Chapter 70 Anger at His Threshold
I didn't sleep.
Not a single minute.
I spent the whole night pacing my apartment like a feral cat, checking my phone every five seconds even though I KNEW the message had been delivered. Delivered. Blue tick. No reply.
Damian saw my text.
Damian SAW "The pregnancy is yours," and still didn't respond.
The longer I thought about it, the more my blood boiled.
Who does he think he is? Ignoring me? Acting confused in the hospital, pretending he didn't notice the timeline? Then ghosting me after I finally told him the truth?
Unacceptable.
So yes - I was fully justified when, at exactly 8:02 a.m. on Saturday morning, I marched straight to his door and banged on it like I was owed money.
Because I was.
Emotionally.
And hormonally.
And spiritually.
The door finally swung open - and there he was. Damian Cross. Tall, rumpled from sleep, hair messy, wearing joggers and a T-shirt, looking unfairly attractive for someone who deserved to be punched in the throat.
His eyes widened the second he saw me.
"Elena?"
I didn't let him finish.
My palm met his cheek with a bright, satisfying SMACK.
His head jerks to the side.
"WHAT THE-?!" His hand flies to his cheek as he stares at me in shock. "Elena, what the hell is wrong with you?!"
Good question.
I'd love to know myself.
But I'm already grabbing his wrist.
"We need to talk," I snap, dragging him toward the inside of the apartment.
Except I don't make it two steps in.
Because a voice-sharp, poisonous, perfectly awake and alert-cuts through the air behind him.
"Where do you think you're going?"
Rachael.
Of course she's here.
She steps into view wearing one of Damian's shirts and shorts, arms folded, face twisted like she just caught me trying to steal her oxygen supply.
My stomach drops, but I hold my ground.
"I need to talk to him," I say, trying to push past Damian.
"No, you don't," she fires back without hesitation. "You absolutely do NOT."
Damian is staring between us like he has walked into the wrong movie.
"Can someone explain WHY I was just assaulted?" he snaps.
"We need to talk privately," I repeat, ignoring the heat climbing into my neck.
"Privately?" Rachael scoffs, stepping closer like a guard dog. "Oh, hell no. You think you can show up here first thing in the morning, slap my boyfriend in the face, drag him like you own him, and then start demanding privacy? Are you insane?"
"Rachael, move," I say through clenched teeth.
"Make me."
She leans in, chin lifted in challenge.
Damian rubs his cheek, glaring at me.
"I'm still waiting for the explanation for THIS," he says, pointing to the red mark forming on his face. "Because right now? I'm one second away from throwing you out."
Good. Let him be angry.
He should be.
"You ignored me," I snap.
He blinks. "What?"
"You heard me."
Rachael gives a dry laugh. "Ignored WHAT exactly?"
My jaw tightens. I'm not saying it here. Not with her listening. Absolutely not.
"Damian," I say, staring directly at him, "I need five minutes. That's all."
"No," Rachael answers for him.
I whip toward her. "I wasn't talking to you."
"And I don't care." She steps directly between me and Damian like a shield. "He's not going anywhere with you."
Damian finally throws his hands up. "Okay, enough. Both of you. What's going on?"
"You tell me," I shoot back. "Why didn't you respond to my text?"
Rachael's shoulders stiffen-barely, but I see it.
Damian frowns. "What text?"
"Don't lie." My voice cracks, embarrassing me. "You know which one."
He looks genuinely lost, and somehow that only makes me angrier.
Rachael's eyes flick to him quickly-too quickly.
Oh.
She knows.
My pulse spikes.
She saw it.
She did something.
But before I can process that, she's already talking again, stepping directly into my space.
"You don't get to come to our home," she says slowly, like I'm stupid, "and disrespect him-"
"Our?" I echo sharply.
Her smile widens. "Yes. Our."
My stomach twists.
"I need to talk to HIM," I say again, louder.
"And I said NO." Her voice rises to match mine. "You need to leave."
"Rachael, enough," Damian snaps, rubbing his temples. "Let her talk."
She spins on him. "Damian, you owe her NOTHING. She slapped you."
"She ignored me first!" I yell before I can stop myself.
Damian's head jerks toward me. "Ignored WHAT TEXT?"
Rachael steps in front of him again, blocking his view of me.
"No. We're done here. She needs to leave."
"Rachael, move," he growls.
"No."
"You're not my mother."
"No," she repeats loudly, shaking her head. "You're not going to let her manipulate you into whatever this is."
"She's not manipulating me," he snaps.
"She slapped you, Damian!"
Rachael throws her hands up.
"In what world is that normal?"
"He deserved it," I mutter.
Both of them whip their heads toward me.
"Oh, really?" Rachael takes a threatening step forward. "You think hitting him is okay?"
"I think ignoring people like they're nothing is worse," I bite out.
Damian opens his mouth-probably to ask again-but Rachael cuts him off.
"You're leaving," she says, voice hard.
"No, she's not," Damian argues.
"Yes," she says louder. "She is. Because I'm not letting her drag you into her mess when you didn't do anything wrong."
Her eyes burn into mine.
"I know exactly why you're here," she says softly-too softly. "And you're not going to ruin his life with it."
My breath catches.
She knows.
She definitely knows.
And the worst part?
Damian doesn't.
He still looks confused. Hurt. Frustrated. Angry.
He has no idea.
And she's making sure he doesn't find out.
I open my mouth, but before I can even get a syllable out, Rachael steps forward and slams her hand against the doorframe.
"Leave," she says again, ice cold. "Before I call security."
Damian doesn't stop her.
He doesn't move.
He just watches me, hand still on his cheek, eyes burning with confusion and a hint of betrayal.
The silence slices deeper than the slap ever could.
I swallow the burn rising in my throat.
Fine.
Let her win this morning.
I step back.
"Damian," I say quietly, "we're not done."
But Rachael answers instead.
"Oh, yes you are."
And with that, she slams the door in my face.