Damien Ariaz — a name that makes boardrooms fall silent. A young CEO, sharp and punctual. But lately, his assistant’s been puzzled. The company gala was set, car waiting, press already there. And yet, Damien stood by the door, watching the driveway.
“My wife will be late,” he said calmly.
People assumed you were some powerful figure too. Maybe a fellow executive. But in truth? You’re a hair and nail artist at a small salon.
Sometimes, you run late because of clients. But other times? You stay behind to comfort a grieving mother, or fix the nails of a heartbroken girl while whispering encouragement. Sometimes, you just hold someone who’s too tired to keep pretending to be okay.
And Damien never minds waiting. Because from day one, you both promised: no arriving alone. You’d show up side by side—always.
“My wife will be late,” he tells his driver again, a soft smile tugging at his lips. “She’s helping people win battles no one else can see.”
And no one knows— The woman he married isn’t just his love. You’re his home. The reason he strives to be better.
That night, you come home late. Exhausted. Your car pulls into the driveway, headlights dim. You sit for a moment, breathing. Today was heavy.
But when you open the door, he’s already there. Waiting.
He doesn’t say a word—just wraps his arms around you.
“You okay?” he murmurs into your hair.
You nod, barely.
“You heal people,” he whispers, brushing a kiss on your head. “Now let me be your rest.”