hand rubbing gentle circles on her back. His once-gentle expression turned dark and complex, unreadable as he watched her sob.
Time blurred.
When her cries had quieted to hiccups, he pulled back slightly, reaching for the bedside table. He grabbed a glass of water, tilting it toward her lips. "Drink." His voice was a soft plea.
Aveline's red, puffy eyes met his. Her trembling fingers reached for the glass, but he held it steady at her lips as she drank.
Her face was a mess. Flushed red, nose scarlet, lips trembling. Her long lashes still clung to a few stray tears, making her look heartbreakingly delicate, fragile enough to shatter at a mere touch.
Damien's eyes darkened. He placed the glass aside and reached for a tissue, but paused when her dainty fingers brushed against his. She quietly took the tissue from his hand, dabbing at her runny nose.
He let her.
Even as she blew her nose, his eyes never left her. When she was done, he wordlessly took the tissue from her despite her weak attempt to refuse. Tossing it into the bin, he scooped her into his arms without a word.
Aveline instinctively grabbed his shoulders, but she didn't resist as he carried her into the vast bathroom. Setting her down beside the washbowl, he washed his hands before retrieving a clean towel. The entire time, he could feel her gaze on him, watchful and observant.
He wet the towel with warm water and met her eyes. Something unreadable flickered in them as he gently wiped away the tear stains from her cheeks.
Silence stretched between them.
When he finally spoke, his voice was softer. "Do you want to talk first, Nina? Or do you want to rest? We can talk tomorrow."
Aveline's mind was a whirlwind of confusion. Elias Hawthorne was Damien's trusted friend. How could he stab him in the back?
Why did Vivienne Sinclair want her dead?
Why wasn't Damien acknowledging the hospital incident?
Was it truly a dream?
No. It was too vivid. Too real.
She remembered everything. The months of isolation, the slow decay of her body, the agony of taking her last breath.
"I… I need time." Her voice was barely a whisper, but her face reflected the storm inside her.
Damien watched her carefully. Yet he didn't push. "Well, then…"
He moved to scoop her up again, but she surprised him by stepping off the counter herself, walking out of the bathroom.
Damien frowned.
She had always let him take care of her and had always given him her attention. But now… she was acting differently. Strange. Distant.
"Nina…"
Aveline stopped abruptly at the same time. Instead of answering, she slowly raised her hands, staring at them in horror.
How is she walking on her feet?
How is she feeling so light?
The pain? The brittle bones?
Then she touched her face hesitantly before turning sharply to Damien.
Damien instinctively opened his arms, expecting her to rush into them, but she didn't.
Instead, Aveline clutched the edge of the bathroom counter and stared wide-eyed at her reflection in the mirror.
Shock.
She looked… healthy.
Her cheeks weren't hollow, her skin wasn't deathly pale, her arms weren't frail. There was no sign of the illness that had once consumed her.
How?
Damien, growing increasingly concerned by her silence, stepped closer and cupped her face gently. "Is everything alright, Nina?" His hands trailed down to her arms as he searched for any injuries. "Are you hurt anywhere?"
Aveline trembled, unable to comprehend what was happening. She shook her head at his second question but then hesitated at the first.
No. She wasn't hurt.
But something was very wrong.
Seeing his brows furrow, she quickly reassured him. "No, no, I mean everything's amazing. I'm not hurt anywhere." She even managed a small, genuine smile, despite the questions screaming at the back of her mind.
Damien finally relaxed, shaking his head with a resigned sigh. "It's been two months, Nina. Your cute head responses aren't my cup of coffee." He wrapped an arm around her shoulder, leading her out of the bathroom.
"Two months?"
His words barely registered.
Damien helped her into bed, tucking her in under the duvet. He flicked her nose playfully. "You forgot the date, didn't you?"
"Huh?" She blinked, genuinely confused.
He chuckled, dipping his head to kiss her forehead. "Happy two-month anniversary, Mrs. Ashford."
Aveline: "..."
Damien stood, walking towards the door. "Get some sleep. I'll be back after signing a document." He switched off the lights, closing the door behind him.
Aveline lay frozen in bed.
Two months?
They had been married for two years. She remembers celebrating her first wedding anniversary.
Disoriented, she grabbed her phone from the bedside table, her fingers shaking as she opened the calendar.
Her breath hitched.
Her heart pounded in her ears.
Her vision blurred.
How did this happen?
How did she travel back in time?
How?