The Wife He Never Meant to Love (Lila and Damon) novel Chapter 282

Chapter 282

Chapter 282

Damon’s grief doubled the moment he heard that Margaret was dead.

For a long time, he simply stood there in silence while the news echoed inside his head repeatedly.

His mother was gone.

Another death.

Another person taken from him.

Another life he failed to protect.

Yet strangely, his face remained expressionless.

No tears.

No visible reaction.

Nothing.

That frightened Mark more than anything.

The room smelled heavily of blood and gunpowder. A body lay motionless near the far corner, another victim

of Damon’s endless hunt against the organization responsible for Damian’s death.

Damon calmly wiped the blood from his hands as though cleaning ordinary dirt.

Like a machine completing another task.

Mark stared at him with growing horror.

He barely recognized the man standing before him anymore.

The Damon before Damian’s death had been ruthless when necessary, yes-but he had also been human. He laughed. He smiled around Lila. He carried Damian on his shoulders like the entire world belonged to his son.

But now?

That man no longer existed.

In his place stood someone hollow.

Cold.

A man surviving entirely on rage and guilt.

A killing machine wearing Damon’s face.

“Damon…” Mark spoke carefully. “Maybe you should go home for now. Lila needs you.”

“No.”

Damon’s answer came instantly.

Flat.

Lifeless.

“We still have important things to do.”

Mark clenched his fists tightly.

“Important things?” he repeated bitterly. “Your wife also lost Margaret her mother-in-law your mother. She finally learned the truth about Damian. And you’re here killing people like none of that matters?”

Damon walked past him silently.

“No, we’re not done yet.”

Something inside Mark snapped.

He grabbed Damon violently and slammed him against the wall.

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The impact echoed loudly through the room.

Still-

Damon did not react.

No anger.

No resistance.

He simply stared at Mark blankly, as though pain no longer reached him anymore.

And somehow that emptiness hurt worse than rage ever could.

“LET IT OUT, DAMON!” Mark shouted desperately.

His voice cracked.

“Break something! Scream if you have to! Cry if you have to!”

Damon remained silent.

Mark’s chest tightened painfully.

“My sister still needs you,” he whispered more weakly now. “Go back to her… she needs you.”

At those words, something finally broke across Damon’s face.

Not anger.

Not hatred.

Fear.

Pure, horrifying fear.

Damon’s breathing became uneven.

“I can’t.”

His voice sounded shattered.

“I can’t face her yet.”

Mark stared at him silently.

“Not now,” Damon whispered. “I’m terrified, Mark.”

For the first time in months, Damon’s mask cracked completely.

His hands trembled violently.

“I can’t look at her.”

His voice broke.

“Our son died because I failed to protect him.”

The words finally spilled out like poison leaking from an infected wound.

“I failed to stop the organization before they targeted my son. I failed to save him. I failed-”

His breathing became ragged.

“I failed.”

The guilt inside him was monstrous.

It had consumed every part of him until nothing remained except self-hatred and vengeance.

Mark looked away painfully.

Because he understood.

God, he understood too well.

A father’s grief was different.

A mother’s grief often bled outward through tears, through visible agony.

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But fathers…

Fathers often destroyed themselves silently.

They carried the unbearable belief that they were supposed to protect their families from everything.

And when they failed-

Even once-

The guilt became unbearable.

Damon blamed himself for every single detail.

If he had destroyed the organization sooner…

If he had strengthened security….

If he had noticed the threats earlier…

If he had been there…

Damian would still be alive.

That belief tortured him endlessly.

“Please,” Mark said softly now. “Go home.”

Damon shook his head weakly.

“Lila needs you,” Mark continued desperately. “Right now she has nothing holding her together. Nothing anchoring her anymore.”

Those words nearly destroyed Damon completely.

Because he knew Mark was right.

Lila was alone.

Margaret was dead.

Damian was dead.

And Damon himself had abandoned her emotionally long before physically leaving.

Still…

He could not move.

Because every time he imagined seeing Lila again, he saw Damian’s blood between them.

He remembered the hospital stairwell.

The selfish moment they shared while their son fought for his life nearby.

And worst of all-

Damon remembered being relieved in that moment.

Relieved to escape reality briefly inside Lila’s arms.

That memory poisoned him.

How could he ever face her knowing that?

How could he touch her again without remembering their son dying while they sought comfort in each other?

The guilt twisted viciously inside him.

Mark stared at Damon for a long moment before finally stepping back.

He realized then that Damon was already collapsing.

Not physically.

But mentally.

Emotionally.

Chapter 282 Spiritually.

The man standing before him was dying slowly from the inside.

And Mark feared there might soon be nothing left to save.

After several seconds, Mark quietly left the room.

Damon remained motionless on the floor.

Then the door shut.

Silence filled the room.

And finally-

A painful sob broke through the darkness.

Raw.

Agonized.

Devastating.

Outside the door, Mark froze.

He leaned his back against the wall silently while listening to Damon cry inside the room.

The sound shattered him.

Because Damon cried like a man whose soul had already been buried alongside his child.

There was no restraint in those sobs anymore.

No pride.

No composure.

Only unbearable suffering.

Mark closed his eyes tightly.

Watching Damon die day by day hurt all of them.

And yet…

How much worse must Lila’s pain be?

