Do You Still Love Me When We Meet Again? (Aubrey and Damon) novel Chapter 50

Chapter 50

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No one in this world could ever refuse happiness.

Aubrey was no different. From the moment she started dating Damon in college, she was convinced he was the man she was meant to spend the rest of her life with.

Even now, she still wanted to marry him.

But that dream felt utterly out of reach.

A dull ache bloomed in her chest. Her hands slowly rose, looping around his waist as Damon straightened his posture, gazing down at her dark head.

Aubrey pressed her face against his warm, firm chest, holding him incredibly tight. She listened to the strong, powerful beat of his heart, and her voice, oft and yielding, whispered, “I’m not a player.”

Damon cupped the back of her head, lowering his head to kiss the soft crown of her hair, where a faint, clean scent lingered. “Will you marry me?”

We still have four months, don’t we? Just give me a little more time.”

Okay,” Damon murmured, tightening his arms around her as if he could meld her into his very being.

Aubrey buried her face deeper in his chest, closing her eyes and inhaling his unique, crisp scent. A warmth seeped into her bones, settling deep.

God, how she missed sleeping in his arms.

That warmth, that completeness, the feeling of being surrounded by his searing heat.

She opened her mouth, but the words caught in her throat, her yearning heart unable to overcome the shame that sealed her lips.

Morality and propriety held her captive, allowing her only to dream, never to speak, never to act.

The hug lingered.

Damon slowly eased her back, his hands resting on her shoulders. “Tired?”

Aubrey was indeed tired, but she quickly shook her head, terrified he’d send her away to rest. “Not tired.”

‘Brenda mentioned you’re on annual leave. Is that true?”

Aubrey nodded, a wave of guilt washing over her.

Damon frowned. “It’s still a month until Christmas. You’re taking your annual leave already?”

‘I haven’t really taken any time off in years. All my projects were done, so I decided to take a longer break and really rest.”

That’s good. Make sure you get plenty of rest, and put some meat on those bones.” Damon’s gaze burned into her, his large hand stroking her shoulder before slowly sliding down her slender arm. His voice was laced with a tenderness that bordered on concern. “You’re too thin, now.”

Back in college, at five feet five inches tall, she’d weighed over 120 pounds, her figure soft with a touch of youthful baby fat.

But after their breakup, she’d been utterly devastated, losing her appetite, crying herself almost to a breakdown. In a mere few months, her weight had plummeted to seventy–seven pounds, leading to multiple hospitalizations for depression and malnutrition.

The unwavering belief that she could clear her father’s name, combined with a faint hope of winning Damon back, had been the only thing sustaining her until this very moment.

Now, her weight had thankfully climbed back up to just under a hundred pounds. She wasn’t thin anymore; she felt it was just right.

She was quite content with her figure now, but if Damon was saying she was too thin, there had to be a reason behind it.

She couldn’t help but glance down at her own body.

She hadn’t shrunk that much, had she? She still felt quite… rounded.

Damon watched her glance down at her chest and chuckled. He cupped her face in his hands, tilting her head up to meet his gaze. “What are you looking at? I just meant you look a little worn out, and being too thin can weaken your immune system. I wasn’t commenting on your figure.”

“Am I too flat?” Aubrey frowned, clearly displeased.

Damon took a deep breath, his Adam’s apple bobbing. His voice came out husky. “That’s not what I meant.”

“Then what did you mean?”

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Your body type doesn’t matter to me, Aubrey, as long as you’re healthy.” Damon cleared his throat, his deep voice a little husky. “Besides, it’s been five years since I’ve seen you, and I wasn’t trying to make a comparison.”

A faint blush warmed Aubrey’s ears. She pressed her lips together, her eyes locking with his intense gaze. After a beat, she gathered her courage and whispered shyly. “Do you want to see?”

“You little troublemaker, find it funny to tease me?” Damon chuckled, ruffling her hair and tangling the strands

Aubrey quickly dodged his hand, stepping back, her cheeks puffed out as she glared at him, a simmer of anger bubbling inside her

Had Damon really become so oblivious?

What was wrong with him? Was he intentionally oblivious, or had he turned into a monk overnight?

“It’s late. Go shower and get some rest,” Damon said, walking past her and leaving her with a gentle “Good night.”

Aubrey turned, watching his back as he entered his room and closed the door.

She was utterly bewildered.

Was something physically wrong with him? Or had he turned into a monk overnight?

Or perhaps he still thought she had cheated, couldn’t get past that hang–up, and didn’t want to touch her?

