The pain still throbbed along the veins of Damian's fingers. But that wasn't his biggest problem this time. He was far more occupied trying to contain the firestorm inside him. His body trembled under the weight of a void that kept tightening around his chest.
"This time, she's really going to leave," Damian muttered.
And he knew it.
He hadn't seen the door open. He hadn't heard Nayla's footsteps grow distant.
But he knew.
Not from instinct, but from having learned to read her silence. This morning, her body was still within reach, but her soul had long since said goodbye. The stillness that hung between them after that icy conversation was no longer just distance. It was a resignation from a woman who no longer felt alive.
This time, Damian couldn't tether her with the same methods. Not anymore.
That didn't mean letting her go completely, but he would need a different way.
Without waiting for his breath to steady, Damian stepped out of the gym and pressed the panel for Basement Level 2 — Control Room. His lair. The nerve center of his obsession.
The control room was cold and silent. Rows of monitors and DVRs lined up before him. On the first screen, the hallway CCTV displayed an empty corridor. Gray marble floors, a thin rug, and a single abstract painting on the wall. No sign of Nayla.
The second camera showed the backyard. Palm trees swayed gently in a breeze that barely stirred. He scanned the side path, the garage, and the terrace.
Then Damian moved the cursor to the left panel and clicked to activate the front gate feed. One click, and the screen revealed the black iron gate, no longer fully closed. He hadn't locked it. Just like the front door, he'd deliberately left the gate unsecured.
Within the small opportunity he'd left open, Nayla had taken it and used it well.
"As expected," Damian whispered to himself.
With practiced fingers, he rewound the footage a few minutes. He tracked the trail from the bedroom hallway to the door. It didn't take long before a slender figure appeared. There was no mistaking her. It was Nayla.
"You left me again, Amore. Now, I let you go. But every step you take will echo inside these walls," Damian said to her shadow on the screen. "And of course, in my mind."
His left hand curled into a fist. In silence, he stared at the monitor. Watching the woman he had once caged, controlled, even hurt, walk away without looking back.
And he had no intention of calling her back.
Without showing emotion, he opened the tracking app on his phone. A small icon blinked red on a city map of Denpasar. The name 'Gatot Subroto Street' was clearly visible. Damian lowered his chin, nearly touching his chest, and tapped the screen. Track — Live.
He initiated a voice call through the same device. The ringtone rang out. The screen showed a name. Andy. Damian's most trusted confidante, and the man who acted as an extension of his hand.
The call connected quickly. "Yes, Damian?"
"Confirm the SIM ping. Are we still locked on her device?"
"The red dot's steady. She's heading south."
"Good. Follow her."
"Copy."
"Keep me posted." Damian ended the call.
On the map screen, the red line snaked through intersections. Damian opened a browser window and typed Hartono & Partners Law Firm. A photo of a four-story building appeared. For a few moments, he studied the legal office that would help the woman he wanted most break free from the man he hated most.
A part of him shattered as the red line on the map moved farther away — leaving his house, leaving him. And yet, there was also a strange, quiet relief.
The step Nayla had taken today was one he fully supported.
The divorce.
Nayla's freedom from Nathan was something Damian had long desired. From the moment he saw the pain in her eyes as she stepped into his club, he had vowed to help her break free from the man who kept wounding her days.
"Damian."
Andy's voice returned as their call reconnected.
"How?"
Andy sent a few updates. The black sedan he was driving had parked across the street, directly in front of the law office. He then went inside and sat calmly in the lobby. A discreet earpiece nestled in his left ear. His ability to blend in was convincing enough to deflect suspicion. No one would guess he was watching Nayla.
"She's entered. Alone."
"Send me the recording," Damian ordered.
Within five seconds, a new video arrived. Damian tapped the screen, enlarging the image.
Nayla Moretti.
In a room full of strangers and fluorescent light, she was the only one who felt alive. Her hair was pulled into a high ponytail, exposing the pale nape he had kissed so many times in recent days. Her shoulders looked strong, but Damian knew it was an illusion. He could read the cracks beneath her steady stride.
Damian held his breath. Suddenly, the control room felt suffocating.
How many hours had passed since he last saw her face in person? Three? Four? Why did it feel like days?
Her scent still haunted him. The taste of her neck still lingered on his tongue.
He dragged a hand across his face, eyes never leaving the screen. Bitterness climbed from his chest to his throat. He hated admitting it, but ... he missed her.
Wanted to deny it, but the feeling was raw and undeniable.
***
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