Chapter 5 – Damien's POV: The Woman Who Changed My Voice

People often ask me when I became ruthless.

I don't know.

Perhaps it happened so slowly that I never noticed.

One difficult year became another.

One betrayal became ten.

Every success demanded another sacrifice.

By the time I inherited Ashford Group, people no longer spoke to me because they liked me.

They spoke because they were afraid.

That fear made everything efficient.

Meetings ended on time.

Mistakes disappeared.

Competitors stayed away.

I convinced myself that was enough.

Then I met Evelyn Hawthorne.

And somehow...

My voice forgot how to be cold.

The first time I saw her, she wasn't looking at me.

She was watching rabbits in the garden.

The afternoon sun fell across her face, making the loose strands of her hair glow.

She looked peaceful.

Fragile, perhaps—but not in the way people described her.

She wasn't porcelain.

She was someone who had spent years protecting herself from a world that often felt painfully loud.

When she finally looked at me...

I expected fear.

People usually feared me.

Instead, she simply looked... curious.

The word "hello" left my mouth before I could think.

Softly.

Gently.

I remember wondering whether someone else had spoken.

That couldn't have been my voice.

After I left the estate that day, I sat in my car for nearly ten minutes.

My assistant eventually knocked on the window.

"Sir?"

"...Did you hear me earlier?"

"Hear what?"

"My voice."

He looked confused.

"It sounded... different."

Different.

That was an understatement.

It sounded like I had spent my entire life learning how not to frighten a single person.

I dismissed the thought.

It was a coincidence.

Nothing more.

The next day she asked me to sit beside her.

I did.

The day after that she asked me to read to her.

I did.

Then she wanted tea.

A blanket.

Another story.

A walk through the garden.

Without realizing it...

I never questioned any of it.

Not once.

At headquarters, if someone asked me to change my schedule, they received three questions explaining why.

With Evelyn...

There were none.

She would simply say,

"Damien."

"Yes?"

"Come here."

And before my mind had even processed the words...

My feet were already moving toward her.

One evening, my assistant finally asked the question everyone had been thinking.

"Sir..."

"What?"

"...Why do you always do whatever Miss Hawthorne asks?"

I opened my mouth to answer.

Nothing came out.

Because I genuinely didn't know.

I had never made the decision.

There had been no internal debate.

No reluctant compromise.

She asked.

I wanted to.

That was all.

It felt as natural as breathing.

She has a particular expression whenever she's about to ask for something.

She presses her lips together.

Tilts her head ever so slightly.

Then looks at me with those impossibly clear eyes.

"Damien."

Every single time she says my name...

It sounds as though she's saying,

I know you'll come.

The frightening thing is...

She's right.

She has also started scolding me.

The first time it happened, I arrived twenty minutes later than usual because a board meeting had overrun.

She folded her arms.

"You were late."

"I was."

"You said four."

"I know."

"...Don't do that again."

I apologized.

I actually apologized.

When I told my assistant later, he stared at me as though I had announced the moon had fallen from the sky.

"You... apologized?"

"I did."

"For being twenty minutes late?"

"Yes."

He looked genuinely concerned.

"Sir... are you feeling well?"

Probably not.

Because all I could think while she was scolding me...

...was how unbearably adorable she looked trying to be stern.

Her brows knitted together.

Her cheeks puffed ever so slightly.

She looked less like someone delivering a lecture...

And more like someone trying very hard to protect our little routine.

I had to resist smiling.

If I smiled too much, she'd know I found it cute.

And then she'd become shy.

Sometimes she orders me around without even realizing she's doing it.

"Sit."

So I sit.

"Read."

I read.

"Stay."

I stay.

My assistant once whispered,

"Sir... she has you completely under her thumb."

I almost corrected him.

No.

She doesn't.

Because that would suggest she was controlling me.

She isn't.

The truth is much simpler.

There is nowhere else I would rather be.

She trusts me with things she doesn't trust anyone else with.

If a room becomes overwhelming, she looks for me.

If she feels frightened, she reaches for my hand.

If she bumps her arm and it hurts, she searches the room until she finds me.

Then she asks, in the smallest voice,

"Can you help?"

Every single time, I wish I could do more than I can.

I cannot erase her pain.

I cannot rewrite her past.

But I can stay beside her.

And somehow...

She always smiles as though that alone is enough.

There was one afternoon that I knew denial had become impossible.

She had fallen asleep on the sofa after reading.

Her rabbit plush rested against her shoulder.

A strand of hair had fallen across her face.

Without thinking, I brushed it behind her ear.

She sighed softly in her sleep and leaned a little closer.

As though she already knew it was me.

I stayed there for over an hour.

Not reading.

Not working.

Simply watching her breathe.

It should have felt like wasted time.

Instead...

It felt like the most valuable hour of my life.

That was when I finally admitted the truth.

Not to anyone else.

Only to myself.

I was hopelessly in love with Evelyn.

There was no dramatic realization.

No lightning strike.

Just a quiet certainty settling into my heart.

People think love is loud.

Mine isn't.

Mine is remembering which tea helps her relax.

Mine is carrying a first-aid pouch because I know small bumps can hurt her more than most people realize.

Mine is walking more slowly because she likes to stop and look at flowers.

Mine is making sure she never has to wonder whether I'll keep my promises.

And mine is discovering that the coldest man in the city has a voice reserved for exactly one person.

Sometimes, when she looks up at me with mock seriousness and says,

"Damien."

"Yes?"

"You forgot my bookmark."

I have to look away for a second.

Not because I'm annoyed.

Because she's too cute.

She tries so hard to look stern.

Her cheeks become slightly rounder.

Her eyes stay impossibly gentle despite the scolding.

All I want to do is smile, lightly cup her face, and place a gentle kiss on her forehead while telling her she's adorable.

Instead, I simply say,

"My mistake."

"I'll get it."

She nods with complete satisfaction.

"Good."

Then, just as I stand to leave, she quietly catches the sleeve of my jacket.

"...Thank you."

Those two words undo me every single time.

The world still knows me as Damien Ashford.

The ruthless CEO.

The man who never bends.

Perhaps they're right.

Because there is only one person in this world before whom I willingly soften.

And every day, I find myself hoping she will call my name one more time.

Just so I can answer,

"I'm here."

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