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His Wife, His Mistake
Chapter Three: Four Years Later
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Arya's POV
Four years.
That's how long it took to forget the sound of his voice.
To stop flinching every time a luxury car passed by.
To wake up and not feel like I owed him an explanation for breathing.
It wasn't easy. Not at first.
But life has a way of rebuilding you — slowly, painfully, then all at once.
I had arrived in a small coastal town with nothing but a suitcase, a baby growing inside me, and a heart torn in half. I didn't know a soul. I didn't have a plan. But I had a reason to survive — and that reason was now tugging on my sweater sleeve.
"Mama," said my son softly, his big sleepy eyes blinking up at me. "Are we still going to the art fair?"
I smiled and brushed back his dark curls.
"Yes, baby. Just let me finish folding these."
His name was Liam — three years old, full of questions, and far too observant for someone so small. He had Damon's hair, Damon's eyes, Damon's stubborn pout… but none of Damon's coldness.
He had only ever known warmth. I'd made sure of that.
I built a life for us. I opened a tiny art studio, where I taught classes to children and painted during quiet afternoons. It wasn't the mansion. But it was mine.
And I was proud of it.
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The day everything changed again was perfectly ordinary.
A soft breeze, a warm sun, children laughing across the fairground. I held Liam's hand tightly as we walked through rows of booths and painted crafts. He loved color. He was drawn to it — blues, golds, reds.
Just like I had been, once.
"Can we get candy, Mama?"
"You just had ice cream," I laughed.
"But candy is different," he argued, wide-eyed.
I was so focused on his adorable logic, I didn't notice the tall man who stopped walking two booths behind me.
Not until I felt it — that strange stillness, like the world had paused mid-breath.
I turned slowly.
And there he was.
Damon.
Older. Broader. Sharper. Still dressed in luxury — dark navy suit, silver watch, sunglasses pushed onto his head.
And staring directly at me.
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For a moment, neither of us moved.
People passed between us — children, vendors, strollers — but all I could see was him.
The man I had once loved so deeply it nearly killed me.
The man I had left without saying goodbye.
I saw the flicker in his eyes when he looked at me — shock, confusion… and then something else. Something sharper.
His gaze dropped to the little boy holding my hand.
Liam had turned to look, curious about the man frozen like a statue.
And Damon — Damon's expression changed.
Eyes widened.
Steps faltered.
And I knew, in that single breathless moment…
He knew.
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I didn't wait.
I bent down quickly, scooped Liam into my arms, and turned around.
"Let's go see the petting zoo," I said, forcing cheer into my voice.
"But—"
"No but," I whispered.
I felt his eyes burning into my back as I walked away. I didn't look back. I couldn't.
My heart thundered like it remembered how to be afraid.
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Later that evening, I sat in the studio long after the sun had set. Liam was napping in the back, and I was pretending to clean brushes I'd already washed twice.
I hadn't told anyone about Damon. Not my neighbors. Not the friends I'd made. I'd left that world behind — buried it under new paint and fresh starts.
I thought I'd never see him again.
I was wrong.
The bell above the studio door jingled.
I froze.
Then turned.
And there he was.
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Damon Blackwood, in my small studio with paint-stained floors and finger-painted drawings on the walls. So out of place. So achingly familiar.
He stood there, silent for a moment, eyes scanning the room, then settling on me like a blade.
"Four years," he said quietly. "You disappeared for four years."
I didn't reply.
"And you had my child."
Still, I said nothing.
His jaw clenched. "Say something."
"What do you want me to say, Damon?" I asked finally, setting down the brush. "That I'm sorry? That I had no choice? That I was scared? Because I was all of those things. But none of it changes what happened."
"You didn't tell me," he said, stepping closer. "You had no right to keep him from me."
"And you had no right to keep cheating on me while I was carrying your baby."
That stopped him.
His face shifted — shame, maybe. Guilt. But also the pride that never left him.
"I didn't know—"
"You didn't care," I interrupted softly. "You had chances. You had signs. I tried to tell you, Damon. But you were always somewhere else — with someone else."
Silence stretched between us.
Then he whispered, "What's his name?"
I looked him straight in the eye.
"Liam. His name is Liam."
A beat passed.
"Does he know about me?"
"No," I answered honestly. "He knows he has a father, but he doesn't know… you. Not yet."
His voice was rough now. "And are you going to let him?"
I stared at the man who once owned my heart, now standing in the ruins of what we used to be.
"That depends," I said slowly. "On what kind of man you've become."
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Next Chapter Tease:
Now that he knows the truth… he won't let her go so easily again. But is it too late to earn her love back?