CHAPTER 45

Lisa's POV

Damien has treated me horribly ever since I first questioned him about Helena.

Well, I never thought it was a huge thing to inquire about her, but as soon as I saw his reaction, I realized it was much more than a big deal, and my need to learn more about her grew.

I have no idea why. Damien looked like someone who could be murdered when I spoke her name, and I simply wanted to know why.

She is obviously not just any person. She seemed like one of the ex-wives he would want to bring up. I was really curious about his romantic history and the reasons for his loss of faith in romance.

I was very certain that he had believed in love and was in a relationship. Most likely her.

Helena.

Helena.

Every time Damien returns home with the same icy face and whenever he ignores me as if I am not in the same room as him, I always remember her.

I should disregard him as well. But I am unable to. I should probably begin right away. It will at least make things easier. Even though we are already in our third week, there is still a long way to go.

What will happen to our marriage if I start ignoring him?

Nothing!

Well, there isn't really a reason for this marriage. It's all about the money for me.

It will be very difficult for me to act as if everything is okay outside when it is not. It's difficult to pretend.

I wish I could resent Damien all the time for putting me in his position. I'm in a really challenging circumstance since I need money. He needs to at least make it worthwhile by treating me well like he did that evening.

Alex bought me ice cream cones the night we went on a date, and he even apologized to me for his rude conduct.

Can he stay that way forever?

He should be able to since that evening, I saw a different Damien. who was capable of love. the person who was loving and compassionate. one who showed concern.

Not this icy guy who just entered our wedding chamber like a warrior leaving for a fight.

He still has that faraway expression, and I have to admit that it bothers me since he seems to be unwell.

I sometimes see him awake, possibly in bed with his head on the headboard or the couch, looking into space whenever I get up in the middle of the night to relieve myself.

I was terrified the first time I saw him seated in that position. He seemed to be speaking into the night with a ghost since he was so pallid all over.

But after that, I figured he was either working or thinking. Despite the fact that his laptop was absent.

All my attempts to go back to sleep were unsuccessful. I remained up until he departed for work.

So how can I despise this guy for what he did? He seems to be beyond repair and broken. When everything makes sense, how can I stop being curious?

I can't control my curiosity since Damien was OK before I inquired about Helena's identity, but ever since that day, he has transformed into someone I am unfamiliar with.

I went into his old office the next day to start working since I was certain that question was the cause of all these odd actions. I looked through the majority of the volumes on the first shelf, opening each book's page to see further annotations.

note of love.

Separate notes.

Inspirational writings.

or anything. I was hoping to see anything concrete that would help me answer the problem, but I couldn't.

There is nothing left within. There are several shelves, and I have just gone through two of them.

I want to give up sometimes, but I can't. Only Damien and the pieces of paper can answer all the questions I have. I'll have to keep looking for notes that are identical to the one I observed the previous day since Damien will never be able to solve this riddle for me.

I can't ask his mother since I am not acquainted with her, and because Caroline doesn't live in New York, I don't think she would know either.

There is no one else I can turn to, so I am forced to depend only on the inanimate object—the slips of paper I could discover hidden between the pages of any book I discover on his bookcases in his old office.

Even when I give it a lot of thought, Damien appears to be desperately attempting to forget his history. His unwillingness to get married, followed by his distaste for having children, and now this?

The world is interconnected.

Both his wish to stay unmarried and his distaste for children are tied to Helena.

Did she perform an abortion in his favor? She is missing. Where is she to be found? Continually in love?

If only I could figure out the answers to all of them, I would make sure to track down Helena and ensure their reunion.

Even though Damien may never be able to love another woman, I have no doubt that if he ever genuinely loved Helena, he still does.

I recognize a voice that I haven't heard in days when I hear, "Get me my food from downstairs." I pull my head up and quickly get out of bed.

I was just talking to Damien!

He hasn't spoken to me in days. That deep, husky voice.

He attempts to take off his business attire while turning his back on me and not looking at me.

He usually goes directly to the closet after leaving work. Even if I welcome him, he won't respond, but today, because I choose not to do so, he is requesting me to get his supper from the basement.

