Never Again, Damon: My Death Was Just the Start

The freezing steel of a scalpel sliced through my lower abdomen. Eight months pregnant. Drugged with an abortifacient.

My husband, Damon, had blown through a dozen red lights to get me here, his eyes bloodshot and frantic as he shoved my gurney through the ER doors. But the anesthesia failed.

Agony, raw and suffocating, tore through my nerve endings until my spine arched off the operating table in violent spasms. Only a thin hospital wall separated me from the hallway.

Through the ringing in my ears, I heard the voice of the man who supposedly loved me more than his own life.

He was talking to Graham, my biological brother. "We agreed on just the abortion!" Graham's voice bled through the drywall. "Why the hell did you have them remove her uterus too?" A scoff.

Icecold and devoid of the warmth I knew. "Letting that parasite survive to eight months was my final act of charity." Damon's tone was dead. "She owes Penelope.

Every single asset, every cent of my empire—it only belongs to the heir Penelope gives me." Penelope. The impostor who had hijacked my identity and lived my life for eighteen years.

The biting smell of antiseptic filled my lungs as my nails dug bloody crescents into my palms. My perfect marriage was a lie. Chapter 1 "That abortifacient was lethal.

With Maeve's body ruined like this, there’s zero chance she’ll ever conceive again. Asher has our full financial backing now.

His position as the sole heir is untouchable." "Have you even thought about what’s going to happen when she wakes up?

When she realizes her baby is dead and her uterus is gone?" A suffocating silence stretched across the hallway.

Then, Damon’s voice bled through the crack in the door, glacial and deliberate. "For Penelope, I have to eliminate every single threat. Besides. It’s what she owes Penelope.

They’re sisters. She gets to raise Penelope’s son as her own under my roof. What more could she possibly want?" A phantom blade twisted in my hollowedout abdomen.

Behind my tightly shut eyelids, the nightmare played on a brutal loop: my fully formed baby boy, his tiny skin bruised a sickening purplishblack, struggling for a breath he would never take before fading into nothing. "You're going to regret taking it this far, Damon," Graham warned, his voice tight. "Don't bullshit me.

I've seen the way you look at Maeve.

You feel something for her." "If it wasn't to make up for the misery of Maeve's past, Penelope would have never broken our engagement and fled to Europe.

She still refuses to come back." Damon's tone was flat, utterly devoid of the warmth I knew. "Letting Maeve carry my child this once was Penelope's ultimate sacrifice.

I owe Penelope too much. A lifetime of wealth isn't enough to repay her." "Then you should have kept chasing Penelope!" Graham snapped. The air outside the room turned to lead.

I lay paralyzed on the sterile hospital bed. Hot, silent tears burned tracks down my temples, soaking into the pillow.

I didn't dare breathe. "Why is she still out?" The door clicked open.

Footsteps approached the bed, and then I felt Damon's familiar, warm fingers brushing a damp strand of hair from my forehead. "She only had her uterus removed.

Sleeping this long won't cause permanent brain damage, will it?" The sheer nonchalance in his voice made bile rise in my throat.

He had just butchered me from the inside out, and he was asking about it like I had a routine cavity filled. A monster wearing a tailored suit. I slowly peeled my eyes open.

Instantly, his gaze softened into that sickeningly perfect, devoted mask. That face had fooled me for years. I had worshipped him, believing his love was as absolute as mine.

That was why, when the blood had pooled beneath me in a horrifying red tide, I had fought like a dying animal to keep my baby safe.

I had bitten down on my own lip until the metallic taste of copper flooded my mouth.

I had dug my fingernails so deep into my palms that they broke the skin, clinging to my last shred of maternal instinct, refusing to let the darkness drag me under. All for nothing.

The man holding my hand was the executioner. He was the one who slipped the lethal chemical into my food. He orchestrated the massive hemorrhage.

He bought off the chief surgeon at his own private medical center to finish the job. A flawless, venomous trap. The husband I adored. The fairytale marriage. A fraud.

Damon had slaughtered our unborn child with his own hands, just to clear the path for his bastard.

All so the son of the impostor—the woman who had stolen eighteen years of my privileged life—could inherit his empire without a single obstacle.

