Chapter 14 A BADASS LIAR.
\~~~SERENA.
I watched as my mother ushered Damien into the living room, her movements were careful, and measured, yet somehow warm. I tilted my head, curious about the sudden softness in her demeanor.
Oh, my mother. She was always like a mother hen. Overprotective, hovering, and making sure no one ever hurt me. At times, it was suffocating, and overwhelming. But I knew it came from a place of love… and perhaps the tragic death of my father had amplified it all.
Damien settled on the couch with that calm, calculated air of his. He didn’t fidget, didn’t comment, and simply observed as my mother exited the space, likely to fetch something. I let my gaze fall on him, curious how he handled my family.
“Are you good?” I asked quietly, unsure why I needed to know.
He turned his dark eyes on me, unguarded for a fraction of a second, and said, “You said she was not nice.”
I parted my lips, caught off guard. “I didn’t say she wasn’t nice. I meant…” I trailed off, exhaling slowly. “I wasn’t expecting this either.”
For a moment, we sat in silence, the quiet almost heavy. And then my mother returned with a tray in her hands, carrying a simple breakfast. She set it down carefully on the table, like it was a peace offering.
“While the food gets ready, have this first,” she said, pouring fresh orange juice into two glass cups.
She handed one to Damien first, then to me. I caught his hand brushing mine as he took it. Intentional or not, I didn’t care. His eyes met mine briefly, a flicker of something unreadable in the depth of his gaze, before he set the glass down beside him.
“Thank you,” he said simply, his voice even, and calm, but there was that underlying weight in it, the kind that made people listen.
My mother hummed softly in response before she settled on the couch across from us, folding her hands neatly on her lap. Her eyes moved between the two of us, sharp, and observant, like she was quietly piecing a puzzle together.
For a while, none of us spoke. The silence wasn’t awkward, just heavy. The kind that sat in the room and waited.
Then my mother cleared her throat.
“When I saw the news yesterday,” she began slowly, “I… I didn’t know what to do or say.” She paused, then turned fully to Damien. “But I looked you up.”
My stomach tightened.
“I won’t lie to you,” she continued. “There are many things that bother me, and I want to be honest.” Her gaze softened briefly when she glanced at me. “My child is a young girl. Why have you taken an interest in her when you could have had anybody else? Someone within your age range and your social status?”
I swallowed.
“And how long have you been together?” she asked.
I pressed my lips together, my heart pounding loudly in my chest. I knew Damien and I knew how blunt he could be. How precise and dangerously honest.
God, if this man decided to speak the full truth, my poor mother would collapse right here on this couch.
Before he could answer, I leaned forward quickly.
“Mum, we-”
“Serena and I have been together for a year,” Damien cut in calmly.
I froze.
I turned slowly to look at him, my brows knitting together in disbelief.
A year?
Oh.
So he could lie, too.
Impressive.
He didn’t even glance at me as he spoke. His posture remained relaxed, one arm resting on the couch, his voice steady and convincing.
“I didn’t plan it,” he continued. “It wasn’t something I went looking for. It just… happened.”
My mother studied him closely, her sharp eyes searching his face like she was looking for cracks, hesitation, or deceit.
“And in that one year,” she asked quietly, “you decided marriage was the right step?”
“Yes,” he replied without missing a beat. “I have known Serena for four years.”
Well, that wasn’t entirely a lie.
“And I knew I wanted her from the first time I saw her.”
My heart skipped, and I hated that it did.
She leaned back slightly, considering his words. “Men like you,” she said slowly, “have many options. Power, influence, and women chasing after your name.”
Damien’s gaze flickered to me briefly before returning to her. “None of them is Serena.”
The room went quiet again.
I stared at my hands, my fingers twisting together, heat crawling up my neck. My mother’s expression softened just a little, but she wasn’t done.
“And my daughter,” she said carefully, “what does she mean to you?”
For the first time since the conversation started, Damien turned fully to look at me. His eyes were dark, intense, and unreadable.
“She means responsibility,” he said. “Commitment. And respect.”
Not love, not affection.
But somehow, it sounded heavier than both.
My mother leaned forward, her fingers clasped together. “So,” she said slowly, “what if I refuse to agree to your union?”
The room went completely still.
Damien straightened in his seat, his shoulders squaring, and I stole a quick glance at him. His expression didn’t change, but I felt the shift in the air immediately. He wasn’t offended or angry.
He looked resolute.
“I would come to your doorstep every morning,” he said calmly, his voice steady and unwavering. “I would stand there and convince you that I am a good match for your daughter. For as long as it takes. Months. Years. Decades, if necessary. I will wait.”
My breath caught.
That was… a stretch.
I knew it, he knew it.
We both knew it.
Damien was not the kind of man who waited decades for permission. He was not the kind who pleaded or lingered. If he wanted something, he took it cleanly, and decisively.
This wedding would happen in two weeks whether my mother agreed or not.
But the thing was… he said it with such conviction that even I almost believed him.
My mother studied his face again, long and hard, like she was searching for arrogance or mockery. She found none but cold, firm patience.
“You speak like a man who is very certain,” she said quietly.
“I am,” he replied.
Her gaze shifted to me. “And you, Serena?”
I swallowed.
My throat felt tight as I nodded slowly. “I am certain too, Mum.”
It wasn’t entirely a lie.
It wasn’t entirely the truth either.
She stood up suddenly. “I should check on the food.”
As she walked away, I turned to Damien, lowering my voice. “Jesus, you are a badass liar. A year?” I whispered.
His lips curved slightly, not quite a smile. “Long enough to be believable.”
I stared at him, torn between disbelief and reluctant admiration.