Chapter 60 DENIAL
Third person’s POV.
A distant ringing dragged Damian from sleep.
When he realized it was his phone vibrating on the bedside table, he reached for it with one hand while the other tightened instinctively around a strangely soft pillow.
“Hello,” he muttered groggily, eyes still closed.
“You seem to be enjoying your wedding morning,” Oscar’s sarcastic voice drawled over the phone.
“Why are you calling me so early in the morning Oscar?” Damian asked, ignoring his comment.
“Early in the morning?” Oscar laughed, “Dude, it’s 10:00 am,”
Damian shot upright, yanking his hand from beneath the pillow and shoving the duvet off his body.
He tapped his phone screen to check the time.
10:03 a.m.
It was indeed a few minutes past ten.
How did this happen?
He had woken up at 7:00 a.m. every day for fifteen years — ever since the incident… the incident that had stolen sleep from him.
“That’s… weird,” he muttered.
“Weird?” Oscar replied over the phone, “You mean, impossible. You haven’t slept past 7:00 am for almost fifteen years now” Oscar paused and lowered his voice,
“Whatever Serena gave you, it must be magical.”
“Serena? Yeah sure,” Damian said, shaking his head but then his eyes caught on something.
He had been facing only his side of the bed since the call started. So when he finally turned his head toward the other side…
There, curled into a tight ball in the middle of the bed, was not a pillow like he had thought in his sleep.
It was Serena.
She was perfectly hidden beneath the duvet, but some of her brown hair spilled across the pillow.
He moved the covers down gently, revealing the rest of her face—and sure enough, Serena lay on the bed, eyes peacefully shut, lips set in a soft pout.
He had been cuddling Serena all night. How? Damian wondered.
“Hello, are you still there?” Oscar’s voice came from the phone.
Damian removed the phone from loud speaker and put it in his ears.
““Hey, I’ll meet you in the office in a few minutes, alright?”
After ending the call, he turned back to where Serena lay. He remembered her sneaking out in the early hours of the morning.
For a moment, he hesitated—prepare and leave for a long day at the office, or remain in bed with Serena and continue basking in her scent.
He chose the latter and crawled back under the covers. This time, he didn’t loop an arm around her, choosing instead to keep his distance.
Serena, who was presumed asleep, slowly scooted backwards until her back met with Damian’s warm chest.
Damian tensed, but Serena then moved a hand back and fished out his hands, she moved it forward and draped it loosely over her waist.
Damian inhaled, waited a few seconds, then slowly wrapped her tighter, pulling her closer to him.
She smiled.
After her conversation with Trisha she had snuck back into bed next to Damian, she had decided she wasn’t going to push him away again.
Now that she was laid up in bed in his arms, she wondered about the conversation she had just involuntarily listened in on.
What did Oscar mean and why had Damian maintained such a strict sleeping schedule over fifteen years? What happened to him?
“Father.” Clara rose as Horace walked into the house. “I’ve been calling you all day.”
He stopped in his tracks. “And you want candy for that?” he asked mockingly.
“I wanted to see you,” she said quietly. “I was worried about you.”
“And what was so important that you needed to see me?” he asked flatly.
“I just said I was worried.” Clara’s voice lifted slightly.
Horace sighed and turned toward her. He closed the distance between them and took her hand, his grip firm.
“Clara…” His fingers pressed into her palm. “You have a husband now. Worry about him instead, hmm?”
She pulled her hand away. "I didn't know it was a sin to care about you," she muttered, checking her palm for scars.
He slid his hands into his pockets. “Are you ready for our guests tonight?” Horace asked, effortlessly changing the subject. “Make sure the feast is perfect—and have a media personality there to capture it all.”
“I’ve been working on that since this morning,” she replied.
“Good.” He started up the stairs, then added at the door, “And make sure my tea is brought up to the terrace.”
Clara nodded and walked to the kitchen, but she noticed it, the little sharp edge in his movements. It always showed up right before he did something awful.
Trisha stood behind Serena, watching as the makeup artist worked on her face.
“Tell me again, why did Horace invite you and Damian for dinner?” she asked.
