Chapter 58

The next morning, something felt wrong.

The kind of wrong that sits in your stomach and twists slowly, whispering something's off before you even know why.

Chloe didn't come to school.

And after everything that happened last night—the chaos, the power surge, the girl who threw Vanessa through the air—her absence wasn't just noticeable, it was alarming.

By midday, Vanessa and I were exchanging looks across the courtyard.

Neither of us had said it out loud, but I knew we were both thinking the same thing: we needed to check on Chloe.

The drive to her house was quiet. Too quiet. The wind outside hummed against the car windows as the streets blurred by in muted color. New Orleans looked deceptively peaceful today—sunlight on wet pavement, the lazy sway of moss on the old oaks—but my gut told me there was nothing peaceful about what was waiting behind Chloe's front door.

Her mother opened it before I could even knock.

Her eyes were tired, her smile soft but worn thin. "Elizabeth, Vanessa," she said with relief. "It's good to see you girls. Chloe hasn't been feeling well... I'm glad she has friends who care enough to check on her."

Something in the way she said it made my chest tighten.

We nodded politely and followed her down the hallway. The air grew cooler the closer we got to Chloe's room.

When her mother left us at the door, Vanessa glanced at me, uneasy.

I didn't blame her—Chloe's door was shut, and an unnatural chill seeped from beneath it.

I hesitated before knocking. "Chlo? It's me. And Vanessa."

For a moment, there was silence. Then, a small, broken voice: "Come in."

\---

The room was dark.

Curtains drawn tight. The air heavy and cold.

Chloe sat on the corner of her bed, knees pulled to her chest, a blanket draped loosely around her shoulders. Her skin looked pale, almost gray beneath the dim light that seeped through a crack in the curtains.

"Chloe..." I whispered, stepping closer. "You scared us."

She didn't look up. "I scare myself."

Vanessa and I exchanged a glance before I sat beside her, careful not to startle her. "You wanna tell us what's going on?"

Her lips trembled. "I hate it."

"Hate what?" I asked softly.

"This. Me." Her voice broke. "I hate what I've become."

I froze.

Vanessa's breath hitched beside me.

Chloe lifted her face then—her eyes glistened with tears that didn't fall, her expression hollow and tired. "I hate drinking human blood. I hate feeling like this... like I'm something else. Like I'm not even human anymore."

Her words fell heavy in the silence.

I felt my stomach twist. She was talking about the transformation—the one Bella forced on her. The one we all feared would happen.

Chloe shook her head violently, tears threatening again. "And I hate him the most."

My heart skipped. "Who?"

"Damon," she spat, her voice breaking. "He's making me drink human blood. He said it's the only way I'll survive. I hate him, Elizabeth. I hate that stupid smug face, his stupid family—"

"Wait," I cut in, disbelief sparking sharp in my chest. "He's making you do it?"

She nodded, looking away. "He says I need it to control myself. But it's wrong. It feels wrong."

I stood up, pulse hammering. "He what?"

Vanessa reached for me. "Liz, wait—"

But I was already moving. The anger was too quick, too hot.

"No, Vanessa. Stay with her," I snapped, trying to keep my voice from shaking. "I'll be right back."

And before either of them could stop me, I stormed out.

\---

The drive to Damon's place was a blur of adrenaline and fury.

By the time I reached his house—all gothic charm and shadowed windows—I didn't bother knocking.

I slammed the door open and called out, "Damon!"

My voice echoed through the hallway.

For a second, silence. Then a slow clap from the staircase.

He appeared at the top, wearing that infuriating smirk and a glass of bourbon in hand, as if I'd just interrupted a perfectly pleasant morning. "Well, well. To what do I owe the pleasure, sunshine?"

My fists clenched. "Don't call me that."

He raised an eyebrow, descending the stairs with lazy grace. "You sound mad. Should I be flattered or terrified?"

"You should be ashamed," I snapped. "Chloe told me everything."

That got his attention. The amusement in his eyes flickered for a moment before returning. "Everything?" he repeated smoothly. "You'll have to be a bit more specific. I've been accused of many things."

I took a step forward, glaring up at him. "You're making her drink human blood. She said you're forcing her."

He sighed, swirling the bourbon. "Ah. That."

"That?" I repeated, incredulous.

"Elizabeth," he said with mock patience, "she's a newborn vampire. She can't survive on animal blood yet. It'll tear her apart from the inside. I'm helping her, not torturing her."

"She hates it," I fired back. "She hates you for it."

His jaw tightened, just barely. "I'm not exactly aiming for her affection."

I stepped closer, my voice trembling with anger. "She's scared, Damon! She didn't ask for any of this. You don't get to play god with her life."

He smirked faintly, leaning closer. "And you do?"

My breath caught. His nearness was electric—infuriatingly calm against my storm.

"I'm not the one controlling her," I hissed.

He tilted his head, his voice dropping low. "You think I want this? You think I enjoy watching her struggle? If she doesn't drink, she dies. Simple as that."

"She's suffering."

"So am I."

The words slipped out of him before he could stop them. For a heartbeat, the mask cracked. His eyes softened—just a flash of guilt, maybe grief—and it startled me more than the argument itself.

Then it was gone, replaced by his usual smirk. "But you wouldn't care about that, would you?"

I glared at him, my anger faltering for a moment. "You're impossible."

He took a slow sip of his drink. "And yet, you're still here."

My heart skipped. I hated how he said it—how calm, how teasing, how dangerously close it came to true.

"I'm here because you crossed a line," I said finally, voice low but steady. "And if you hurt her again, I'll make you regret it."

He smirked wider, eyes glinting. "There it is—the fire. I was wondering where you'd been hiding it."

I wanted to slap him. Or kiss him. Or both.

Instead, I turned for the door, furious at myself for feeling anything at all.

"Elizabeth," he called softly.

I stopped but didn't turn.

"She's lucky to have you," he said. "But don't mistake me for the villain in this one."

I didn't respond. I couldn't.

I just walked out, heart racing, anger burning—but underneath it all, something else. Something dangerous and unspoken.

Something that made me hate how much I still cared.