The penthouse was quiet that night — the kind of silence that wrapped around the walls like velvet.
Outside, the city twinkled with its usual chaos — lights blinking in rhythm, voices humming from the streets far below. But here, high above it all, Liyana sat curled up on the wide window seat, arms wrapped around her knees.
She hadn't changed out of her ivory blouse. Her makeup had faded hours ago. And her phone lay forgotten on the table behind her — the screen dark, the buzzes silenced.
Damien stood at the kitchen island, watching her from a distance.
He hadn't said anything when she skipped dinner. Hadn't pressed when she'd turned off her phone and gone quiet after Mira left.
But now, as the clock neared midnight, he crossed the room and stood beside her, waiting.
"You're going to wear a hole in the glass if you stare that hard," he said softly.
Liyana didn't look up. "I didn't think I'd ever feel this tired."
He crouched down beside her. "You've been through worse."
"I have." She nodded slowly. "But this was different. This time, it felt like I was dragging everyone else through it with me."
Damien sat on the floor beside her, back resting against the glass. "You're not dragging anyone, Liyana. We walk with you because we want to."
She let out a hollow laugh. "Even when I'm being targeted? Even when I bring chaos wherever I go?"
"Especially then," he said, voice steady. "Liyana, you've always carried so much on your own. You don't have to anymore."
She was quiet for a long moment.
Then — almost reluctantly — she whispered, "I was scared."
Damien looked up at her.
"I wasn't scared of Qin," she continued. "Or the media. I was scared that all of this… all of what we're building… could fall apart. That somehow I'd ruin everything. That I'd ruin you."
Damien reached up and gently took her hand.
"You couldn't ruin me if you tried," he said. "And we're not fragile, Liyana. You and I — we've walked through hell already. This? This is just smoke. You cleared the fire long ago."
Her fingers tightened around his, trembling slightly.
"I feel like… I've been holding my breath for weeks."
"Then exhale," he murmured, pulling her down beside him.
She let herself fall — not in dramatic surrender, but in slow exhaustion — her head resting against his chest, her body finally relaxing as he wrapped both arms around her.
For a while, they sat in silence, the only sound the faint hum of the city below.
He ran a hand through her hair gently, rhythmically. "You're allowed to be tired. You're allowed to not have the answers all the time."
Liyana closed her eyes, breathing him in — that familiar scent of cologne and something uniquely Damien. "Everyone keeps saying I'm strong."
"You are."
"But I don't want to be strong tonight."
"Then don't be." He kissed the top of her head. "I'll be strong for both of us tonight."
Her throat tightened — not with sadness, but with the kind of emotion that only came when someone truly saw her. No expectations. No perfection. Just presence.
"I love you," she whispered into his chest.
"I know," he said softly. "I love you more."
Later, Damien guided her to the bedroom and tucked her in. Not as a partner, not as a lover — but simply as someone who loved her.
He didn't ask her to talk. He didn't try to solve anything.
He just lay beside her, one arm over her waist, as she drifted into sleep — the first peaceful one in days.
And as he watched her breathing even out, he made a silent vow:
Let Qin play her final games. Let the world throw its worst.
He would protect this woman — in the spotlight, in the shadows, and especially in the silence between.