CHAPTER 4: CONFLICTED

MARIE I stood by the window of our penthouse, staring blankly at the view I had admired countless times before, but tonight, it held no beauty for me. My thoughts could have been better. I was pregnant. Damian's child was growing inside me. I hugged myself, feeling the soft cashmere of my sweater against my skin, a futile attempt to comfort myself. The shirt was Damian's. I had it in my parent's house before moving to our home with him. The shirt reminded me of Damian, the subtle scent of his cologne lingering in the clothes, and I closed my eyes as I remembered those times on the beach, how he couldn't take his eyes off me, and our wedding, the look in his eyes as he said those vows to me. "I take thee to be my lawful wedded wife to love and to hold," but it was all a lie, a facade, a ploy. "I feel stupid; how can I be so blind." The memory of how I discovered Damian's betrayal was still fresh. I had thought he was perfect—my perfect man. We were supposed to build a life, a future filled with love and happiness. But that was before I found his journal hidden away in his study. A journal filled with cold, calculated plans of revenge against my family. Each entry had shattered my image of him, leaving me with nothing but a broken heart. I turned away from the window; my reflection in the glass caught my eye—pale, drawn, and exhausted. My deep black eyes, once full of life, now seemed hollow. I ran a hand through my short black hair, the strands slipping through my fingers. How could everything have gone so wrong? I needed to leave him. I had filed for divorce the moment I could, hoping to sever the ties that bound us to escape the web of lies Damian had spun around me. But now, this pregnancy… it changed everything. How could I deny Damian the chance to know his child, even after all he had done? But how could I raise a child with a man who had used me as a pawn in his twisted game of revenge? A soft knock at the door pulled me from my thoughts. I turned, finding my father, Gregory, standing in the doorway. He looked as he always did—impeccably dressed in a tailored suit, his silver hair neatly combed back, his piercing gaze assessing me. He had aged well, though the years had added lines of wisdom and ruthlessness into his features. He embodied power and control, a man who had built an empire with his bare hands and had always been fiercely protective of me. "Marie," he said softly, stepping into the room. His voice held a note of concern that was rare for him. He was a man of few words and even fewer emotions. "You've been in here for hours. What's wrong?" I hesitated, unsure of how to begin. My father had always been there for me, but this was different. I felt like a child again, seeking comfort in a world that had suddenly become too big and terrifying. "I'm pregnant," I whispered, my voice barely audible. The words felt foreign on my tongue as if saying them out loud made them more accurate and impossible to ignore. Gregory's expression softened, but something else flickered in his eyes—perhaps regret or guilt. He walked over to me, placing a hand on my shoulder. "I see," he said quietly. "And Damian?" "I don't know what to do, Dad," I confessed, "I want to leave him. I can't stay with someone who has done what he's done. But… this baby… How can I take that away from him?" Gregory sighed deeply, his hand dropping to his side. "Marie, you know I never approved of this marriage. I warned you about Damian. I saw the signs and the way he operated. He's dangerous, and now you've seen it for yourself." I nodded, biting my lip. My father had been right all along, and I had ignored his warnings, blinded by love—or what I had thought was love. "But he's still the father of my child," I argued, feeling guilty. "Doesn't he deserve to know?" "Does he?" Gregory countered; his voice tinged with bitterness. "After everything he's done, does he deserve anything? You're carrying his child, but you must consider what's best for you and the baby. Damian… Damian will only bring you more pain." His words were harsh, but there was truth in them. Damian had already caused me so much pain, and the thought of bringing a child into this twisted mess was terrifying. I wanted to protect my baby, to give it a life free from the darkness that seemed to follow Damian wherever he went. But could I do that by keeping the pregnancy a secret? "I just don't know, Dad," I whispered, my voice breaking. "I don't know what to do." Gregory pulled me into a rare embrace, his strong arms offering me desperately needed comfort. "You'll figure it out, Marie," he said softly. "You're strong, just like your mother was. Whatever you decide, I'll support you. But remember—you don't owe Damian anything. You need to do what's best for you and your child." I nodded against his chest, feeling tears prick in my eyes. I hadn't cried since I found out about Damian's betrayal, but now, in my father's arms, The tears flowed freely, and for the first time in weeks, I allowed myself to grieve—for the love I had lost, for the future I had envisioned, and for the impossible choice I now faced. Gregory held me until my sobs subsided, and when I finally pulled away, I felt a little lighter, "Thank you, Dad," I murmured, wiping my eyes with the back of my hand. He gave me a small smile. "You don't have to thank me. Just promise me you'll take care of yourself. And remember, I'm here for you, no matter what." I nodded. My father was right—I had to think about what was best for the baby and me. Damian had already taken so much from me, and I couldn't let him take any more. But the thought of never telling him about the child, of keeping such a huge secret, felt wrong. It was a betrayal, and I wasn't sure if I could live with that. As I walked my father to the door, "Are you sure you'll be okay?" Gregory asked, pausing at the door. "I'll be fine," I replied, forcing a smile. "I just need some time to think." He nodded, though he didn't look convinced. "Remember, Marie, you don't have to do this alone. If you need anything, anything at all, call me." "I will," I promised, watching as he entered the hallway. "Goodnight, Dad." "Goodnight, Marie," he said softly, giving me one last look before turning and walking away. I closed the door behind him and leaned against it. The penthouse was quiet, I wandered back to the living room. The plush cream-colored couch looked inviting, but I knew sitting down would only make me more aware of the emptiness around me. Instead, I paced, my fingers absentmindedly tracing the soft fabric of my sweater and the hem of my jeans brushing against the hardwood floor. Images of Damian flashed through my mind—his brown eyes, how his brown hair would fall just over his forehead, and how his strong, muscular arms would wrap me when we were close. There was a time when I felt safe and cherished in his arms. Now, all I felt was confusion, betrayal, and sadness. I had read every word in that journal, over and over, trying to understand how I had missed the signs. How could the man I loved be so different from the one in those pages? The journal was like a map of his hatred, each entry detailing his plans, manipulations, and desire for revenge. It was a side of Damian I had never known that scared me. But as much as I hated him for what he had done, a part of me still remembered the good times—when we were happy, laughed together, shared our dreams, and made plans for the future. Those memories felt like a cruel joke now, a reminder of how blind I had been. But they were still a part of me, and I couldn't let them go. I stopped pacing, finally letting myself sink onto the couch.