And he had the nerve to say I owed her. Violent tremors racked my body.

The sudden movement ripped through the fresh sutures across my abdomen, draining the last drop of color from my face.

But the searing pain in my severed flesh was nothing compared to the suffocating void ripping my chest wide open. Chapter 2 Damon sensed the shift in my breathing immediately.

He pulled me into a suffocatingly tight embrace, his voice dripping with gentle pity. "Maeve, our baby is gone, but I’m right here. I’m not going anywhere. Trust me.

Sometimes a loss is just making room for something better." He pressed a tender, lingering kiss to my temple. "Whatever pain you're feeling, I'm feeling it ten thousand times worse." I gripped the bedsheets until my knuckles popped.

I blinked hard, staring at the sterile ceiling, swallowing the hatred back down my throat before he could see it in my eyes. "How much?" I rasped.

Damon tilted his head down to look at me. The skin around his eyes was raw and swollen, a perfect picture of a man who had been crying for hours. "It's suffocating.

The second his heart stopped, my entire world went black. If I didn't still have you, I wouldn't have survived it." Give the man an Oscar.

No wonder I had spent all these years entirely blind to the fact that his heart belonged to Penelope.

When I first found out I was pregnant, Damon posted a dozen Instagram stories in a row, practically screaming to the whole world that he was going to be a father.

Later, when the morning sickness made it impossible for me to keep anything down, he learned how to cook just for me, standing in our designer kitchen for hours.

Who would have guessed that every perfect husband moment was just a longcon setup for his bastard?

Damon turned and walked into the living room of the ultraVIP suite to take a secure, encrypted call from Wall Street.

He left a burner phone—the one explicitly used to contact Penelope—sitting right on the leather sofa. My fingers brushed the screen. I typed in my birthday. Invalid passcode.

I typed in Penelope’s. The screen unlocked instantly.

Pages and pages of chat logs hit me like a physical blow to the chest. "Damon, what we're doing… it's so unfair to my sister." During my eight months of pregnancy, Damon was constantly jetting off on international business trips.

I could count the days he stayed by my side on one hand. I had felt sorry for him.

I swallowed the misery of my morning sickness and went to my ultrasounds alone, only texting him the good news so he wouldn't stress over me. Now I knew the truth.

Every single time he flew overseas, he was standing in a European clinic, holding Penelope's hand during her ultrasounds and delivery.

The endless scrolling revealed every sickening detail of their secret life. He hadn't missed a single milestone of her pregnancy.

Damon had postponed multimillion dollar Wall Street mergers for her. He bought a private island just so she could relax before the birth.

He even dispatched his private helicopter in the middle of the night to fly across state lines just to get her a specific glutenfree organic dessert. I scrolled higher.

I found the argument where Damon and Penelope fought over who would raise the child.

Finally, Penelope agreed to let me raise her son, demanding she stay in Europe to pursue her glamorous career without the burden of motherhood. I squeezed my eyes shut.

The memory of the day the truth about our identities came out surfaced in my mind.

Penelope had looked at me with that perfectly practiced, relieved smile. "Maeve, I would never blame you for stealing Mom and Dad back. I belong out in the world anyway.

And don't worry—I'm never going to fight you for Damon." Then she boarded a flight to Europe to play the role of the freespirited socialite.

My biological parents blamed me entirely for her departure. They barely even showed their faces at my wedding.

And Damon… Damon had murdered my baby, just to pave a golden road for hers. Everyone in this circle worshipped her. I was just a convenient placeholder.

It was time to leave them all in the dust. The remaining warmth drained from my blood. I set the burner phone back on the sofa exactly where I found it.

I picked up my own phone and dialed a number I had kept blocked for five years—the senior attorney for my overseas family trust fund.

I told him I was ready to inherit the massive commercial empire my biological grandmother had left me, and that I needed an extraction plan. "I don't trust the hospital catering, so I had my private chef prep something in the suite's kitchen.

Let's see if you can keep it down." Damon walked back into the room. He sat on the edge of the bed, bringing the silver spoon to my lips himself.

Large, heavy tears spilled over my lashes, dropping silently into the broth.

