FORBIDDEN FEELINGS
Three months had passed since the funeral. In Westbridge City, three months was a lifetime. The news cycle had moved on, the gossip columns found new scandals, and the world continued to spin.
But for Amelia, time moved like molasses.
She had started to smile again, though it often felt fragile, like glass ready to shatter. The only time her smile felt real was when Damien was around. And Damien was always around.
He had become her gravity.
It was a Friday evening when his black sedan pulled up to her driveway. But tonight was different. He wasn't coming inside with a briefcase or takeout boxes. He stepped out wearing a tuxedo, looking devastatingly handsome under the porch lights.
"Amelia," he said when she opened the door. His eyes swept over her in a way that made her skin prickle with warmth. "Get dressed. We're going out."
"Out?" Amelia hesitated, clutching her cardigan. "Damien, I haven't been to a public event since… since it happened."
"Not a public event," he assured her, his voice smooth as velvet. "Private. Just us. You've been locked in this shrine to the past for too long. Tonight, I'm taking you to my estate. Dinner. A view of the city. No reporters, no pitying looks. Just us."
Just us. The phrase hung in the air, promising safety.
An hour later, Amelia sat in the passenger seat as they drove up the winding private road to the Ward Estate. Unlike the house she had shared with Ethan—which was cozy, modern, and full of light—Damien's home was a fortress. It was a sprawling gothic mansion made of dark stone, perched on the highest hill in Westbridge, looking down on the city like a king on a throne.
Inside, it was breathtakingly expensive. Marble floors, towering pillars, and art that belonged in museums. Yet, it felt cold. Empty.
"It's beautiful," Amelia whispered, her voice echoing in the grand foyer.
"It's lonely," Damien corrected. He stood close behind her, taking her coat. His hands lingered on her shoulders for a moment. "A house this size needs life. It needs warmth."
Dinner was served on a private balcony overlooking the glittering skyline. The wind was gentle, carrying the scent of jasmine from the gardens below. The wine was vintage, the steak cooked to perfection, and the conversation flowed effortlessly.
Damien made her laugh—a genuine, belly-deep laugh that surprised her. He told stories about their childhood, carefully editing them to make himself sound like the protective older brother who always cleaned up Ethan's messes.
"I always looked out for him," Damien said, swirling his wine glass, his eyes fixed on the red liquid. "I suppose it became a habit. Looking out for the people he loved."
Amelia's smile faded slightly, replaced by a soft melancholy. "You've done more than look out for me, Damien. You saved me. I don't know where I'd be without you."
Damien set his glass down. The sharp click against the glass table sounded like a gavel.
"Don't you?" he asked, his voice dropping to that low, intense register that always made her heart stutter.
He stood up and walked around the table, extending his hand. "Dance with me."
"Damien, there's no music," she said, confused.
"There is," he murmured. "Listen."
Faintly, from the open doors of the living room, the sound of a piano drifted out. It was a slow, melancholic classical piece.
Amelia took his hand. He pulled her up, his grip firm, and drew her body against his.
Dancing with Ethan had been bouncy, clumsy, and full of giggles. Dancing with Damien was like being caught in a current. He moved with powerful grace, leading her effortlessly. His hand on her waist was hot, his fingers splayed wide as if claiming the territory.
They swayed in the moonlight, the city lights shimmering below them like a sea of diamonds.
"Amelia," he whispered against her hair.
"Yes?"
"I tried to fight it," he confessed. The words were ragged, as if they were being torn from his throat.
Amelia pulled back slightly to look at him. His face was a mask of tormented desire.
"Fight what?" she breathed.
"This," he said. "Us. The way I feel when I look at you. The way I hate leaving you every night. The way I want to burn the world down just to see you smile."
Amelia's heart slammed against her ribs. Panic and thrill warred inside her. "Damien… we can't. It's… it's Ethan. You're his brother."
"Ethan is gone!" Damien's voice rose, sharp and sudden. He grabbed her face in his hands, forcing her to look at him. "He is gone, Amelia. He is dust. We are here. We are alive. Do you think he would want you to mourn forever? Do you think he would want you to wither away in that house alone?"
"No," she whispered, tears pricking her eyes. "But—"
"I can give you the world," Damien interrupted, his thumb stroking her cheekbone, wiping away a tear before it could fall. "I can protect you. I can love you in a way he never could. He was a boy, Amelia. I am a man. And I have wanted you since the moment I saw you walk down the aisle two years ago."
The confession hit her like a physical blow. He had wanted her then?
Before she could process it, he kissed her.
It wasn't a tentative first kiss. It was a claiming. His mouth crushed hers, demanding and hungry. One hand tangled in her hair, tilting her head back, while the other arm wrapped around her waist, crushing her flush against his hard chest.
Amelia froze for a second—guilt screaming in her mind. But then, the loneliness, the grief, and the overwhelming need to be held broke the dam. She melted into him. She kissed him back, desperate to feel something other than pain.
When they finally broke apart, breathless, Damien rested his forehead against hers.
"Marry me," he said.
Amelia gasped. "Damien… it's been three months."
"I don't care about time," he growled. "I care about you. I want you here, in this house. In my bed. By my side. I want to erase the sadness from your eyes."
He pulled back, his dark eyes burning with intensity.
"Say yes, Amelia. Let me take care of you. Let me be your shield."
Amelia looked at the cold, empty mansion behind him. Then she looked at the man who promised to fill it (the mansion) and her with life.
She was tired of being the grieving widow. She wanted to be the cherished wife.
"Yes," she whispered.
Damien smiled. It was a smile of absolute victory.
"Good," he murmured, pulling her back into his arms. "You're mine now."
Amelia closed her eyes, thinking it was a promise of love. She didn't hear the sound of the cage door clicking shut.