Chapter 159
Marcus's POV
The house was silent when I returned from the office that evening.
I set my briefcase down in the entryway and loosened my tie, listening. No sound from the kitchen. No television murmuring in the living room. Just the faint tick of the grandfather clock in the hall.
Isabella was upstairs.
I took the stairs slowly, feeling the weight of the day pressing down on my shoulders. The board meeting had been brutal—questions about Damon's behavior, whispers about the "incident" at the engagement party, thinly veiled concerns about the family's stability.
I'd deflected, of course. Smoothed it over with carefully chosen words and reassurances.
But the damage was done.
When I reached the second floor, I paused outside Damon's door.
Damon has refused all food and water for three days.
I stood there, staring at the dark wood, my hand hovering near the handle.
Then I turned and walked to my own study.
Isabella was sitting on the sofa on one side, still fully dressed, her hands folded in her lap. Her eyes were red and swollen, a crumpled tissue clutched between her fingers.
She looked up when I entered.
"He's going to make himself seriously ill," she said quietly.
I shrugged off my jacket and draped it over the back of a chair. "Then he'll learn a valuable lesson about consequences."
"Marcus—"
"No." I turned to face her. "Don't ask me to coddle him. He humiliated this family. Whatever he's going through now, he brought it on himself."
"He's heartbroken." Her voice cracked. "He's—"
"He's stubborn." I loosened my cufflinks, one by one. "And dramatic. This whole performance—refusing to eat, locking himself in his room—it's manipulation, Isabella. Can't you see that?"
She stood abruptly, her hands balling into fists at her sides. "He's not performing. He's suffering."
"Because he made a selfish choice."
"Because we forced him into an impossible situation!" Her voice rose, sharp and unsteady. "We told him to bond with a girl he didn't love, and when he finally tried to choose for himself, we punished him for it."
I stared at her, my jaw tight.
"What do you want me to do?" I asked coldly. "Go beg Elena to take him back?"
"I want you to help our son." Tears spilled down her cheeks. "Let him see Elena."
I looked away, my chest tight.
"If you won't help him," she said softly, "then I will."
I turned back sharply. "What does that mean?"
She lifted her chin, her eyes hardening. "I'll call Scarlett."
The name hit me like a slap.
"Absolutely not."
"If she can convince him to eat, to stop this—this self-destruction—then I'll do whatever it takes," Isabella said.
"That woman is a leech." My voice dropped to a growl. "She latched onto Damon because she saw an opportunity. You think she cares about him? She cares about his family. His money."
She shook her head, her expression crumbling. "I'm calling her. Tonight. If you won't—"
"You will do no such thing." I stepped toward her, my voice low and dangerous. "Do you understand me, Isabella? That woman will not set foot in this house. She will not—"
"Then I don't want to live either."
The words were so soft, I almost didn't hear them.
I froze.
Isabella stood there, trembling, her arms wrapped around herself. "If you're going to let him destroy himself out of pride, then what's the point? What's the point of any of this?"
The room fell into a suffocating silence.
I stared at my wife, and for the first time in thirty years, I had no idea what to say.
---
The door burst open.
We both spun around.
Damon stood in the doorway, swaying slightly, one hand braced against the frame. He looked—God, he looked like he'd aged ten years in three days. His face was gaunt, his eyes sunken and shadowed, his clothes hanging loose on his frame.
"Mom—" His voice cracked. He tried again. "Dad."
Isabella gasped and started toward him, but he held up a shaking hand.
---
Damon's POV
I lay in bed, staring at the ceiling, feeling the weight of twenty-something years of smooth sailing crashing down all at once.
Elena's engaged to Caleb.
The thought still didn't make sense. It twisted in my gut like broken glass.
I'd tried everything. Refused to eat. Refused to leave my room. Refused to acknowledge anyone who knocked on the door.
I thought—stupidly thought—that if I held out long enough, someone would fix it. Dad would intervene. Mom would talk sense into Elena's family. Grandpa would cancel the whole thing.
But nothing changed.
The world kept turning, and I was stuck here, powerless.
When did this happen?
I used to walk into a room and people would turn to look. I used to matter. Now I felt like furniture—something people stepped around on their way to more important things.
And the worst part?
I knew exactly when it all started.
Scarlett.
From the moment I started seeing her, everything shifted. Elena began pulling away. My parents stopped listening to me. Even Grandpa's disappointment deepened.
It all traced back to that one choice.
I have to fix this.
I sat up slowly, my body protesting. My hands felt weak, trembling.
Fine. I'll fix it. I'll take control again.
But first, I had to do something I almost never did.
Apologize to Dad.
---
The study smelled like woodsmoke and old leather.
Dad sat in his high-backed chair. Mom sat on the sofa, arms crossed, her expression unreadable.
Neither of them looked at me when I walked in.
"Mom," I cleared my throat. "Dad."
Mom moved to help me, but I refused. Dad didn't move. Didn't even acknowledge he'd heard me speak.
I forced myself to take another step forward. My fingers curled into fists at my sides—not out of anger, just to keep them from shaking.
I wasn't used to this. Wasn't used to coming to him like this, hat in hand.
"I'm sorry," I said carefully. "I—I know I—I messed up. I know I did. I just—please. Please just let me see her. Let me talk to Elena. Please."
"Do you have any idea how much damage you've caused? The board is questioning my judgment. Our partners are whispering. Your grandfather—" He stopped, jaw tight. "Your grandfather had to be sedated because of you."
Guilt twisted in my chest.
I swallowed hard. "I'm sorry. But I really need to talk to Elena—"
Dad stood, his presence flooding the room. "If you want to see her, three conditions. Non-negotiable."
I went still.