“He didn’t,” Serena said, smacking her lips together to blend the nude lip gloss the makeup artist had just applied. “Sarah did. She said the company would benefit from us looking like a united front… despite the inheritance mess we’re currently facing.”
“Well it's a good thing,” Trisha replied, “You can search Horace’s library for some more information about their plans going forward.”
She paused then lowered her voice, “and you can try to find anything that will help you remember what happened before your fall,”
Their eyes met in the mirror, a silent message passing between them.
In addition to orchestrating her wedding with Damian, Trisha and Serena had also been trying to piece back the puzzle of the last final moments of Serena's past life. And nothing had been adding up, Serena only remembered falling off a balcony. How she got there or which balcony she fell from, she couldn't remember.
Serena cleared her throat, “give us a minute please” she said to the artist, who quickly hurried out of the room.
“You still think my family pushed me?” she said, spinning the chair round to face Trisha.
“You didn't present an alternative suspect.” Trisha replied, “plus, everything points to them.”
“No,” Serena muttered under her breath, shaking her head, “I understand that my family is bad, but they are not murderers, Trisha.”
“Are you serious?” Trisha gasped in disbelie, “if they are not murderers then why the fuck am walking with crutches?” she screamed.
Serena shot to her feet, “Trisha, I'm sorry.” I didn't mean to offend you…. But, my father did say he only asked them to kidnap you.”
Trisha's Jaw dropped. “Girl, I know you did not just say that to me,” she scoffed, “okay, how do you explain your husband almost getting gunned down on the street?”
“We don't know if that was my father.” Serena said.
“You have to be fucking kidding me Serena,” Trisha yelled, “you sound like the former Serena.”
Serena turned back to the mirror, “can you ask the makeup artist to come back in please,” she asked softly instead.
“No, we are having a private conversation.” Trisha answered.
“The conversation is over, I have nothing left to say.”
“Well, I do.” Trisha said, her voice trembling. You came to me, some weeks back and told me your little rebirth story. I believe you, no questions asked.”Trisha pointed at her.
“Then,” she continued, “you started with your talks of revenge and ever since then I’ve put my life on pause to help you solve the mystery of your death and get your revenge.”
Tears welled up in her eyes but she swallowed. “I’ve been attacked, been almost kidnapped,” she sniffed. “And I’ve almost been killed Serena,”
Serena’s chest squeezed uncomfortably.
“But I didn’t complain about any of these,” Trisha continued. “Because I know why I'm here.” She said, holding her chest. “Do you remember why you are here Serena?”
The room was quiet, Only the sound of the mini electric fan the makeup artist had set up on the table filled the air.
Trisha wiped her cheeks,”I’ll get you your makeup artist.” She said walking coldly past Serena.
At the door she paused, “oh and Serena?”
Serena looked up.
“Like I said, I almost died. So remember that this is no longer just your revenge now.” Trisha said, before she disappeared through the door.
The makeup artist walked in after her and quietly continued her job.
Serena’s mind drifted off, the last time she and Trisha had fought was in university when Trisha had almost gotten expelled from school because she was dating a drug addict whose main goal had been to turn Trisha into a junkie as well.
Trisha had gone from a straight A student to someone who had to be put on academic probation. One day, Serena had enough of it and called Trisha’s parents for an intervention.
Trisha did not speak to her for two months after that but later on she had realized Serena only did what a true friend would have in that situation, and that had been the incident that had cemented their friendship to what it was today.
That time Serena had been right, and she was doing the right thing, but this time was different.
Serena knew, deep down, that she was wrong to think anyone other than her family was responsible for her death. Like Trisha said, the signs had always been there, scattered in the odd looks, in the cold spaces where warmth should have lived.
But she wasn’t ready to survive what that truth would cost her. To accept it would mean facing the possibility that she had been alone long before the night she died… that the home she kept running back to had emptied of love the moment her grandfather closed his eyes and never woke again.
If she admitted her family was truly capable of killing her, it would mean accepting something even more unbearable. That she had seen the cracks and chosen love anyway… that she had sat through family dinners thick with warning signs and still called it home… that she had handpicked Jonathan and folded him carefully into the illusion.
That, in the end, the person who failed her most wasn’t them. It was her, and how desperately, how foolishly, she had needed them to be good.