He used his thumb to wipe the moisture from my cheek, flashing me a teasing, affectionate smile. "Come on now.

Are you really crying over a bowl of soup?" I kept my eyes fixed on the blankets. I didn't make a sound. It wasn't gratitude. It was nauseating disgust.

This tender, doting care was just a performance Penelope had explicitly ordered him to put on so I would stay compliant. I was nothing but a pawn in their twisted game.

Chapter 3 Damon pulled me into his chest, his arms locking around my shoulders like a vise. "Maeve, are you thinking about the baby again?" I let a fresh wave of tears spill over my lashes, playing the part of the broken, hysterical wife.

Damon paced the edge of the bed, dragging a hand through his hair in a theatrical display of panic.

Suddenly, he stopped, his eyes lighting up as if he’d just had a stroke of genius. "I've got it. I heard Penelope recently had a baby in Europe.

Since she's always bouncing between fashion weeks and doesn't want to settle down, why don't we bring her child over? We can raise him as our own.

We'll tell our circles that he's yours.

It satisfies both our families and shuts down any highsociety gossip about your… condition." I tilted my head up, staring blankly at his perfectly sculpted face.

If I hadn’t just unlocked his burner phone, I would have fallen for the raw sincerity in his eyes.

But my exit strategy was already in motion. "That sounds perfect," I murmured, my voice hollow. "A win for everyone." Damon's face broke into a relieved, blinding smile.

He pulled me close, burying his face in my neck like a devoted husband. "I swear I'll take care of you for the rest of our lives, Maeve. Once he's older, we'll travel the world.

We can even go back and visit that neighborhood you grew up in, just like you always wanted." He kept painting this picture of a flawless future, completely unaware that his little utopia was already ash.

I was walking out. Damon wasted absolutely no time.

Within fortyeight hours, he had flown Penelope and the baby back to the States on his private jet and arranged a private dinner at my parents' estate. "I figured our parents needed to know," he said, watching my expression carefully as we walked up the driveway. "Plus, I thought you might miss them." Inside the sprawling mansion, my biological parents were crowding around Asher.

Their faces glowed with the absolute thrill of new grandparents. Penelope sat right between them on the velvet sofa, soaking up their attention like a spoiled teenager.

My mother cooed at the baby, then reached out to gently stroke Penelope's hair. "You've been through so much alone in Europe, Penelope. Don't you worry about a thing.

This boy is the absolute pride of our family." A sharp, physical sting pricked the back of my eyes. I locked my facial muscles into a polite smile and stepped into the living room.

The moment they saw me, the warmth vanished from their faces like someone had cut the power. "Why are you dragging that miserable look into my house?" my mother snapped. "Are you actively trying to ruin the mood?

Look at Penelope. She's miles more gracious than you'll ever be. I honestly don't know what's wrong with you. You couldn't even manage your own body and health properly.

Now the baby is gone, and you're an absolute scandal to this family!

In the end, Penelope is the one forced to sacrifice her socialite reputation just to clean up your catastrophic mess." My father chimed in, eyeing me with blatant contempt. "You knew Damon's family was coming tonight.

Are you dressed like a cheap neighborhood janitor just to humiliate us? You have zero concept of maintaining this family's dignity.

We never should have pulled you out of that slum in the first place.

You're the reason Penelope had to hide in Europe all these years, suffering just to avoid the gossip." I knew my biological parents despised me.

In their eyes, I was a liability who lacked the pedigree to carry the family name, while Penelope, the fake heiress, was their absolute pride and joy.

It wasn't until Penelope voluntarily fled to Paris and the Damon trust fund mandated our marriage that they finally accepted the reality—but they punished me for it every day.

At my own wedding, my father refused to walk me down the aisle, and my mother sat in the front row with a face like thunder. In the past, Damon would have stepped in to defend me.

Not tonight. His eyes were glued to Penelope, tracing her every movement with a raw, unprotected devotion.

He had entirely erased the fact that my womb was empty because he had weaponized my trust and poisoned my food. Penelope stood up and carried the baby over to me.

She shifted him in her arms, deliberately flashing the logo on his limitededition Dior onesie.

