You wanted to disappear.
Damian told you not to read comments.
You read them anyway.
Then you hated yourself for bleeding over people who did not know you.
One evening, after a particularly cruel article suggested you had “a pattern of emotional instability,” you threw your laptop onto the couch and screamed.
Damian was in the kitchen, making coffee badly.
He looked up.
“Do you want me to destroy them legally or financially?”
Despite everything, you laughed.
It came out wet and broken.
“You can’t destroy everyone who talks badly about me.”
“I can try.”
“That’s not healthy.”
“No,” he said. “But it is satisfying.”
You smiled for the first time in days.
Then the smile faded.
“They’re making me sound crazy.”
Damian leaned against the counter.
“Powerful men have called women crazy for centuries. It’s cheaper than admitting they’re afraid of the truth.”
You looked at him.
“Are you afraid of the truth?”
His eyes darkened.
“Every day.”
