Darkly His: The Billionaire's Fake Fiancée

Twelve days before Christmas, she lay beside him, back against his chest, his arms around her-warm, safe, perfect. Snow fell against the window.

His heart was racing. She felt it.

"Baby, are you okay?" she whispered.

"Yeah." Too fast.

His eyes stayed on the ceiling, jaw tight.

"You vomited. Talk to me."

"I'm fine. Just a fever."

She touched his chest. He caught her hand, then let it fall.

"We should talk-" She began.

"Don't."

"I shouldn't care?"

"I have too much going on."

"About me?"

"No."

But she knew.

The silence hurt.

"Do you still love me? Like you said? " She asked.

He turned to the window, staring at the snow.

****

****

The next night, she went to his off-campus apartment. He was packing.

"You're leaving?"

"Going home for Christmas."

"You weren't going to tell me?"

"I didn't want reactions."

"I'm your girlfriend."

"You're making this hard. You always want more than I can give?"

"So you're ending it?"

"I need space. You want more than I can give."

"So you don't want a future with me?"

"I don't know. Not like this."

Her voice broke. He didn't move.

"Say it," she whispered. "Say you don't want me."

"I think it's better if we stop."

She nodded and walked out into the cold.

She blocked his number an hour later.

Life didn't wait. Her father's health worsened. Rent was overdue. Her sister panicked. There was no time, no way to reach him afterhe left, no space to cry well.

She packed and left.

The day before they moved, her father asked from his wheelchair, "Where's that campus boy? He's not been visiting."

"We're not together anymore."

"He left?" he asked gently.

She broke. "Yes.... I hate him, Dad."

He held her as she cried. "Don't lose yourself."

But she already had.

****

****

Late that night, she stood behind the kitchen door and dialed his number.

Once. Twice. Ten times. Twenty.

It went straight to voicemail. Every single time.

"Please pick up," she whispered into the phone. "Please... just tell me you didn't mean it."

Nothing.

She tried again. Again. Again.

Still nothing.

Her heart cracked slowly.

Fine, she told herself hours later. If he didn't want her anymore... she would not beg.

She blocked the number with trembling fingers. Deleted their chats. Deleted their pictures. Deleted herself from every app he could find her on.

Then she wiped her little tears with the back of her hand and lied to herself:

"There was no future for us. We needed to let go."

But the truth burned inside her like salt in a wound. She was breaking and she didn't want him to leave. She didn't want to leave either but she couldn't wait for someone like him.

****

****

He called her back weeks later.

No answer.

Again. Nothing.

He checked her socials. Gone. Blocked.

No one at the university could reach her.

Anger burned through him-at her, at himself, at every word he didn't say when she asked if they were okay.

He slammed the steering wheel once and whispered, "I'm so fucking sorry... You didn't even let me try again."

He told himself she should've waited.

But he knew the truth.

He had pushed her away first.

****

****

On Christmas Day, he returned with wrapped gifts, a letter, and rehearsed apologies. Snow covered the street as he stood at her door and knocked.

Silence.

Again. Nothing.

He turned the knob. The door opened.

The house was empty. Furniture gone. Curtains gone. Dead like she'd never existed.

He stood there holding gifts that suddenly felt foolish. A snowflake drifted in and landed on his hair. He didn't move. He just stared at the hollow space where her life had been.

He whispered her name once.

Then he closed the door gently, drove to his grandparents' home, and said nothing.

He didn't cry.

But something inside him broke.

****

****

The cold came first. His teeth chattered, hands shook, chest burned. Sweat soaked his skin despite the freezing wind. Dizziness followed. Nausea. Pain.

When his grandparents tried to help, he shouted and pushed them away, proud and terrified. His body gave out anyway. He vomited on the floor, vision blurring.

His father's voice barked through the phone, ordering him to the hospital. Damon refused-until he couldn't.

Too weak to stand, too cold to argue, he was carried outside. The wind burned into his lungs as they eased him into the car, holding him steady while his father's angry words echoed in the night.

****

****

He only heard the sirens and felt unbelievably cold.

He heard nothing at first only the strange beep that came when pain was too much for the body to understand. His head had hit the car window. Hard.

He could taste blood now.

So much blood in his mouth.

Someone was shouting, but the sound was beginning to drift away, like it was sounding from another far world.

Then his dream opened.

A soft, feminine laugh.

Snowflakes in the beautiful girl's hair.

Her mouth on his.

Sex.

Countless orgasms, the arguments, the reconciliations, her sweetness, her kindness.

Their breaths tangled.

Her body clinging to him in a warmth that made his body ache and love.

Then, the memories came too fast - the way she whispered his name when she came, the way he looked at and felt about her like she was the only safe thing he had ever held. Her tears and her worry.

They flashed like lightning. Too bright. Too close. Too cute.

He tried to grab her.

But the scenes scattered immediately.

He saw himself at her door with gifts, hand lifting to knock. Snow falling behind him. His heart pounding.

The door opened.

Empty.

An endless, dark house swallowing him whole.

"-BP dropping! He's crashing!"

The doctor's voice cut through the dream, panicked and sharp.

But he wasn't even in the hospital.

He was too far away now.

The emptiness stretched into darkness, and out of the dark came faces he knew too well.

His grandmother. His grandfather.

Then when the light came, his grandmother's bloody head was pressed back against the crushed front seat, neck twisted at a wrong, impossible angle.

Blood ran down her temple. Her eyes were open in horror, mouth agape in her final moment of prayer. Staring. Staring at him.

"No...." Damon whispered inside the dream. But he had no voice.

He fought. He tried to scream but he was paralyzed.

His body convulsed.

A seizure shook him, and the world became white.

There was a loud beeping sound.

His pale, physical body was being pushed in a shiny hospital.

"Heartbeat is unstable!"

"He's not responding."

"He's in shock."

"He's gone- he's gone! Oh my god."

"Son! Son, open your eyes! No!"

Those last words were the only ones his dream-self understood.

Dead. He was dead.

A coldness swept through him, swallowing her smile, sweet memories with his grandparents, his grandmother's bloody face, the empty house, the loud scary noises, the snow.

Then everything went black.