A triumphant, mocking light danced in her eyes as she flashed a sickly sweet smile. "Maeve, look at little Asher.

Isn't he just the most precious thing?" He was objectively beautiful.

The shape of his eyes was entirely Penelope, but his mouth and the strong line of his jaw were a carbon copy of Damon. My index finger hovered inches from the baby's warm cheek.

The blood roared in my ears, a violent, deafening static.

Why did this child get to breathe, swaddled in luxury and guaranteed an empire, while my baby was poisoned in the dark, suffocated before he could even take his first breath?

Chapter 4 "Asher?" "Yes," Penelope answered, her voice dripping with artificial sweetness. "It's the baptismal name Damon had his toptier Wall Street trust advisors pick out for him.

The second he was born, Damon set up a fiftymilliondollar growth fund in his name.

He wants him to have a completely smooth path to inheriting the empire." When I had been pregnant, I spent weeks tearing through baby name books, desperate to find a name that meant 'health' or 'peace.' Damon had laughed at me, calling it a pointless exercise.

He had told me a child's destiny was locked in at birth, and naming was just a placebo for anxious mothers.

Yet, he had dropped tens of millions to secure Penelope's child a flawless trust and an undisputed claim to the throne. A bitter, metallic taste flooded my mouth.

I forced my facial muscles to hold the smile. "It's a very fitting name." I looked closer at the baby. His breathing was shallow, his tiny chest hitching unnaturally.

My hand instinctively reached toward his neck.

Before my fingers even brushed his skin, Penelope let out a piercing shriek. "Maeve, what are you trying to do to my baby?!" A brutal force slammed into my shoulder.

I crashed onto the marble floor. Damon stood over me, his face twisted in fury. "What the hell were you about to do to Asher, Maeve?!

Just because you couldn't keep your own baby alive doesn't give you the right to hurt your sister's! Are you a complete psycho?" I sat paralyzed on the freezing floor.

The skin on my palms was scraped raw from the impact, burning like fire. Damon didn't spare me a single glance.

He and Penelope flanked the crying infant, their bodies angled toward each other—a perfect, flawless family unit.

My biological parents glared at me, their eyes burning with unfiltered disgust. "Don't you dare blame us for loving Penelope more, Maeve," my father spat. "Look at you.

You are absolutely pathetic compared to her. How sick and twisted do you have to be to target an infant?

You're an animal!" "Why are you still sitting on the floor?" my mother sneered. "Get out of our sight. You've completely ruined the entire evening.

Besides," she added, her voice dripping with venom, "if you hadn't been so cursed that you killed your own baby, your sister wouldn't have to sacrifice her freedom to give you hers.

You should be down on your knees thanking her!" The Damon family elders, who had just arrived and caught the tail end of the commotion, looked down at me with profound disappointment. "We didn't blame you for the miscarriage, Maeve.

Even knowing you can never conceive again, the Damon family never considered forcing a divorce. But taking your bitterness out on a newborn?

That is unacceptable." The patriarch's voice was absolute. "Penelope's child will be written into the Damon family's absolute trust fund as the primary beneficiary.

Your consent is irrelevant. Go home and reflect on your behavior." At that moment, every instinct screamed at me to stay silent and let them deal with the consequences.

But the child was innocent. "That custom diamonddusted bib," I said, my voice barely above a whisper. "The sharp edges are going to scratch his skin and trigger a severe allergic reaction." Penelope quickly unclasped the heavy, glittering fabric from the baby's neck.

The skin underneath was already broken out in angry, red hives. Her face flushed violently with embarrassment.

Damon stepped between us, his tone dismissive. "Don't take it personally, Maeve. Penelope was just being protective.

She didn't mean anything by it." "If you saw a problem, why didn't you just say it instead of lunging at him?" my mother snapped, rolling her eyes. "Are you just trying to play the victim?" They formed a solid, impenetrable wall around Penelope.

Every single one of them had drawn their weapons to defend her. The pressure behind my eyes built until my vision completely blurred. I didn't say a single word.

I turned, walked up the grand staircase, and fed the divorce papers I had drafted earlier straight into the shredder. No divorce. They didn't love me. They didn't believe me.

