Rebirth: Love me Again
Chapter 337 - 337: Officially His, Unapologetically Me

[ESTELLE]

I woke up the next morning with a leg draped over Damien's waist and my hair an absolute bird's nest. And by bird, I mean possibly an angry crow—one that fought a war against a tornado and lost.

Beside me, Damien was already awake, leaning against the headboard, his phone in hand, his hair slightly tousled in that unfair, smoldering way that should be illegal before 9 a.m.

I squinted at him. "Are we going to talk about last night?"

He looked down at me and smiled. Not the charming, mysterious smile he gave people during company meetings or on the cover of Forbes—but something softer. Warmer. Real. "We could," he said. "But I thought we didn't want to ruin the mystery."

I groaned and flopped onto my back. "Typical. I give you my everything, and you give me cryptic banter."

He chuckled and set his phone down. "Fine. We're a couple now. Officially. You won. "

I sat up so fast I nearly dislocated my spine. "Wait, really? You mean I can now publicly claim your face and body and heart as my property?"

He laughed again—God, he was laughing more than usual lately. I took that as a win.

"Within reason," he said. "No branding my face, Estelle."

I pointed at him with mock seriousness. "No promises."

We were a couple now. A real, functioning, probably-unhealthy-but-who-cares couple. And despite the fact that I knew—deep down in my gut—that Damien still loved Kelsey, I clung to the fact that she had made it very clear: her work and career would always come first. And well, I wasn't above being the emotional rebound with a five-year plan.

I'd make him forget her. Or at the very least . . . make him think of me when he smiled.

And as for Kelsey? I'd make damn sure she stayed far away from Damien—not just for now, but forever. I wasn't just thinking about today or tomorrow. I meant our wedding day. Our future. Our family. The life we were going to build together—without her in it.

Besides, she left an opening. I just filled it—with charm, persistence, and an alarming amount of good lingerie.

Our relationship was . . . well, how do I describe it?

Imagine dating a marble statue that occasionally came to life when no one was watching. Damien was that statue. Reserved in public, polite in front of his friends and business partners, cool and calm in meetings—but in private, he was something else. Something warm, dominant, and a beast in bed. And slightly annoying in the best way.

Like the time I tried to cook for him.

Keyword: tried.

I wanted to surprise him with a romantic dinner, just like those fancy romance dramas—only I forgot one tiny detail: I can't cook to save my life.

He walked in to find me standing in the middle of the kitchen, eyes wide with panic, a blackened pan in one hand and smoke wafting from the oven like it was auditioning for a role in a disaster movie.

"Estelle," he said carefully, "is something on fire?"

"No!" I said. "Not technically."

He raised an eyebrow.

"I mean . . . yes, but I think it's just the chicken. Or the sauce. Or both. The point is, we're fine."

Damien walked over, turned off everything like he'd done it a hundred times, and just stared at me. Then, unbelievably, he laughed.

Actually laughed.

"You're a menace," he said, pulling me into a hug while I still held the smoking pan. "An adorable, chaotic menace."

"That's your way of saying you'll order takeout?" I asked hopefully.

"Already did. Pizza will be here in fifteen."

He kissed my forehead, and my heart did that stupid flip thing it kept doing whenever he touched me. I hated it. And loved it.

Now that we were official, I started noticing the little things he did.

Like how he kept a spare toothbrush for me in the bathroom.

Or how he started sleeping on "my" side of the bed whenever I wasn't there, like he missed my presence more than he was willing to say.

Or how he had a photo of the two of us in his wallet. I found it one night when he dropped it on the floor. It was tucked behind an old photo of him and Kelsey, but still. Progress.

Was I delusional? Maybe. But I also believed in slow-burn victories.

He didn't push me away. Not once. Even when I was clingy. Even when I showed up unannounced at his office with bubble tea and a questionable playlist titled "Sexy CEO Music Vol. 4."

(He hated the playlist. But he also added one of the songs to his gym playlist, so . . . )

We started doing couple things too. Movie nights. Late-night drives with no destination. Grocery shopping where we fought over cereal brands like an old married couple.

"Fruity Crunch is better," I insisted.

"You only like it because it dyes the milk pink."

"Exactly."

He rolled his eyes and threw both boxes into the cart. "We'll get both. Compromise."

Compromise. That was new. The Damien I knew before never compromised.

One night, while we were lying in bed, I looked at him and asked, "Do you ever think about her?"

The silence stretched like a rubber band about to snap. Then, quietly, he said, "Sometimes. But less and less each day."

And I nodded. Because that was enough.

For now.

I had time. We were official. I was already in his arms, in his home, in his space. All I had to do was find my way into his heart. Fully. Permanently.

And I would.

Besides, who else would put up with his six-step skincare routine and his weekly brooding sessions on the balcony with a glass of whiskey like he was auditioning for a noir film?

Only me. Obviously.

I didn't just want to be the girl he settled for—I wanted to be the one he couldn't live without.

So I gave him love. Laughter. A little chaos.

And one questionable homemade candle that smelled like "Midnight CEO" and made him sneeze for twenty minutes straight.

But he kept it on his desk.

Because in the end, I knew one thing for sure:

I might not have been his first love.

But I'd be his last.