Chapter Eleven: The Question Before the Flight
The early morning light slipped softly across the room, filtering through pale curtains that swayed with the breeze. Tyler sat on the edge of the bed, her knees drawn up, Damian's oversized shirt still clinging loosely to her beautiful frame.
She looked freshly showered, but her brows were drawn together, her fingers nervously picking at the hem of the shirt.
The morning light spilled softly across the room, filtering through pale curtains that swayed with the breeze. Tyler sat on the edge of the bed, her knees drawn up, Damian's oversized shirt still clinging loosely to her frame.
She looked freshly showered, but her brows were drawn together, her fingers nervously picking at the hem.
Damian stood by the window, speaking into his phone about the flight, his voice calm, his posture relaxed but she barely heard him. Her mind was spiraling.
He ended the call and turned back to her, his smile casual. "We leave in an hour. Everything's set."
That's when she finally spoke.
Her voice was small. Hesitant.
"Are you sure it's okay?" she asked, not looking at him. "What if your family doesn't like me?"
Damian blinked, confused. "Why wouldn't they?"
"Because.," she swallowed. "People say I look like a nerd. A weirdo. I've always been awkward. Quiet. And I dress funny. I know I'm not the kind of woman someone like you usually brings home."
Her voice cracked on the last word.
"What if they think I'm, too much? Or not enough? Or both?"
She looked up at him finally, eyes wide with a hundred versions of fear. "What if they think exactly what I already think of myself?"
She was asking mirages of questions but they all meant one thing: What if I'm not worthy of this?
Damian stepped forward slowly, his expression unreadable for a moment.
Then he crouched in front of her, resting his hands gently on her knees.
"Relax," he said, voice low. "You're still recuperating. You're not supposed to be overthinking your own existence today."
She gave a small, dry laugh through her nerves.
He smiled, brushing her knuckles with his thumb.
"And," he added, "we seriously need to talk about the fact that you care way too much about what people think of you."
Her lips parted to argue, but he continued.
"As my woman," he said, deliberately slow, "you have to learn not to give a damn, okay? Not about strangers. Not about whispers. Not about anyone but yourself and maybe me if I behave."
She stared at him, stunned for a beat.
Then: "As your woman?"
He leaned in closer. "Unless you're planning on dumping me at baggage claim, yes."
She burst into soft laughter, but her eyes shimmered.
"Look," he said, standing again and taking her hands in his. "You're different, Tyler. That's what makes you unforgettable. You don't need to fit into any mold or anything. I didn't fall for some polished model in a magazine. I fell for the girl with the giant and oversized glasses and the nervous hands and the questions that never end."
She blushed furiously.
"Besides," he added, grinning, "my dad already thinks I'm allergic to women. The fact I'm bringing anyone home has already made his year."
She shook her head, smiling. "You're not serious."
"Oh, he's thrilled. Apparently he was two missed birthdays away from staging an actual intervention."
"Hmm, but what happens when he meets me and changes his mind?"
Damian stepped closer again and kissed her forehead softly.
"Then I'll remind him I'm not marrying his type, I'm marrying mine."
The words lingered between them. Soft. Real.
Tyler's heart thudded in her chest. And for a split second, Ana forgot she was pretending to be someone else.
She just couldn't believe he is already talking about marriage. She felt so heated up she might just explode, so she looked away nervously hiding her feelings.
The airport was quiet around them, the kind of quiet that comes just before the takeoff, the hum of announcements overhead, the occasional rolling suitcase, the low murmur of travelers moving in every direction.
Damian turned, eyes scanning the lounge.
And then he saw her.
Tyler was walking toward him with a small paper bag cradled in her hands, hugging it close to her chest like it was something precious. Her oversized sunglasses hid most of her face, but the way she smiled up at him when she saw him bright, soft, a little sheepish made something in his chest unclench.
Damian strode to her instantly, his voice lower than usual but edged with worry.
"Where were you?" he asked, his brows furrowed. "I was looking all over for you."
She blinked. "Oh, uh, I just went out to get this."
She held up the paper bag like a peace offering, and carefully pulled out the contents: a large bar of chocolate, wrapped in gold foil.
Damian stared at it, then back at her.
"You like stuffs like this?" he asked, a little surprised.
She nodded, smiling shyly like a child who just got caught sneaking candy.
"It's not healthy," he said gently, his tone softening. "And definitely not good for your teeth or health. But, if it makes you happy, then fine. I'll buy all the chocolates you want in the future. Just say the word."
She grinned, cheeks flushed. "Really?"
He nodded, then his voice dipped again.
"But next time, don't disappear like that, okay? We were supposed to be boarding. I thought," He paused, as if the words felt too heavy. "I thought maybe you ran off. That you couldn't go through with it. My mind went to a dozen dark places."
Her smile faltered just slightly.
"I'm sorry," she whispered.
"Don't run off again," he said, his eyes locked on hers. "If you need anything, send one of my men. I'll have them escort you. Just, don't run off like that on me again."
She nodded quickly, like an obedient little girl being scolded gently but lovingly. Then she reached out and took his hand.
And he exhaled, finally letting himself relax.
He led her through the corridor toward the private terminal, and she followed in silence like a doll trailing behind her favorite owner.
But behind the glasses, Ana's mind was racing.
Because she hadn't gone to get chocolate.
Not really.
She had in fact, few moments earlier, stepped into a quiet alley three blocks from the terminal, drawn by the latest threat text that had flashed across her burner phone.
Victor,
Victor had been waiting. Leaning against a sleek, black car, his eyes cold and impatient.
"You took your time," he said.
She said nothing. She was tired of the venom in his tone.
He held out a small black envelope. She took it, hands trembling slightly, inside was a sleek access card and a folded slip of paper.
"Everything you need to open Lopez's vault is here," Victor said flatly. "You already have access. Now you have the formula. And for your convenience, Dexter haven't forgotten Joseph Lopez's passcode. Funny what memory holds on to when revenge is involved. At this point we can both just hope and pray that he still uses the same code"
Ana's throat tightened.
She didn't want to ask, but she did.
"And my family?" He just stared.
Then finally,
"Still breathing. For now." As she turned to leave, he called after her.
"Use this opportunity judiciously, girl. You probably won't get another."
And now, here she was walking beside the man she wasn't supposed to fall for, clutching chocolate in one hand and a mission in the other.
She glanced sideways at Damian, who was busy checking boarding passes with the guard.
His touch had been warm.
His voice had held fear when he thought she'd left.
And yet, she was still lying to him.
Every second she spent beside him made the truth harder to carry.