Chapter 15 - The Crimson Dawn
The glass flute slipped from Damian’s fingers, shattering against the stone
pavers of the terrace, completely forgotten.
He dropped to his knees before her.
Damian Cross—the billionaire developer, the ruler of Boston’s waterfront, the
man who had brought syndicates to their knees—knelt on the stone floor of his
penthouse, wrapped his arms around Claire’s waist, and buried his face against
her stomach.
Claire felt the violent tremors wracking his broad shoulders. She felt the hot,
silent tears soaking through the fabric of her silk blouse.
Her own tears fell freely, her fingers sinking into the dark waves of his hair,
holding him against her with all the fierce, protective tenderness of a woman
who had fought through hell to give this man his soul back.
“Damian,” she whispered, stroking his head gently.
Damian lifted his face. His dark eyes were wet with tears, his throat working as
he tried to swallow down the overwhelming tidal wave of emotion crashing through
his chest.
“My father...” Damian choked out, his voice thick and hoarse, “my father told me
our blood was cursed. He told me the Cross name only brought death, ruin, and
graves.”
Claire dropped to her knees beside him, cupping his scarred, beloved face in
both of her hands, forcing him to look straight into her eyes.
“Your father was a broken, bitter man, Damian,” Claire said, her voice ringing
with absolute certainty. “Our child will never know that darkness. Our child
will grow up in the light you built with your own hands. You aren’t your father.
You are the man who saved my sister, the man who built a hospital for this city,
and the man who loves me.”
Damian reached up, his large, calloused hands covering hers against his cheeks.
He leaned forward and kissed her, a deep, reverent, desperate kiss that tasted
of salt, joy, and the sweet dawn of a brand-new life.
“I love you, Claire,” he whispered against her lips, speaking the words aloud
for the very first time. “With every beat of my heart, with every breath in my
lungs, until the day they put me in the ground. I love you.”
“I love you, Damian,” she smiled through her tears, resting her forehead against
his. “More than life itself.”
Damian stood, sweeping Claire up into his arms, lifting her against his chest as
if she weighed nothing at all. He carried her inside the warm, luxurious
sanctuary of the penthouse, kicking the terrace doors shut against the cool
spring breeze.
Across the room, draped across the back of the white linen sofa, lay a garment
bag from the boutique on Newbury Street.
Inside was the crimson silk gown Claire had worn on the night everything
changed. She had taken it to a master conservator, had the bullet tears and
bloodstains meticulously restored, and kept it as a reminder of the night she
stopped living like an apology.
Damian looked from the crimson dress to the woman in his arms, his dark eyes
blazing with an endless, infinite devotion.
“Two years,” Damian murmured, carrying her toward the grand staircase. “I wasted
two years pretending I didn't see you downstairs in those scrubs.”
Claire rested her head against the crook of his neck, breathing in the scent of
cedarwood, ocean air, and home.
“You didn’t waste them, Damian,” she whispered softly, her fingers tracing the
scar beneath his ear that she had once stitched in the dead of night. “You were
just waiting for me to wear red.”
Damian smiled, the darkest shadows of his past finally burning away into the
golden light of the future they had won together.
May you like
Outside the floor-to-ceiling glass windows, the sun dipped beneath the horizon,
and the lights of Boston Harbor flared to life—no longer a city of ghosts,
mobsters, and shadows, but a city crowned in light, watching over the king and
queen who had conquered it with blood, honor, and an unbreakable love.
The End
