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Chapter Twelve: Morning Light
The rain had stopped before dawn.
When Athena woke, her room smelled faintly of rain and something else — coffee.
For a moment, she thought she was dreaming. Then she sat up, blinking against the soft morning light slipping through the curtains.
Damon DeVille was in her tiny kitchen corner, sleeves rolled up, quietly pouring coffee into two mismatched mugs.
The sight was strange — wrong, almost. He looked so natural there, yet completely out of place. The man who ruled boardrooms, who walked through crowds with a stare that silenced everyone, was now in her dorm, carefully avoiding the clatter of a spoon.
"Good morning," he said without turning around. His voice was softer than usual — rough from sleep, yet calm.
Athena hesitated before answering. "Morning."
He turned then, handing her a mug. "It's not much. The only thing you had was instant coffee."
She took it carefully, her fingers brushing his for a fraction of a second. The warmth of the mug felt too real, too personal.
"Thank you," she murmured.
He nodded and leaned against the counter, eyes fixed on the light outside the window.
Silence lingered — not cold, but uncertain.
Athena sat on the edge of her bed, sipping quietly, watching him from the corner of her eye.
She noticed how tired he looked. The man she remembered from before was always sharp, controlled, unshakeable. But now there was something different — a quiet weight behind his calm.
After a while, she spoke, her voice low.
"You didn't have to stay the night."
"I know," he said. "But I wanted to make sure you were safe."
"Safe from what?" she asked softly.
He looked at her then — really looked. "From me. From the things I did."
Athena's chest tightened. She didn't know what to say to that.
He looked away again, hands in his pockets. "I can't change what happened, Athena. But I wish I'd handled it differently."
She wanted to be angry. She wanted to remind him how much his words had hurt. But looking at him now — at the faint regret in his eyes, the awkwardness of his posture — she couldn't.
Instead, she just nodded. "You can't undo it," she said softly. "But you can stop repeating it."
That made him pause. His lips twitched, almost forming a smile. "Fair enough."
They sat there in quiet again — two people bound by a past neither of them truly understood anymore.
Outside, the sun was rising, painting the wet city gold.
For the first time in months, Athena felt her heart ease — not healed, not whole, but no longer heavy.
Damon finished his coffee, set the mug down, and straightened. "My assistant will be here soon. I'll leave once he arrives."
She nodded, trying to sound casual. "Right."
At the door, he hesitated, glancing back. "Thank you… for not sending me away last night."
Athena met his gaze. "Thank you for not being the man you were eight months ago."
Their eyes held for a second — calm, quiet, full of something fragile neither dared name.
Then he left, and the dorm felt too still again.
But this time, the silence didn't hurt.
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