The place that had started it all.
Shower. Hair. Makeup. I ticked through the steps one by one.
My phone buzzed as soon as it hit the counter.
Damien: Start getting ready. I'm going to be running a little late. The dick from Singapore is involving legal now.
"Ew," I said, grimacing as I typed back my reply.
Me: Okay, I'm going to take a nice hot, soapy bath.
Damien's response was quick.
Damien: How hot?
I smiled, unraveling my hair from my bun.
Me: Wouldn't you like to know.
Damien: Don't distract me. I'm on a conference call with twelve men I can barely understand. I need every ounce of focus.
Me: You were the one who asked.
Damien: Touché.
I set the phone down on the counter and stripped.
The bath was indulgent.
The water was almost too hot, steam curling toward the ceiling, muscles loosening one by one as I sank deeper. I'd added the vanilla Epsom salt Damien kept stocked beneath the sink—another one of his quiet gestures, ones I'd stopped questioning and started simply accepting.
I closed my eyes and let my mind drift.
A year ago, I would have spent a bath like this cataloging failures. Replaying every awkward moment from the day. Bracing for whatever disaster waited around the corner.
Now, the only thing waiting there was dinner with the man I loved.
Funny how everything could change and still feel like coming home.
My fingers were pruned by the time I pulled myself from the water.
I took my time with my hair, curling each strand in little spirals.
The curls cooperated for once—framing my face without frizzing. I pinned one side back with a simple gold clip and left the rest loose.
A look I knew he loved.
We'd been on his terrace, another of his planned dates. My hair blowing in the evening breeze.
I love seeing you like this, he'd said.
I caught my reflection's eye in the mirror and smiled.
A year ago, I would have bristled at that thought. Would have told myself I was compromising, bending, losing pieces of myself to fit someone else's preferences. Now I understood the difference.
I wasn't changing for him. I was letting him see me—the version of myself that existed when I dropped my walls. The softness beneath the steel. The woman who wanted to be beautiful for someone—not for validation, but because his appreciation made her feel cherished.
There was power in that.
