The CEO's Rejected Wife And Secret Heir novel Chapter 126

Chapter 126: Chapter 126: Choosing Him

Aria’s POV

He pulled me against his chest, still breathing hard, but I felt the exact moment the medications began to win. His grip loosened slightly, his breathing deepened. ’Fuck,’ he mumbled, fighting it. ’The meds...’

’It’s okay,’ I whispered. ’Sleep.’

His hand found mine, lacing our fingers together as his body went heavy against me. "Aria?" Damien’s voice was drowsy—the medications kicking in.

"Yeah?"

"Thank you for not giving up on me, on us."

"Never." I squeezed him gently. "I’m never giving up on us again."

"Good." His breathing was slowing. "Because I’m keeping you forever. You and Noah both, you are my family."

"Your family," I echoed softly.

He fell asleep holding me, and I stayed there, listening to his breathing, feeling his warmth, and marveling at how much had changed.

A year ago—hell, a few months ago—I would have run. Would have assumed the worst. But not anymore.

Now I know better. I knew him better. I knew myself better.And I knew, with absolute certainty, that whatever came next—whether it was Sophia’s trial, Vivian’s revenge, Marcus’s threats, or just the everyday challenges of building a life together—we would face it as partners.

My phone buzzed one more time. "Touching. Very touching, you both played your parts perfectly. But Aria? This was just the opening act, the real show hasn’t even started yet. —V"

My blood ran cold. Vivian. I looked down at Damien, sleeping peacefully against me, and made a silent vow:

Whatever Vivian and Marcus were planning, whatever came next—I would be ready.Because I’d already lost my family once. I wasn’t losing them again.

***********

Morning light filtered through the hospital blinds, painting stripes across Damien’s sleeping face. I’d stayed all night, curled against him in the narrow bed, and somehow managed to sleep better than I had in weeks.

Maybe it was knowing I’d made the right choice. That I’d trusted my instincts instead of my fear. Or maybe it was just him—the steady rhythm of his heartbeat, the warmth of his arms, the feeling of being exactly where I belonged.

"You’re staring," Damien murmured, eyes still closed.

"You’re awake," I countered.

"It’s hard to sleep when the most beautiful woman in the world is watching me like I might disappear." He opened his eyes, and they were clear now, the fog of drugs gone. "How long have you been awake?"

"About an hour." I traced patterns on his chest through the thin hospital gown. "I called Noah earlier. Told him you were sick but getting better."

"How’d he take it?"

"He wants to visit. Bring you his stuffed T-Rex for protection." I smiled. "I told him maybe later, after the doctors say it’s okay."

"I want to see him." Damien’s voice was thick. "I need to see him. To know he’s" He stopped.

"Safe?" I finished. "He is. Richards doubled security at the penthouse. Noah thinks it’s cool that he has ’bodyguards like a superhero.’"

Damien laughed, then winced. "Still hurts to laugh."

"That’s what happens when someone drugs you with Rohypnol." I sat up carefully. "The doctor said you’ll feel off for a few days. Headaches, nausea, memory gaps around the incident."

"I don’t remember anything after Sophia handed me that drink." His jaw clenched. "One minute we’re discussing contract terms—which I now realize was complete bullshit—and the next I’m waking up here with you."

"That’s normal with rohypnol. The amnesia is part of why" I stopped, not wanting to finish that sentence.

"Part of why it’s used in assaults," Damien finished flatly. "I know. The doctor explained." He caught my hand. "Aria, I need to ask you something."

"But then we wouldn’t be us," I said softly. "And I don’t want anyone else. I want the man who sits on hardwood floors at three AM telling dinosaur stories until Noah feels safe. I want the man who remembers I hate hotel coffee and brings me the good stuff from the café six blocks away. I want the man who’s doing the hard, painful work of becoming better—not because it’s easy, but because he thinks we’re worth it."

"You are worth it," he said fiercely. "Both of you. You’re worth everything."

"Then believe me when I say you’re worth it too." I pressed my forehead to his. "We’re both worth fighting for. This—us—is worth fighting for."

"I love you," he breathed. "God, Aria, I love you so much it terrifies me."

"Good," I whispered back. "Love should be a little terrifying. It means it matters."

"Aria." He pulled me down into a kiss—soft, reverent, full of emotion. When we broke apart, he was crying openly. "I love you. God, I love you so much. And I swear, I will spend every day for the rest of my life proving I’m worthy of that love."

"You already are," I whispered. "You just have to believe it."

We stayed like that, foreheads pressed together, breathing each other in. The world outside could wait—the press, the legal battles, the enemies circling. Right now, it was just us.

A knock on the door broke the moment. Dr. Morris entered, tablet in hand. "Good morning. How are we feeling, Mr. Blackwood?"

"Better." Damien sat up slightly. "Head still hurts, but the nausea’s mostly gone."

"Good." Dr. Morris checked his vitals. "Toxicology confirmed rohypnol in therapeutic doses, which is actually fortunate. A higher dose could have caused respiratory depression. You were very lucky Ms. Monroe found you when she did."

"I know." Damien’s hand found mine again. "Can I go home today?"

"I’d like to keep you for observation another twelve hours," Dr. Morris said. "Make sure there are no complications. But barring any issues, you can be discharged this evening."

After the doctor left, Damien turned to me. "You should go home. Check on Noah, get some real rest. I know you didn’t sleep well in this bed."

"I’m not leaving you." My voice was firm.