The couple were drowning separately in the same ocean of grief.

Both blaming themselves.

Both tortured by guilt.

Both believing they had failed Damian.

And no amount of tears could stop the torment consuming them.

Mark feared something terrible would happen soon.

He feared Damon might kill himself.

Or worse-

That Lila might.

Grief this deep changed people.

It hollowed them out until they became strangers to themselves.

Mark himself had broken down when he heard the news about Damian.

He still remembered that moment clearly.

The phone call.

The sudden silence afterward.

The horrifying realization that his nephew-the little boy who called him Uncle Mark with so much excitement

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-was gone forever.

Mark had collapsed onto the floor shaking violently.

Because he blamed himself too.

If only he had arrived earlier.

If only he had personally watched over the children.

If only he had assigned more guards.

If only he had taken the threats more seriously.

If only-

The endless torture of grief always began with those words.

If only.

Mark slammed his fist against the wall violently.

“Useless uncle,” he whispered bitterly.

Then suddenly-

He slapped himself hard across the face.

The crack echoed through the empty hallway.

But the pain brought no relief.

Nothing could.

Because guilt did not disappear through punishment.

It only grew stronger.

Mark slid slowly down the wall until he sat on the floor with his head buried in trembling hands.

He remembered Damian’s laughter vividly.

The boy loved superheroes.

Loved running through the house pretending to fight villains.

Sometimes Damian would jump onto Mark’s back demanding piggyback rides while laughing endlessly.

“Faster, Uncle Mark!”

That voice haunted him now.

Everything haunted him.

The empty chair at family dinners.

The untouched toys.

The silence where laughter once existed.

Grief had infected every corner of their lives.

Meanwhile, inside the dark room, Damon sat motionless on the bloodstained floor.

His sobs slowly weakened into exhausted breathing.

He stared blankly at his trembling hands.

These hands failed to save his son.

These hands held weapons while Damian died alone.

These hands now killed endlessly because revenge was easier than grief.

Damon no longer remembered how many men he had murdered over the past weeks.

The numbers blurred together.

Faces meant nothing anymore.

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All he saw was Damian.

Every enemy became another target for his rage.

Another sacrifice to feed the emptiness consuming him.

But no amount of blood brought relief.

Because revenge could never resurrect the dead.

And deep down, Damon knew that.

That was why he kept going.

Because stopping meant finally facing reality.

Stopping meant returning home.

Returning to Lila.

Returning to the unbearable truth that their child was gone forever.

Damon buried his face in his hands.

A broken sound escaped his throat.

“I’m sorry, son…”

The words barely came out.

“I’m sorry I failed you.”

His body shook violently again.

For fathers, grief often became shame.

The shame of helplessness.

The shame of weakness.

The shame of surviving when your child could not.

Damon hated himself for still breathing.

Every morning he woke up feeling furious that the world continued moving while Damian remained dead.

How could the sun still rise?

How could people still laugh outside?

How dare life continue when his son no longer existed?

That anger consumed him constantly.

It was easier to cling to rage than surrender to despair.

Because despair threatened to destroy him completely.

Hours later, Damon finally forced himself to stand.

His legs felt weak.

His eyes were swollen red from crying.

Yet his expression slowly hardened once more.

The cold mask returned.

He washed the blood from his hands carefully.

Then stared at his reflection in the mirror.

For a brief moment, he barely recognized himself.

The man staring back looked monstrous.

Exhausted.

Dead inside.

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Chapter 282

A stranger.

Lila would fear this version of him.

That thought hurt more than anything else.

Because despite everything-

Despite the grief, guilt, and distance-

Damon still loved her desperately.

And that made avoiding her even more painful.

Meanwhile at the hospital, Lila sat silently in the garden exactly where Simon left her.

The night air felt freezing against her skin, but she barely noticed.

Her mind replayed one sentence endlessly.

Damian is dead.

The words crushed her repeatedly no matter how many times she heard them internally.

Nearby, nurses moved quietly through the halls while distant ambulance sirens echoed faintly.

The world continued normally.

But Lila’s world had ended.

Simon watched her carefully from a distance.

He feared leaving her alone.

Because her emptiness terrified him.

People often imagined grief as loud crying and emotional breakdowns.

But sometimes the most dangerous grief was silence.

The kind where a person stopped reacting entirely.

Stopped fighting.

Stopped living emotionally.

Lila sat perfectly still beneath the dim garden lights.

Like someone waiting for death to arrive next.

Simon’s chest tightened painfully.

He suddenly understood Margaret’s fear completely.

How could anyone survive this much loss?

Damian.

Margaret.

Damon emotionally disappearing.

Lila had lost everything anchoring her to reality.

And Damon-

God.

Damon was drowning just as badly elsewhere.

The cruelest thing about grief was how isolated it made people.

Even when suffering the same loss, people often became trapped inside separate prisons of pain.

Lila needed Damon.

Damon needed Lila.

Yet both avoided each other because they blamed themselves too much to seek comfort from the other.

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And that distance only deepened their suffering.

Simon looked up toward the dark sky.

He feared this tragedy was far from over.

Because grief did not simply end after tears.

Sometimes grief transformed.

Into rage.

Into guilt.

Into self-destruction.

And sometimes-

Into death itself.

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