Page 212 of My Ruthless Husband

“I’m not asking for forgiveness,” he replies. “I’m just asking for a chance to explain.”

I sniffle before looking at him. “Fine.”

Chapter Fifty-Three

After making sure he doesn’t need stiches, I dress his wound then make him tea. Mrs. Hawthorne comes out to meet Damian and within minutes makes herself scarce but not before shooting me a pleased grin.

I take his empty cup and carry it back to the kitchen. When I return, Damian is standing by the window. He turns his head, sensing my presence.

“Are you ready?” he asks and I nod solemnly.

“To understand everything clearly, I’ll have to start from the very beginning.”

Wordlessly, I take a seat on the lounge chair, silently giving him the green light.

“Anthony Sabatino.” He inhales deeply, his eyes falling shut for a moment, as if the mere mention of him is physically paining him. “My father. A brilliant mechanic. He never had the fancy degrees or the recognition that everyone thinks matters. All he had was his hands, his mind, and his obsession with machines. He’d stay up late, night after night, tinkering with engines, dreaming of building something that could changethe world. Despite facing financial hardships, his passion for automobiles and innovation never wavered.”

I don’t dare move. I don’t dare interrupt as he talks.

“That’s why our family struggled financially,” Damian says, his voice dropping as though he’s reliving the past. “But my mother… she never once complained. She supported him, his dream to innovate, even when it meant taking on work as a housekeeper to keep us afloat. She believed in him when the world didn’t.” His jaw tightens briefly, but he continues. “He faced failure after failure. Years of it. But her faith in him remained unshaken. Because of that faith, he finally succeeded.”

He pauses, his gaze distant. “He invented something extraordinary—a compact device designed to enhance the fuel efficiency and overall environmental impact of vehicles. This device could be easily integrated into existing engines, making it a cost-effective and eco-friendly solution for car owners.”

I blink in surprise. “That sounds… familiar.”

A humorless smile curves his lips, and he rips open two buttons of his shirt. “Doesn’t it?” His voice is low, bitter and cold. “He was ecstatic, for once feeling like all those years of struggle had been worth it. He had a meeting lined up with one of the biggest companies in the field. A chance to finally change our lives.”

A sinking feeling settles in my stomach.

“That was the last time I saw him,” he says, his voice rough, each word dragged out like it’s ripping something inside him. “A week later, the cops showed up. They said my father was dead.” He stops, his jaw clenching hard. “My mother… she was six months pregnant. The news shattered her. She couldn’t take it. Locked herself in the bedroom. I found her hanging from the ceiling.” He exhales harshly. “I was eight years old.”

I freeze, the air in my lungs turning to stone. My hands grip the armrests tightly, my knuckles white, my body trembling.

I want to say something, anything, but no words come. How could they? How do you respond to something so devastating? My throat burns, and tears begin falling as I stare at him, his face so calm, yet his eyes screaming with a pain I can’t fathom.

“Damian,” I finally manage. “I’m so sorry,” I sob, streaking down my cheeks as I sit there, helpless, my body trembling with his grief. I want to fix it, take it away, but I can’t. And the ache of that realization makes the tears fall even harder.

He nods, swallowing thickly. After a beat, he clears his throat. “He wasn’t just my father—he was my best friend, my mentor. I spent countless hours with him in his garage, me watching him work, handing him tools, listening to his dreams. He trusted me with everything, and I knew that device he was working on like the back of my hand. He believed it would change everything.

“After I was adopted at twelve, I started digging into the company he was supposed to meet with, something didn’t sit right. I found out they had released a product, an exact replica of my father’s invention. Same name, same design, identical in every way. What made it worse was that the launch date was just a few months after his meeting with them.”

I sit there, stunned, my heart sinking with each word.

“It wasn’t until I was older, capable of doing proper research, that I confirmed my suspicions. The company had stolen his design, his research, and marketed it under their own name. They never gave my father the credit he deserved. When I dug deeper, I found out they had replaced all of their employees shortly after my father’s meeting with them. Want to know the company’s name?” Damian’s eyes meet mine.

I can’t find the words, so I nod, pale and frozen in place.

“IDG,” he says flatly.

“IDG?” I whisper. The name slams into me like a physical blow. My throat constricts, and for a moment, the world goes completely still.

“IDG,” Damian repeats, his voice emotionless. “Innovare Dynamics Group. Your father’s company.”

“That’s not possible…” I whisper in disbelief, and I don’t even realize I’ve spoken until I hear the shaky sound of my own voice.

Damian’s gaze hardens. “I told you you wouldn’t believe me. That’s exactly why I never wanted to tell you.”

“But… but…” My mind reels, struggling to process the impossibility of it all. My father, the man who built everything from the ground up, would never... steal someone else’s idea. Conspire to hurt Damian’s father? The thought is inconceivable.

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