So be it. I was going to vanish from their atmosphere entirely. I was done with all of them.

I locked myself in the guest room and sat in the dark for hours, listening to the muffled sounds of laughter and clinking crystal downstairs until exhaustion finally dragged me under.

When I woke up, the mansion was dead silent. My stomach was cramping violently. I walked down to the kitchen to find something to eat.

The overnight maid shot me a look of pure disdain. "The kitchen is closed.

If you want something, the raw ingredients are in the basement storage." Chapter 5 As I approached the basement door, I froze.

Penelope was straddling Damon's face, her voice a breathless, cloying whine. "Damon… if Maeve finds out, she'll be devastated.

Mmm… it's too much, Damon…" Damon smirked, a predatory tilt to his mouth. "Penelope, you clearly love this. Why do you always push me away? Relax. She'll never know.

I promised I wouldn't tie you down with marriage, but you have to give me this…" Penelope tangled her fingers into his hair, arching into him. "Damon, just this once.

After this, I'll fly back to Paris and stop interrupting your marriage.

We'll step back into our roles as childhood best friends and bury this love forever, okay?" Damon didn't answer.

The wet, sickening sounds echoed up the stairwell, twisting my stomach into brutal knots. Acid surged up my throat.

I stumbled backward, bolting out the side door into the freezing night air. I ran until my lungs burned, until I was miles away from that suffocating estate.

I gasped for air, massive tears shattering against the concrete. I pulled out my phone.

The screen illuminated a notification from my bank—a blindingly long string of newly unfrozen zeros—along with a text from my lawyer confirming the private jet was on standby.

I wiped my face clean. These people were going to pay in blood for everything they did today. I sat on the curb.

A second later, Penelope's fragile, anxious voice drifted over from behind me. "Maeve, I'm so sorry about today." "Which part?" I stared straight into her shifting, guilty eyes. "For… for misunderstanding that you were trying to hurt Asher.

It's my first time being a mother. I overreacted to the threat. It wasn't personal. Besides, I promised Damon I'd let you guys raise him.

I'm never going to interfere with your marriage. From now on, Asher is your biological son." Penelope's eyes rimmed red.

She forced a tragic choke into her voice. "Don't worry, Maeve. I'm leaving for Paris right after his onemonth celebration. I'll never come back.

I'm leaving Mom, Dad, Asher, and Damon entirely in your hands." The perfect picture of a selfless martyr, exactly the same act she pulled the year she first left.

A phantom hand squeezed my ribcage. How could she hijack every ounce of love from my parents and my husband without breaking a sweat, all while playing the innocent victim?

I grabbed the collar of her designer blouse. Before a single syllable could leave my mouth, a brutal force slammed into my side. I went flying.

Sharp gravel tore into my healing surgical wounds. Whitehot agony exploded across my vision, plunging the street into pitch black. Penelope let out a practiced gasp.

She took a halfstep toward me, but Damon immediately hauled her into his chest. "If you have a problem, Maeve, take it out on me!" "Damon, no, it's not like that," Penelope stammered, clinging to his shirt. "Maeve didn't…" "I saw the whole thing.

Stop covering for her." Damon glared at me, his face an absolute thundercloud. "She hasn't had a single pure intention toward you since the day she crawled back to this family.

You killed your own child, and now you're targeting Penelope. You are absolute garbage, Maeve!" I killed my child?

I gripped the hem of my shirt and ripped it upward, exposing the raw, ugly bandages covering my mutilated abdomen. "I killed my own baby?!" The words ripped out of my throat like shattered glass. "I ate the food you cooked for me, Damon!

An hour later, I was bleeding out on the floor! How exactly did my baby die?! Why am I completely sterile now?!" Damon didn't flinch.

Not a single muscle in his face betrayed an ounce of guilt. "So I cook you dinner and suddenly I'm the villain? Who knows what garbage you shoved down your throat before that.

They took your uterus because your body was defective. And you have the nerve to interrogate me? You almost became a mother yourself.

How could you be sick enough to attack the woman who's literally giving you her child? Apologize to Penelope. Right now." I let out a dry, cracked laugh.

