Reborn, Its Time To Save My Family And.. My Enemy!
Chapter 178: New Memories

Chapter 178: New Memories

His throat tightened. "and I want you to stop me. I want you to be the one who reminds me who I am now."

Her breath hitched. She didn’t even realize she was crying again until he leaned forward and kissed the corner of her eye.

She looked at him, long and quiet. Her fingers unclenched slightly. And for the first time in days, she didn’t feel alone in her truth.

Olivia didn’t speak for a long time. Her breathing had settled, but her chest still rose and fell with the weight of everything she’d said—everything she had finally let him carry.

Damon didn’t move either, afraid that any shift might break whatever fragile thread now held them together.

Then slowly, carefully, she lifted her hand and touched his cheek.

It was a soft touch, almost unsure. But it made his breath hitch.

"I hated you for a long time," she whispered, her fingers brushing the stubble along his jaw. "Even after coming back... I thought I would find the same cold monster again."

His eyes darkened, but he didn’t look away.

He caught her hand and pressed it to his lips, his eyes never leaving hers.

"But you helped me.. You could have chosen to marry Edward and let me die."

"I knew you were a victim too. And now you have changed into a different man. My wish to save you feels too selfish now."

"Nothing in you could ever be selfish," he said. "If not for you, I would have been the same man again and again."

Their breath mingled, their foreheads touched. A shiver ran down her spine—not from fear this time, but from the intensity in his gaze.

"Olivia," he murmured, his voice rough. "I want to touch you, but not to take. Not to silence you. Just to feel you’re still here and this is all real."

She didn’t pull away.

Her other hand slid into his hair as she leaned in, her lips brushing his in a silent answer.

And this time, when he kissed her, it wasn’t like drowning. It was like coming home.

There was no rush—only the ache of all the nights they had missed each other across lifetimes. Damon’s hands moved slowly, cradling her as if she might break, even as her body leaned into his.

He lifted her gently into his lap, her legs curling around his waist as their mouths met again and again, deeper now, more desperate. She tasted like salt and sorrow, and he kissed her like he was trying to replace every tear.

His coat slipped from his shoulders. Her hands tangled in his shirt, tugging it open, feeling the warmth of his skin beneath. The fire cast long shadows, painting them in soft golds and flickering reds.

She broke the kiss first, eyes meeting him with raw vulnerability.

"Do you still want me?" she asked, voice almost inaudible. "Even with the blood on my soul?"

"I want all of you," he said fiercely. "Past. Present. Whatever comes."

He laid her back on the bed, his lips tracing the trail of tears down her jaw, down her throat, slow and reverent.

Olivia’s breath caught. There was no hesitation in his voice, no room for doubt. His gaze burned into hers—steady, raw, unflinching. As if he wanted to kiss every scar time had left on her soul.

Her heart beat wildly. Not just from the weight of his words—but from the terrifying ache of wanting him back. Wanting him this close, even after everything. Even after death.

"Damon," she breathed, and her voice cracked under his name.

He leaned forward slowly, giving her time to stop him. She didn’t.

His lips brushed her forehead, then her temple. His breath was warm, and she realized she was trembling—not out of fear, but from how gently he was holding her, as though she was something holy.

"You don’t have to be strong right now," he whispered, kissing the corner of her mouth. "Not with me."

She closed her eyes, and the first sob broke loose—not sharp, but quiet. Like something surrendering.

He caught it with a kiss.

His lips moved with aching slowness—exploring, learning. One hand slid into her hair, the other resting lightly on her waist, grounding her. She melted into him, fingers fisting the front of his shirt, pulling him closer.

Every part of her remembered pain, betrayal, grief.

But this—this was something else.

His kiss deepened, and she let him in. Their lips moved together in rhythm, mouths warm and seeking. His nose brushed hers between kisses, his breath uneven now. He whispered her name like a prayer against her skin, as if saying it would keep her here with him.

Her fingers slid along his jaw, then down his neck, memorizing the feel of him—solid, warm, trembling just like her.

She leaned into him, letting her lips trail along the line of his throat, where his pulse beat wildly. "You smell the same," she whispered.

He froze.

"Like pine and smoke," she murmured, voice shaking. "Even when I hated you, I remembered that."

Damon’s eyes closed. "You never deserved to carry that hatred alone."

His hands moved to her waist, drawing her into his lap as he sat back on the edge of the bed. She followed willingly, straddling him, skirts pooling around her knees. Her arms circled his neck, and their foreheads pressed together again.

"I’ve dreamt of this," he said hoarsely. "But I never imagined it like this. So broken. So beautiful."

She kissed him again, slower this time. Her tongue brushed his lip, seeking entrance, and he groaned softly, tightening his hold. Their mouths molded, danced—every kiss heavier, deeper, as if trying to speak what words had failed to say.

She unfastened the first button of his shirt. Then another.

His breath hitched when her hand brushed his bare chest.

"I want to remember this version of you," she said softly, kissing the hollow of his throat. "Not the man who killed me."

He touched her cheek again, reverently. "Then let me give you new memories. Ones you’ll want to keep."

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