Before they were even officially together, the guy had already pinned her against the wall in the stairwell for a scorching kiss the first time they met. And then, during a typhoon, when she’d sought shelter at his place, simply walking past him a few times in a skirt had been enough for him to pin her against the wall again, making her acutely aware of his impulsive reaction, and asking if she wanted it.

Were all those actions just to mess with her, and not because he genuinely wanted her?

Now that they were living together, he was being too much of a gentleman.

And a direct invitation still didn’t sway him?

Aubrey let out a heavy, exasperated breath, dragging her legs, which felt strangely hollow and defeated. She picked up her bag and retreated to her

room.

In the other room.

The moment Damon closed the door, he was already stripping, heading straight for the bathroom.

He stepped into the bathroom, shedding his clothes and standing naked under the showerhead.

In Crestview City, winter was brutally damp and cold, but he felt like he was burning alive, so he cranked the cold water on.

The icy spray hit his short hair, sliding down, penetrating his skin, the biting cold drenching his entire body, yet it couldn’t extinguish the fire raging

within him.

This winter, living with Aubrey, he’d lost count of how many times he’d resorted to a cold shower to suppress this restless inferno.

His hands braced against the wall, he bowed his head, his hazed eyes staring at his lower abdomen.

t was cold, agonizing, but the inferno within him refused to be quelled.

Later that night, both Aubrey and Marcus lay in their own rooms, tossing and turning, sleep a distant stranger.

Adults had their own ways of coping, of finding a release. They relied on memories, conjured up vivid fantasies of the present.

But this only offered a temporary release from the physical torment.

Afterward, only emptiness remained.

A profound hollowness permeated both heart and body, as if they’d plummeted into a vast, empty abyss. A torrent of longing surged through them, lesperate for a deeper, more substantial fulfillment.

The longing in their hearts only intensified, a desperate, unspoken plea.

Saturday morning.

Aubrey boarded a high–speed train, heading to the neighboring city.

forty minutes later, she arrived as planned at the coffee shop they were supposed to meet at, and settled in to wait.

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Anxious and uneasy, she repeatedly checked the watch on her wrist, ensuring it was recording video and audio. She also confirmed the voice recorder in her backpack was functioning properly.

Everything was set; all she had to do now was wait for Marcus Stone to appear.

About ten minutes later, a gruff–looking man in his fifties appeared. He was wearing a black jacket, carrying a construction hard hat, and hurried into the coffee shop.

Aubrey stood up and waved to him.

The man walked over, a smile on his face. He pulled out a chair, exhaled a puff of cold air, and sat down. “Are you the accountant from my old

construction site?”

Aubrey remained silent, her gaze fixed on him.

Marcus set his hard hat down. His eyes met hers, and then his brow furrowed. She looked familiar. “Are you here to deliver some compensation

“Marcus, you really don’t remember me?” Aubrey’s voice was frigid as she asked.

He leaned back in his chair, studying her for a moment. “You look familiar, but it’s not clicking. You’re not the accountant from the hell are you?”

Aubrey’s cold gaze sharpened instantly. She slammed her hand down on the table.

my

old

company. Who

A loud bang made Marcus flinch, jerking him bolt upright. His breath hitched.

It stemmed from the formidable gravitas of her years as a lawyer; when she turned stern and ruthless, her presence was overwhelming.

Her voice was sharp and cold, each word deliberate. “Marcus, I am Aubrey, Theodore Hayes‘ daughter. I’ve found evidence proving that back then, you and two other witnesses gave false testimony in court. You weren’t having a cookout at all. Giving false testimony in court constitutes perjury, a felony punishable by imprisonment. Do you understand that?”

A wave of panic washed over Marcus. He swallowed hard, feigning composure. “We were having a cookout at the time. Your father burst in and attacked Blake, then dropped his tools and ran. I didn’t lie.”

Aubrey scoffed. “Are you sure you were having a cookout?”

“Yes,” Marcus insisted emphatically. “I’m sure we were having a cookout.”

Aubrey raised an eyebrow, speaking slowly. “I recall you testified in court that you were playing poker.”

Marcus’s mind raced. He stared blankly at Aubrey. Even in the dead of winter, cold sweat beaded on his forehead. He nervously wiped it away, swallowing hard as he said, “Y–yes, we were… playing poker.”

“Five years have passed. When you lie about something you never actually did, it’s easy to forget the specific lies you told.” Aubrey gave a faint, confident smile. “So, you’ve forgotten whether you were hotpotting or playing poker. You’ve even forgotten telling the judge back then that you were playing mahjong.”

