The Price Of Loving Mr Damien

Five years later…

“Mommy, are lawyers superheroes or villains?”

Arielle paused mid-sip of her coffee, glancing over the rim of her mug at the tiny human perched on the kitchen counter. Her five-year-old, Liam. His curls were a mess and his tie was crooked

“Depends on the day,” she said with a small smile. “Sometimes both.”

Liam squinted at her. “Then today, which one are you?”

She set down her mug, straightened his tie, and kissed his forehead. “Today, Mommy’s saving the city…again.”

Liam grinned, showing off the tiny gap between his front teeth. “Then I want to be a superhero too. But not the kind that talks in courtrooms already.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, that's boring.”

Arielle chuckled and ruffled his curls. “So what kind of superhero do you want to be?”

“The kind that flies. And punches bad guys. And eats pancakes for breakfast.”

“Well,” she said, reaching for the pancake mix, “you already qualify for one of those.”

He giggled. “Then you’re my sidekick.”

“Oh no,” Arielle said, feigning offense. “If anything, you’re my sidekick. Every superhero needs one.”

Liam shook his head seriously. “Nope. You’re too busy with court stuff. Sidekicks stay with the hero all the time.”

Her hands froze for a moment. That hit deeper than it should have. She turned to face him fully, forcing a smile. “You know what? How about we make a deal? Pancakes now, superhero training later. Just you and me.”

“Promise?”

“Promise.”

His eyes lit up, and just like that, the heaviness in her chest eased a little.

She smiled softly, resting her chin in her palm as she watched him shovel pancakes into his mouth like it was a race. Syrup smeared across his cheek, and he giggled between bites.

Her phone buzzed on the counter: a reminder.

Court Hearing – 9:00 a.m. | Case: State vs. Brooks Industries.

Arielle sighed softly, locking her phone and glancing back at Liam, who was now using his pancake as a spaceship.

“Mommy?”

She blinked. “Hmm?”

“You look like you’re thinking too hard again,” Liam said, chewing with his cheeks puffed out.

Arielle smiled faintly and tapped his nose. “Just superhero thoughts.”

He giggled. “Then you better win today.”

“I always do.” She pressed a kiss to his forehead, whispering, “Even when it feels impossible.”

_____

By nine, the sound of her heels echoed through the courthouse halls.

The air was colder here, sharper. The sterile tang of marble and paperwork filled the air. She adjusted her blazer, her game face sliding into place like armor.

She sighed under her breath. “Let’s get this over with,” she murmured, squaring her shoulders as the familiar chill of the courthouse wrapped around her.

Law had given her something to stand on again. Purpose. Power. A new name people respected — Attorney Arielle West.

And yet… every now and then, she still caught herself glancing at her reflection, wondering if the woman staring back was truly healed or just pretending well enough to pass.

She moved with practiced grace, heels clicking against marble floors, files tucked under her arm. Her assistant, Sophia, a bright-eyed woman often on the verge of exhaustion, was waiting by the door to her chamber, tablet in hand.

“You’re early,” Sophia said, glancing up from her tablet, a mix of admiration and exhaustion in her tone. “How do you do it?”

Arielle arched her brow. “Do what, Sophia?”

“Everything,” Sophia said, waving her stylus dramatically. “Law, Liam, bills, clients who think they own the world. I can barely make it through the morning without caffeine and a minor breakdown.”

Arielle chuckled softly, shifting the files in her hand. “You get used to it.”

“Or,” Sophia countered, grinning, “you’re secretly a machine in heels.”

Arielle smirked. “ Oh, how I wish.”

They both laughed.

Nobody ever really cared to ask how she was coping. All they saw was the poised attorney who always had her hair in place.

But none of them saw the woman who used to study at midnight with a sleeping baby pressed against her chest, whispering case notes between lullabies.They didn’t see the nights she cried quietly in the bathroom, afraid the sound might wake him. Or the mornings she went to court on two hours of sleep, praying her trembling hands wouldn’t betray her exhaustion.

She hadn’t had help.

No partner to lean on, no family to fall back on. Just a purpose and that purpose had tiny brown eyes and a smile that reminded her why she couldn’t fail.

Now, five years later, she wasn’t just surviving.

She was winning.

And for the first time in a long time, Arielle felt seen, not as a lawyer, not as a survivor, but as a woman who finally made it. She was strong enough to face any battle.

“Shall we? The clients are waiting.”

Arielle gave a small nod and pushed open the conference room door.

*****

Damian Blackwood was having a meltdown.

“Claire, I just want the damn tea the way I like it!” he yelled, slamming the cup down.

Claire, perched on a velvet stool and scrolling through her phone, didn’t even look up. “Oh, please, Damian. It’s just tea. It’s hot and wet; drink it. You’re becoming so petty lately. It’s draining.”

His jaw clenched, a muscle ticking near his temple. This wasn’t the life he’d imagined.

Five years ago, when Arielle left him he thought being with Claire would be easier. Instead, his world was a constant state of chaos and complaint.

Claire’s charm had worn off, replaced by a demanding, almost venomous entitlement.

​He slammed his mug onto the granite counter. "I’m draining? You had me miss the board meeting yesterday because you needed me to argue with the landscapers about the begonias!"

​"They were putting the pink ones next to the reds, Damian! It was a monstrosity!" Claire stood up, sauntering toward him. She stroked his tie, her eyes assessing rather than affectionate. "Besides, you're a billionaire. Your company practically runs itself. Now, where is that check for my sister's foundation? I promised her this morning."

Damian pulled back from her touch, jaw tight.

What he needed right now wasn’t another fundraiser or another argument;it was focus. His company was about bagging something huge.

And yet, somehow, Claire thought begonias were the priority.

His life with Claire was a constant headache. He missed the quiet, easy luxury he’d had with Arielle. She never fought him on tea. She was just there…

He needed Arielle back.

******

​"Gentlemen," Arielle began, her voice controlled. "I reviewed your documents. The situation is bad, but we can fix it. We have to block this injunction before it shuts you down.”

The client, Mr. Thompson, looked terrified. “Ms. West, we need you to be ruthless. We’re up against Blackwood Industries. They're billionaires. They’ve got a massive legal team, and their CEO is famous for being personally involved in all the ugly fights.”

Arielle's pen froze on her legal pad. The words didn't fully register until she saw the logo on the thick document binder that slid toward her: a stylized, interlocking B and W.

​Blackwood Industries.

​Her hands, which had been perfectly steady for five years, suddenly felt cold. A dull, familiar ache started in her chest.

​It’s just a company, she told herself. A cold, faceless entity.

"Who is the lead on their side?" she asked, keeping her voice level.

​

Thompson checked the brief. "The CEO signed the court papers himself. Damian Blackwood."

​Arielle didn't flinch, but inside, the pain of the past five years instantly sharpened into a weapon.

​Damian. The man who lied, cheated, and almost got herself killed for. The father of her son. This wasn't just some job. This was fate handing her the ultimate revenge plot.

​

She set her jaw. She wouldn't just beat his company. She was going to tear his entire world apart.

​“Got it,” Arielle said, a cold, confident smile spreading across her face. “Tell your board the injunction is dead. I’m handling this myself.”