She Gave Her Blood to a Dying Stranger and Three Weeks Later He Returned With a Ring

Ava had refused to sit idle as a decorative trophy. She reorganized the estate’s bloated domestic budget, discovered three contractors who were overcharging Damian by hundreds of thousands of dollars, and personally supervised the medical staff caring for Damian’s recovery.

Under her watchful eye, Damian’s wound finally healed properly. The silver-tipped cane was retired to a umbrella stand in the foyer.

One rainy evening, Damian returned late from a meeting downtown. He walked into the estate’s private kitchen, expecting it to be dark and empty.

Instead, he found Ava sitting at the marble island, wearing a pair of comfortable grey sweatpants and an oversized sweater, nursing a mug of tea. On the counter sat a box of cheap, store-bought chocolate chip cookies.

Damian stopped in the doorway, taking off his wet suit jacket.

“You’re up late,” he said softly.

“I couldn't sleep,” Ava said, looking up with a small smile. “And your kitchen staff bakes incredible food, but sometimes I just want a cookie that comes out of a plastic tray.”

Damian walked over, sat on the stool beside her, and unbuttoned his collar. Without asking, he reached into the tray and took a cookie, taking a bite.

Ava watched him in disbelief. “The great Damian Vale eats five-dollar grocery store cookies?”

“I grew up in a three-room apartment in Bridgeport, Ava,” Damian said, chewing thoughtfully. “My father didn't build Vale Enterprises until I was sixteen. I know what cheap cookies taste like.”

Ava blinked, fascinated. “You never talk about your past.”

“Because people prefer the myth,” Damian said, turning his head to look at her. “They prefer to think I was born in a marble cradle with a heart made of ice. It makes them fear me more.”

“Is your heart made of ice, Damian?” Ava asked softly, her voice dropping into an intimate whisper.

Damian looked at her—at her dark, honest eyes, her soft lips, and the genuine warmth she brought into a house that had been cold for a decade.

“It was,” Damian murmured, reaching out his hand to touch a stray lock of hair behind her ear. His fingers brushed against her skin, causing a shiver to run down her spine. “Before a stubborn waitress walked into an emergency room and poured her blood into my veins.”

Ava’s breath hitched. The space between them shrank, filled with an undeniable, electric tension that had been building for weeks. Damian leaned in slowly, his eyes dropping to her lips.

Suddenly, a sharp, deafening crash shattered the silence.

The kitchen’s floor-to-ceiling glass windows exploded inward in a shower of deadly shards.

Red laser sights danced across the walls.

Before Ava could even scream, Damian reacted with terrifying speed. He tackled her off the stool, covering her body with his own as they hit the hardwood floor just as a hail of silenced gunfire ripped through the kitchen counters, shattering plates and marble slabs above them.

“Marcus!” Damian roared into his collar mic, keeping his body pinned over Ava, taking the force of falling glass on his back. “Breach at the rear patio! Code Red!”

Alarms began to wail throughout the estate—a piercing, mechanical shriek that echoed off the high ceilings.

Ava clung to Damian’s shoulders, her heart pounding violently against her chest as the smell of gunpowder and ozone filled the air.

“Are you hit?!” Ava cried out, checking his face.

“I’m fine,” Damian hissed through gritted teeth, pulling a concealed firearm from a holster beneath his arm. “Stay low. Don't leave my side!”

Outside, heavy gunfire erupted as Marcus and the estate’s tactical security team engaged the intruders. The lights in the kitchen flickered and died, plunging the room into darkness lit only by the strobing red emergency lights.

Damian helped Ava to her feet, keeping her behind him as he pushed open the heavy oak door leading to the panic room hidden behind the library.

“In here! Move!” Damian ordered.

As Ava scrambled into the reinforced room, she turned back and saw Damian standing in the doorway, holding his weapon, his gray eyes burning with a terrifying, predatory rage.

“Damian, come inside!” she screamed.