Marcus’s face went pale, his expression turning frantic. His hands trembled as he clenched his fists.

It was true; it was easy to forget the lies you told about things you never actually did.

Humiliation and rage flared through him. He snatched up his hard hat and snarled at her, “Are you out of your mind? The case was decided five years igo, and you’re still digging it up?”

Aubrey stood up, grabbed the coffee in front of her, and threw it in Marcus’s face. “I truly can’t turn things around,” she snarled, “but you lied and

ramed my father. Don’t you fear that karma will come for you?”

Marcus shot up, wiping the coffee from his face, then looked down at his ruined clothes. He pointed his hard hat at Aubrey’s face and roared, seething with rage, “You fucking dared to splash coffee on me? If you weren’t a woman, I’d beat the living shit out of you right now!”

Aubrey continued to provoke him. “You framed my father, and you’ll die without anyone to carry on your name!”

The curse of dying without an heir was a raw nerve for most middle–aged men in his culture, symbolizing a profound personal failure.

Marcus’s rage boiled over, and he lost all control, snarling, “So what if I lied? It doesn’t change the fact your dad’s a murderer! My brother, Liam, has been lying in that hospital for five years, practically a corpse. Your dad only got twenty–something years; he wasn’t sentenced to death! You should be on your knees thanking the judge for his leniency!”

The moment Marcus admitted his lie, tears instantly welled in Aubrey’s eyes.

It was as if she’d been pulled back from the very brink of death.

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Five years of relentless persistence, and finally, a glimmer of hope.

Marcus had confessed his lie right to her face, and she had it all recorded–video and audio.

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Henry Lewis and Madison’s affair? She’d caught that on video too. And Henry Lewis’s wife had given her solid proof of their entanglement from five

years ago.

Jackson Ford still denied everything, but it didn’t matter anymore.

She had also recently learned that the former detective who handled her father’s case years ago, Gavin–Blake’s nephew–had committed serious procedural violations, misleading and coercing suspects to repeatedly change their testimonies.

With all this evidence compiled, she was absolutely certain she could secure a retrial and have her father’s case thoroughly re–investigated and heard.

Based on her years of experience, this time, her father would undoubtedly walk out of prison a truly innocent man.

Marcus froze, spotting the tears welling in Aubrey’s eyes. For a moment, he thought he’d been too harsh, scared her into silence. He certainly didn’t need anyone accusing him, a grown man, of bullying a young woman.

He resigned himself to the bad luck, swatting at the coffee stains on his shirt, muttering curses under his breath as he spun around and stormed off.

Once Marcus was gone.

Aubrey immediately grabbed her phone and voice recorder. She played the recordings back, listening and watching them over and over, checking every detail and ensuring the evidence was flawless. With hands trembling from excitement, she saved every piece of it, then uploaded them all to the cloud, just in case, ensuring they wouldn’t be lost.

She wouldn’t dare let her guard down, not until the absolute last moment.

With everything done, a long, shaky breath finally escaped her lips. Her hands instinctively flew to her eyes, brushing away the lingering tears.

She pulled out a wet wipe and meticulously cleaned the soiled table, chair, and floor. Once everything was tidy, she grabbed her bag and left the coffee shop.

Out on the streets of Fairfield.

Aubrey tilted her head back, gazing at the brilliant blue sky dotted with a few wispy white clouds. The sun felt so warm on her skin, the breeze so gentle, and even the air was crisp, invigorating her to the core.

Five long years. Finally, the storm clouds were parting.

A wave of irrepressible joy washed over her, making her steps feel impossibly light.

It was still early, so she decided to wander through the city, soaking in the local sights and flavors.

As she passed the bustling pedestrian street, her eyes landed on a unique little stall adorned with all sorts of customized phone cases.

Most people these days don’t typically carry wallets or wear flashy jewelry, but their phone is an essential part of life, something they always have with

them.

Aubrey had long wanted to get Damon something he could always keep close.

Now, she thought a phone case would be perfect.

It was a small gift, but the sentiment behind it was huge.

She approached the vendor to ask about the time and cost for a custom phone case. She downloaded a picture of Damon’s profile on the Grid and handed it to him.

It was a photo taken from behind them as they watched fireworks.

The dazzling fireworks, combined with their silhouettes, created a truly magical atmosphere.

Aubrey explained her request. “Sir, I want a pair of couple’s phone cases. Can you crop out one person’s silhouette from this picture for each case and print it on the back?”

The vendor looked confused. “Wouldn’t a picture of both of you together look better?”