Chapter 4

The award-winning photo on display captured a harrowing scene.

In the middle of the rubble, facing the barrel of an enemy rifle, a girl as thin as a skeleton raised her hands like a toy gun. She was smiling, looking like she was just playing a game with friends.

Camille sneered. "You stood right next to that kid, saw the danger she was in, and did nothing. You just stood there taking your sweet time, snapping photos.

"How could you call yourself a war correspondent? You went looking for cheap shock value just to win a prize. For all we know, you bought those pictures.

"Anyone can spend a few years hiding out abroad and claim they were on the front lines. Who's going to check?"

Because she spoke with such conviction, the guests looked back and forth between the photograph and me, their expressions shifting.

As his face hardened, Damian turned on me and barked, "Evelyn, I can't believe how cunning you are! You played me for a fool."

He scanned the venue, gesturing toward the management and the reporters waiting for the interview.

Letting out a sharp laugh, he continued, "You probably hired these actors yourself, wanting a big production to show off your achievements, make me look like the bad guy, and force me into regretting my choices.

"God knows where you actually spent those four years or who you were sleeping with while claiming to look for me."

The hotel manager cleared his throat, nervously wiping his brow. "Sir—"

Cutting him off entirely, Damian looked down his nose at me.

"I'll tell you what, Evelyn. If you can learn to accept Camille, respect her, and mind your own business when it comes to the two of us, I'll still marry you, so stop throwing a tantrum," he said, his tone dripping with condescension.

"But if you keep threatening me and putting on these little shows, you can forget about it. I won't marry you."

I watched him tear into me in front of the entire crowd.

All of a sudden, I realized Damian looked like a stranger.

I remembered the day we met on a train, back when my period had ruined the sleeper sheets, and the conductor was standing in the aisle, screaming at me.

Just as the tears started falling, Damian had stepped in to block him.

He had just enlisted back then, his six-foot-one frame carrying immense authority in his uniform.

"The manual doesn't say anything about passenger fines, cleaning fees, or verbal abuse during a medical emergency," he had said, staring the man down. "Apologize to the lady right now."

Back then, he felt like a knight in shining armor who was there to spare me the humiliation. He was a far cry from the man standing in front of me now.

Taking a slow breath, I looked Damian dead in the eye.

"Maybe I never actually found you," I whispered.

Damian frowned. "What are you talking about?"

I broke into a sudden smile. "Damian, I think you actually died out there on the battlefield four years ago. The man standing in front of me right now is just a ghost wearing your skin."

His expression darkened as he closed the distance between us, his eyes narrowing when the diamond ring on my finger caught the light again.

Frustrated by the reminder, Damian snapped, "I told you to put on the ring I bought you! Why are you clinging to some cheap ring you bought just to play pretend?"

"Who said she bought it herself?" a cold, commanding voice echoed from the entrance.

A man strode into the venue and stepped up behind me, his hand resting firmly on my shoulder. "Why shouldn't my wife wear our wedding ring?"

I reached up and squeezed his hand. Our matching bands caught the light and flashed in unison.

The moment the guests recognized him, their expressions shifted as they rose to their feet.

Damian's eyes widened in utter disbelief. "It's you!"