Chapter 174
Damon's POV
I came home in the evening and shoved the manor door open hard enough to make the windows rattle.
My jaw was locked tight, fists still clenched from my father's favoritism today. The foyer reeked of expensive wood polish and old money—scents that used to mean power. Now they just made me want to break something.
I froze mid-step.
Upstairs, my mother's voice cut through the silence like a blade.
"You gave the lead project straight to him?" Her tone was sharp, fragile with disbelief. "Damon goes to the company to help you, and you hand the most important deal directly to Caleb?"
My chest tightened.
My father's voice was calm and measured. Almost cold. "The work has priorities, Isabella. Damon couldn't handle that project."
"He's your son—"
"He acts like a child." My father's voice dropped, deadly calm. "That temper of his? He goes to the office and creates problems for me. He can't even control his own emotions. What use is he in a boardroom?"
The words hit like physical blows.
I stood at the bottom of the stairs, pulse pounding in my ears.
I took the stairs two at a time.
The bedroom door flew open.
They both turned, their conversation cutting off abruptly. Something flickered across my mother's face—surprise, maybe concern—but my father just looked annoyed.
"Why does Caleb get the technical director position while I have to start from the bottom?" My voice came out sharper than intended, anger bleeding through every syllable. "You want me to work for the family? Fine. But you're making me start at the very bottom while he sits in a senior office?"
My father straightened, his expression hard. "Because he earned it."
"Bullshit."
"Watch your language." His authority pressed down like a weight, making me want to lower my head. I forced myself to hold his gaze. "You think you deserve that position? Tell me—do you have project experience?"
I opened my mouth. Closed it.
"Commercial cases? Client references?"
Silence.
"Leadership experience? Team management?"
"I can learn—"
"Caleb came back from overseas with all of that." His tone was clinical, ruthless. Each word a knife. "A proven team. International contacts. Contracts already signed. And you—what do you bring besides your last name?"
My face burned.
"So that's it?" I forced the words out. "He's just... better?"
"He's competent." My father turned away, dismissive. "If you want to work at Vance Industries, you'll start from the ground up. You'll go through training. You'll pass evaluations. You'll prove you're more than just the maker of that club fiasco."
My mother reached out. "Marcus, he's trying—"
"He's embarrassing us." My father's voice was flat. Final. "I don't have time for this."
He walked out.
I stood there, fists trembling, staring at the empty doorway. My chest felt like it was caving in.
Then I turned and slammed my own door hard enough to crack the frame.
---
Elena's POV
I woke to warmth—solid, steady warmth pressed against my back.
I turned carefully in his arms, not wanting to wake him but needing to see his face.
I reached up, barely touching, and traced the line of his jaw. His skin was warm under my fingertips. Real. He was real.
His eyes opened slowly. We just looked at each other. Then the corner of his mouth lifted—not quite a smile, but close enough to make my heart skip.
"Morning," I whispered.
"Morning." His voice was rough with sleep, deeper than usual. His arm tightened around my waist, pulling me closer. "You're still here."
It wasn't a question, but I heard the uncertainty underneath. As if he'd expected to wake up alone. As if he thought last night might have been another dream that would dissolve in daylight.
"I'm still here," I confirmed, pressing my palm flat against his chest. His heartbeat was steady beneath my hand. "I'm not going anywhere."
He leaned forward and pressed his forehead to mine.
"Good," he murmured.
We stayed like that for a while, wrapped up in each other, neither of us wanting to break the spell. But eventually, reality intruded. Caleb had work. The world outside this room was still turning, still making demands.
He kissed my forehead, then my closed eyelids, then the tip of my nose.
Then he was pulling away, sliding out of bed. I watched him move around the room, gathering clothes, and tried not to feel the loss of his warmth too keenly.
Later I found him in the kitchen, already dressed in one of his dark suits. He looked every inch the powerful executive—polished, controlled, untouchable. But when he glanced up and saw me standing in the doorway, something in his expression shifted.
"Coffee?" he asked.
"Please."
He poured two cups, and we stood at the counter together. The silence between us wasn't uncomfortable, but it felt weighted somehow. Like we were both aware that something had changed last night, and we were still figuring out what that meant.
I took a sip of my coffee, then set the cup down. "Caleb."
He looked at me, waiting.
"About what you said last night. About Damon." I took a breath. "If he tells you anything else—anything at all—about things I supposedly said or did, I need you to talk to me first. Don't just... believe him."
His jaw tightened slightly. "I shouldn't have doubted you."
"You had reason to," I said quietly. "I haven't exactly been consistent. But I'm trying to be better. I'm trying to be someone you can trust."
He set his own cup down and turned to face me fully. "You are someone I can trust."
"Even after everything?"
"Especially after everything." He reached out, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear. "You're here. You chose to be here. That matters."
I caught his hand before he could pull away, holding it against my cheek. "You know, I mean it. About us. About wanting to do this right."
"I know." His thumb stroked across my skin. "But we're both learning. Neither of us had good examples growing up."
That was putting it mildly. My parents' cold, transactional marriage. His childhood of isolation and cruelty. We were two people trying to build something healthy out of broken pieces.
"We'll figure it out," I said, trying to sound more confident than I felt.
"We will." He leaned down, pressing a kiss to my temple. "But it means talking. Even when it's hard. Even when you're scared I'll react badly."
I nodded against his hand. "I'll try."
"That's all I'm asking."