The Price Of Loving Mr Damien

He had seen everything, not because he meant to and definitely not because he cared for court gossip.

Normally, he wouldn't even care to watch such displays, but because he had been standing in the doorway of the adjoining hall, waiting to meet a judge for a scheduled legal review.

He wasn’t expecting a scene. He wasn’t expecting her.

A woman standing in front of Damien Blackwood without trembling, without shrinking, without bowing to the aura that made half the city swallow their words.

He had taken one step forward when Damien grabbed her wrist. Just one. He had almost intervened. Almost.

He wasn’t expecting the calm, deadly precision with which she twisted out of Damien’s grip, or the way she stood, chin raised, voice carrying just enough for the courtroom staff to hear:

“The only thing you showed today is how pathetic you have become.”

He stopped, because she did not need saving.

She stepped forward, unafraid. She didn't need it when Damien tried to regain control, not when she delivered the final blow with quiet elegance:

“Next time you want my attention, try an email. Not a tantrum.”

He watched the words hit Damien harder than a physical strike. He watched the man freeze. He watched the room shift toward her.

But she wasn’t fearless. He caught the tremor in her fingers when she first pulled back. But she didn’t let it rule her; she fought anyway.

He respected that. More than he expected to.

And he watched Arielle walk out, heels tapping against the polished floor like a victory march, and that was when something inside him clicked.

Not attraction.

Not sympathy.

But recognition.

He saw a spirit fighting to break free, an echo of a struggle he knew all too well.

He found himself following, not to chase, but because she had dropped a slip of paper from her folder during her exit. He picked it up automatically.

Her steps were quick but not frantic; firm but not arrogant; wounded, yet unbowed.

When he reached her near the corridor, he extended the paper. “You dropped this,” he said.

She took it with a quiet, almost distracted “Thank you,” her voice steady despite the tremor she tried to hide.

And Arielle walked past him without hesitation. Her heels steadied. Her shoulders lifted. She did not look back.

But he did …. just long enough to memorize the name on the folder she held so tightly.

Arielle… Arielle West.

He whispered the name under his breath, thoughtful.

Interesting woman.

Very interesting.

He knew he would be seeing her again.

---

The moment Damien stepped inside the penthouse, he didn’t get a chance to breathe.

“Damien, have you lost your mind!?”

Claire’s voice detonated through the living room like an alarm. She stood in front of the TV, arms folded, face twisted with outrage.

He closed the door slowly, jaw tight. Not now.

“What is it?” he muttered.

“What is it?” she mimicked, eyes blazing. “What is it, Damien? It’s everywhere! You dragging Arielle in the courthouse! PEOPLE RECORDING YOU!”

She grabbed the remote and pointed it at the massive screen.

And there it was — his humiliation replaying in perfect HD. Him grabbing Arielle’s wrist, Arielle twisting free effortlessly. Her voice, cold and cutting:

“The only thing you showed today is how pathetic you have become.”

Then the final blow:

“Next time you want my attention, try an email. Not a tantrum.”

Claire jabbed a finger at the screen.

“Do you see this? Do you SEE what you’ve turned into? A laughingstock! A meme, Damien! A freaking meme!”

Damien’s fists clenched. He didn’t want Claire. He didn’t want her voice. He didn’t want any of this.

He wanted Arielle.

He wanted the version of himself that existed when she was still his.

Claire stepped closer, fury dripping from every word.

“Are you trying to ruin yourself? Now look — your board is calling, your investors are panicking, and you’re trending for all the wrong reasons!”

Damien exhaled sharply, dragging a hand through his hair. He didn’t care about the board, or the investors, or Claire’s theatrics. The only thing echoing in his mind… was the look on Arielle's face.

Cold.

Sharp.

Untouchable.

The way she stood her ground.

The way she rejected him.

And the worst part — the part that simmered like poison — she meant every word.

Claire’s voice broke his thoughts.

“Say something! Damien!”

He finally looked up, eyes dark, voice low and dangerous.

“I’m going to get her back.”

Claire stared like he had slapped her.

“Are you insane!?” she screamed. “After what she did to you? After she embarrassed you in front of the entire damn city!?”

Damien didn’t raise his voice. He didn’t need to.

“She is my wife.”

Claire choked on a laugh.

“EX-wife, you delusional idiot!”

Damien paused mid-stride, the realization striking him with sudden clarity.

He turned slowly, eyes narrowing as a smile crept across his face, cold and triumphant; the kind he used to wear whenever he won a deal worth billions.

“Arielle is still my wife,” he murmured.

Claire blinked. “What?”

Damien’s gaze sharpened, voice dropping to a quiet, dangerous certainty.

“We didn’t get a divorce.”

It was a fact he had ignored for years, buried beneath ego, guilt, and denial. But now, the truth tasted intoxicating.

“Damien, what are you—”

“She left,” he said, cutting her off. “But she never filed.”

His lips curled fully now, victory blooming where shame had burned minutes ago.

“Arielle is still my wife.”

Claire paled. “Damien, stop. You’re talking like a crazy person.”

He stepped closer, towering over her, eyes gleaming with something unhinged but terrifyingly controlled.

“No. I’m talking like a man who just remembered exactly where he stands.”

He tilted his head slightly, as if savoring the weight of the words.

“She. Is. Still. Mine.”

Claire stared, mouth parted, all her anger draining into dread.

Damien walked past her, pushing open the door to his study with renewed purpose.

Claire furrowed her brows.

“So you think I'm just going to let you go back to that wench?”

Damien froze, not because he was intimidated, but because the word wench tasted wrong coming from her mouth. Slowly, he turned. The air shifted, and Claire definitely felt it.

A terrifying coldness settled around him.

When he spoke, his voice dropped to a chilling calm.

“Watch your mouth.”

The warning wasn’t loud.

It wasn’t dramatic.

It was final.

Claire blinked. “What — Damien, I didn’t mean—”

“You did.”

His jaw tightened.

“And that’s exactly why you should stop talking.”

Claire’s indignation flared again.

“I’m the mother of your children, Damien! I stood by you—”

“You stood by my money,” he snapped, patience evaporating. “Don’t rewrite history just because you’re scared.”

Her face twisted.

“Scared? Of her? Please. I'm way better. That's why you chose me, remember?”

He laughed.

“My wife left. I settled for you.”

Claire clenched her fists, her brows furrowed.

“And I’m not going back to her,” he added, tone sharpened to a blade. “She’s coming back to me.”

Claire scoffed, stepping closer as if she wasn’t standing inches from a storm.

“Which woman in her right senses,” she hissed, “goes back to a lying, cheating, manipulative bastard like you?”

Damien’s eyes snapped to hers.

He took a sharp step back.

“Enough.”

“Did you forget what you did to her?”

“Stop it.”

Claire ignored him, leaning in closer.

“You told her you didn't want children, then you went ahead and had two with me.”

“Five years, Damien. You never looked for her. Why now?”

“Look, just give up. I can assure you,” she whispered, “she’s already fucking someone else.”

Damien only smiled, a cold, predatory widening of his mouth.

“Then I’ll just have to deal with him too,” he murmured, turning his back on her, the matter clearly closed.