Revenge amnesia upgraded to his brother novel Chapter 52

**The Goodbye That Never Reached You and My Life Chasing 52**

**Norah’s POV**

Lucien’s hand lingered in the air for a fleeting moment, suspended between us like a fragile thread, before it fell to his side with a heavy finality.

A dull, persistent ache settled deep in my chest, a weight I longed to shake off, but I forced myself to ignore it. This was the path I had chosen, the only one that mattered. My work was my sanctuary, and the future of everyone in this studio depended on my unwavering focus.

I immersed myself in the final stretch of our project, pouring every ounce of energy into it. The studio lights flickered on and off in a relentless rhythm over the next few days, illuminating my tireless efforts. Lucien didn’t return, but Damian seemed to have taken up residence, his presence a constant reminder of my complicated emotions.

One morning, he arrived with a steaming bowl of French onion soup, the rich aroma wafting through the air like a warm embrace. The next day, he presented me with fresh strawberries, claiming they were from a picturesque country estate, their vibrant red hue almost too perfect to be real.

“Norah, you have to eat,” he insisted, his eager eyes filled with concern. “Your favorites—lobster bisque, truffle scrambled eggs. You need to take care of yourself.”

I could feel my team glancing over, their expressions a mix of curiosity and concern, but I knew I had to tread carefully.

“Thank you, Damian,” I replied, trying to sound polite yet firm. “But you really don’t need to come every day.”

“I want to,” he declared, wheeling himself closer, his determination palpable. “I don’t remember anything else. Being near you is the only thing that feels right. Please, don’t send me away. I’ll be quiet. I’ll just watch you work.”

His earnestness made it impossible to refuse without feeling like a monster. So, I took a slow breath, trying to bury my irritation beneath layers of professional decorum.

Use him, I reminded myself. I needed to keep his guard down; I needed him to be open and vulnerable.

“Fine,” I finally relented. “You can wait in the lounge. But don’t disturb anyone.”

“Okay!” His smile was so bright, so genuine, that it almost felt real.

He started appearing with the precision of a clock, bringing elaborate meals and settling quietly in the corner, his eyes unwaveringly fixed on me. I made sure he noticed the hurt that lingered in my heart, the pain Lucien had inflicted upon me.

“Norah, you look exhausted. Did you even sleep at all?” Damian asked one day, rolling his chair toward me, concern etched across his features.

I set down my sketch, rubbing my temples in a futile attempt to ease the tension. “It’s nothing,” I replied, dismissing my own turmoil.

“Is it because of Lucien?”

I remained silent, taking a sip of water instead. My silence spoke volumes, confirming all his fears.

“I knew it!” he exclaimed, his voice rising with urgency. “Norah, stop letting him hurt you. He’s a liar! There’s always another woman. Remember Katarina? He chose her over you!”

I lifted my gaze, allowing him to see the conflict and pain I pretended to feel. “I don’t know what to believe anymore, Damian.”

“Believe me!” He grasped my hand tightly, his eyes pleading. “Only me. I’ll prove my love is real.”

It was a trap I had set, and now I was caught in it. Inside, I felt cold and calculating, but on the outside, I maintained an expression of fragility and uncertainty.

On another day, he brought afternoon tea, and as I reached for the cup, my wrist wobbled, causing the hot tea to splash across his cast.

“Damian! I’m so sorry! Are you hurt?” I exclaimed, panic rising in my chest.

“I’m fine,” he replied quickly, but I caught the flicker of fear in his eyes as his “injured” leg jerked away instinctively, just for a brief moment.

I didn’t return his smile. Instead, I stared at him, allowing his joy to fade under the weight of my silence.

“What’s wrong?” he asked, concern knitting his brow.

“Nothing. He said you’re healing well,” I replied, my voice devoid of warmth.

“Then why do you look so sad?”

I lowered my gaze, allowing tears to form, blurring my vision. “I’m just tired, Damian.” When I finally looked up, I let the tears spill over. “Lucien broke my trust. The studio is hanging by a thread. Every day, I fear it will all collapse. I don’t know who to believe anymore.”

“Norah,” he said, squeezing my hand tightly, grounding me in this moment. “You can believe me. I’ll prove it.”

“How?” I whispered, my voice trembling with uncertainty. “Words are cheap. You hurt me once before.”

“That wasn’t me,” he insisted quickly, desperation creeping into his tone. “I would never hurt you now.”

“Then prove it. Show me you’re different. Show me you’d give up everything for me.”

He looked deep into my eyes, and for a fleeting moment, something shifted within him. “Alright, Norah. I’ll prove it. I’ll give you everything. You’ll see—choosing me will be the best decision you ever make.”

I lowered my head, concealing the cold, thin smile that threatened to betray me.

The fish had bitten.