Why is he not eating downstairs?

I immediately leave and go downstairs. I shouldn't worry about this; the main thing right now is that he talked to me, which is encouraging.

Perhaps he has at last forgiven me. He has pardoned my stupidity. I wouldn't have inquired about Helena, the girl who wrote that slip to him, had I known there was more to her tale. Then maybe none of this would have occurred.

His dinner has been prepared. Unless he doesn't feel like eating and goes to bed without supper, he usually comes downstairs to eat.

I take it from the main dish and put it on the tray. I'm hoping the dinner hasn't become cold yet because the maids have all gone to bed for the evening.

He still hasn't returned home, so even though it is late, I can't go to sleep.

I just finished eating, and I'm certain the maid microwaved it before putting me to bed two hours ago.

Around ten o'clock is when they all retire, but if Damien doesn't return before then, she serves the meal and retires to bed.

I ascend the stairs once again, moving more quickly. Obviously, he needs to eat.

Despite the fact that I know he generally drinks coffee every morning, he didn't eat anything last night. When I was his assistant, I used to brew him black coffee.

Additionally, he doesn't eat lunch. Unless he is out having lunch with a business associate.

In case he is changing, I approach the door and knock.

He repeats "Come in" loudly, and I go in with the tray. He has finished getting dressed and putting on his jammies.

Did he wash his hands? I have internal questions. Since I didn't spend much time downstairs, I'm wondering how quickly he was able to wash and change before I returned.

I reason that he may not have showered at the time.

He is seated on the couch and looking through his phone as I set the tray down on the table in front of him.

I want to tell him, "You should eat before it gets cold," but I don't want to cross the line until I've found the solutions.

I won't reveal much more than I need to about our chat now.

His voice stops me as I'm about to head back to my bed and likely watch a Netflix movie until I pass out.

"Water?"

I make a quick U-turn. Water is not present.

I quickly go to the tiny refrigerator next to the entrance of his former office without saying a word. Thankfully, there is still a bottle of water in the fridge.

I take the bottle and shut the refrigerator, making a mental note to remind the maids to replenish the refrigerator with additional bottles of water and my preferred wine.

I take up one of the glass cups from the tray that is on top of the refrigerator and pour the water into it as I open the water bottle.

I fill the glass cup, set it on top of the refrigerator, shut the water bottle, and then set both items down on a different tray before moving forward to Damien, who is already eating. Slowly.

He doesn't seem to be feeling well at all, which worries me. I'm not sure with whom to speak. I would have recommended that he see a doctor if we were still on friendly terms.

Maybe he needs a vacation from work since he is overstressing himself. That ought should do it.

Damien works diligently. He is an overachiever. When I worked as his assistant, one thing I appreciated about him was that no matter how much work we had to do, he always made me leave the office at the scheduled closing hour.

He would much prefer to remain up all night at the office than allow me to stay beyond the hour I was supposed to close.

Instead of setting the tray down on the nearby coffee table when I get close enough, he lifts his head and motions for me to approach.

He must have gestured for me since I dropped the tray and grabbed the glass cup of water instead before going up to him.

I merely say "here" when I extend it to him. He keeps staring at his phone without moving his head, but his eyes lighten.

I attempt to go closer so I can see what it was that made his eyes appear so alive out of sheer curiosity.

Is Helena there? Is it Helena's picture?

It will be a lot simpler for me to locate her if I get a sight of her.

Unfortunately, I trip over something, and as I drag myself forward into Damien's arms, water pours all over us.

Without caring about how the contents wet my body, I grasp the glass cup with both hands to prevent it from falling to the ground and shattering into small fragments.

My hand is taken by Damien. He could assume that he is stopping me from falling because I am about to hit the ground.

When I attempt to break free of his grip, he pushes me away, the coldness returning to his gaze, yet at first, he doesn't seem troubled by the wetness wetting his face as we lock eyes.

"What in the name of hell is this?" He yells as I struggle to recover my equilibrium and straighten up my twisted sleep shirt.

When I glance up, he is staring at me with a cold scowl and pointing with his index finger at the food in front of him.

You brought watery rice.

I made a loud gasp.