The sheer, blinding audacity. They butchered my baby, and I was supposed to drop to my knees in gratitude. "Thank you." I gave them a stiff, mocking bow. I turned on my heel.

I walked away. Chapter 6 When Damon walked out the door, his steps faltered for a fraction of a second. But he simply shook his head and kept going.

He probably thought I was just throwing a tantrum. He thought a few sweet words later would fix everything. A few days later, the shared birthday between Penelope and me arrived.

Damon booked out every electronic billboard in Times Square for Penelope.

He threw her an obscenely lavish yacht party, and their faces dominated the top trending spots on Twitter and Instagram all night long.

My biological parents weren't left out; they hosted a highsociety dinner for Penelope at a threeMichelinstarred restaurant in Manhattan.

I went to the corner bodega alone and bought a discounted cupcake.

When I got back, I marched into my walkin closet, packed up every single luxury item Damon had ever given me like charity, and dragged the garbage bags down to the charity donation bins in the lobby.

The next day, it seemed they finally remembered I existed. Graham sent over a bakery cake via courier, likely out of sheer guilt.

Damon didn’t even bother calling; he just had his assistant drop off a generic designer necklace. I didn't even open the boxes.

I crouched by the steel trash can in the alleyway, flicked my lighter, and set fire to my marriage certificate and every single wedding photo.

I watched the flames eat through Damon’s smiling face until there was nothing left. The wind picked up, scattering the gray ash into the gutter.

On the morning of the third day, my phone buzzed.

It was Damon. "Maeve, I'm willing to forgive you for the past," his arrogant voice filtered through the speaker. "Dress up nicely for the baby's onemonth celebration today.

I’ll have my assistant pick you up at noon." "Sure," I replied, forcing a light, breezy laugh as if the betrayal had never happened. I hung up. I didn't put on a designer gown.

Instead, I pulled out the faded, threadbare clothes I was wearing the day my biological family brought me back from the slums. I grabbed my bag and headed out.

I wasn't at the fivestar hotel. Sitting in the back of my hired black car heading to the airstrip, I opened my laptop and tapped into the hotel's security cameras.

The grand banquet was well underway, but my designated seat remained empty. On the screen, Damon’s jaw was clenched tight. His fingers aggressively tapped his champagne flute.

He clearly thought I was throwing a fit to embarrass him, furiously barking orders at his security team to track me down.

My parents’ faces were dark with displeasure. "Ridiculous!" my father spat, shaking his head. "We should have just arranged for Penelope to marry into the family.

At least she knows how to behave." Damon’s mother, sitting at the head table, merely frowned, offering zero defense for her absent daughterinlaw.

Suddenly, the banquet hall doors burst open. An assistant stumbled in, his face chalkwhite, gasping for air. "Mr. CEO!

It's terrible!" the assistant screamed. "Your wife… she jumped off the roof!" Through the camera feed, I watched the arrogance get completely wiped from Damon’s face.

His eyes widened to the size of saucers. The entire ballroom erupted into chaos as Damon and my family sprinted out to the streets below.

By the time they reached the pavement, police sirens were wailing, and paramedics were already securing the perimeter. A massive pool of crimson blood stained the concrete.

A thin, lifeless body lay perfectly still beneath a white tarp, revealing only a torn piece of a cheap gray sleeve.

My mother slapped a hand over her mouth, fake tears finally springing to her eyes. "That's… that's the outfit Maeve was wearing when we brought her home!" she shrieked.

Damon was shaking violently.

He shoved past the police barricade, pointing desperately at the tarp. "Who the hell are you?" an officer demanded, blocking his path. "I'm her husband!" Damon roared, his voice cracking with an unhinged edge. "I'm the man who loves her!" That raw, unhesitating confession hit Penelope like a physical blow.

Her face drained of all color. She bit her perfectly glossed lip and stepped forward, reaching out a delicate hand to comfort Damon.

But before her fingers could even graze his suit jacket, the trap snapped shut. In the very next second, the giant electronic billboards looming over Times Square glitched.

Simultaneously, every single guest's phone buzzed with an emergency push notification across Instagram and TikTok. A prescheduled video began broadcasting to millions