The waiting was the hardest part.
Not because Damien didn't trust her. He did. With his life. With his daughter's life. With everything he had.
But because he didn't trust himself.
Every day she was gone, he felt himself slipping. The softness she had asked for. The patience she had demanded. The control he had promised to give her.
It was all fading.
And the monster was waking up.
---
The first week after Verona, he stayed busy.
Meetings. Deals. The kind of work that filled the hours and emptied the mind.
Marco watched him.
"You're different," Marco said.
"I'm the same."
"You're not." Marco sat across from him. "You're harder. Colder. More like the man you used to be."
"That man kept the empire running."
"That man also lost the only woman he's ever loved."
Damien looked up.
"I haven't lost her."
"She's not here."
"She will be."
"When?"
"Soon."
---
The second week, he stopped sleeping.
Not because he couldn't. Because he didn't want to.
Every time he closed his eyes, he saw her. Walking away. Through the square. Past the fountain. Toward a future that didn't include him.
He started drinking.
Not much. Just enough to take the edge off. Just enough to make the memories blur.
Marco noticed.
"You need to stop."
"I need to see her."
"That's not going to happen."
"Why not?"
"Because she asked for space. Because you promised to give it to her. Because if you break that promise, you'll lose her for good."
Damien set down his glass.
"I'm not going to lose her."
"You already have."
---
The third week, he called her.
Not because he wanted to. Because he couldn't help himself.
She answered on the third ring.
"Damien."
"Christabel."
"How are you?"
"I'm not."
"What does that mean?"
"It means I'm not okay. I'm not sleeping. I'm not eating. I'm not anything."
"Damien—"
"I miss you." His voice cracked. "I miss you so much I can't breathe."
She was quiet for a moment.
"I miss you too."
"Then come home."
"I can't."
"Why not?"
"Because I'm not ready."
"When will you be ready?"
"I don't know."
---
He closed his eyes.
Pressed the phone tighter against his ear.
"Tell me about her."
"Who?"
"Our daughter. Tell me about her."
She was quiet for a moment.
Then she began to talk.
"She's beautiful. She has your eyes. Your stubbornness. Your temper."
"She has my temper?"
"She kicked the doctor during the last checkup. Hard."
He laughed.
The sound was strange. Foreign. Like a language he'd forgotten.
"She's going to be trouble."
"She's going to be just like you."
"God help the world."
"God help anyone who tries to hurt her."
---
They talked for an hour.
About the baby. About Verona. About nothing and everything.
When the call ended, Damien felt something he hadn't felt in weeks.
Hope.
---
The fourth week, he went back to Verona.
Not to see her. To see the city.
To remember why he had built it.
The old town square was busy now. Families. Children. Laughter.
He sat on the bench beneath the largest tree.
The same bench where she had sat. Where she had told him she needed time.
"Excuse me."
He looked up.
A woman was standing in front of him. Young. Pregnant. Smiling.
"Are you Damien?"
"Yes."
"I'm Sarah. I'm a friend of Christabel's."
His heart stopped.
"Is she okay?"
"She's fine." The woman sat beside him. "She asked me to give you something."
She handed him a small box.
Wrapped in paper. Tied with a ribbon.
"What is this?"
"Open it."
---
He opened the box.
Inside was a key.
Not a house key. Not a car key.
A key to the penthouse.
"She wants you to come home," Sarah said.
"She wants me to come home?"
"She wants to come home." Sarah stood. "She's been staying with me. But she misses you. She misses the penthouse. She misses the garden."
"Then why hasn't she come back?"
"Because she's scared."
"Of what?"
"Of you." Sarah looked at him. "Not of the monster. Of the man. The one who loves her. The one who could break her heart."
"I would never—"
"You already have." Sarah walked away. "But she's willing to try again. If you are."
---
Damien sat on the bench for a long time.
The key was cold in his hand.
The city hummed around him.
She wanted to come home.
She was scared.
But she was willing to try.
That was something.
That was everything.
---
He went home that night.
The penthouse was dark. The city was bright.
He walked to the bedroom.
The bed was empty.
But on the pillow was a note.
Soon.
He smiled.
Soon.