Chapter 103
Damon's POV
I sat in the chair by the window, staring at nothing.
My mind kept drifting to buried memories.
Elena at eight years old, wearing a white dress at a garden party. She always followed me around, impossible to shake off. When she'd tripped and scraped her knee on the gravel, I'd found her behind the rose bushes, eyes red but refusing to cry.
I'd cleaned the wound and wrapped it in my handkerchief. She'd looked at me like I'd hung the moon.
I remembered the way her eyes used to light up when she saw me.
Then I remembered what happened that day.
The words I'd said—
"I don't want her."
Five words. That's all it had taken.
I'd watched Elena's face crumble. Watched the hope drain from her eyes, replaced by shock, humiliation, devastation. The whole room had gone silent.
My chest ached now, a sharp pain that wouldn't ease.
---
The hospital cafeteria was nearly empty. I bought nutritious porridge, warm milk—simple things, easy to digest.
I went to Vivian's room. When I knocked, she didn't answer. I pushed the door open anyway.
She was lying in bed, IV in her arm, eyes closed. But I could tell she wasn't sleeping.
"Mrs. Cross." I held up the food awkwardly. "I brought some nutrition. You should—"
"I don't need anything from you."
I set it on the bedside table anyway. Stood there, not knowing what to say.
The silence stretched. Finally, Vivian spoke.
"Elena was raised to believe you were her future." Her voice was quiet. Tired. "We told her: You're going to marry Damon. You need to be gentle, obedient, perfect."
My throat tightened.
"She believed it," Vivian continued. "For twenty years, she shaped herself around that promise. And then you stood in front of both our families and rejected her."
I couldn't speak.
"She came home that night and sat in her room. Didn't cry. Didn't yell. Just sat there." Her voice cracked. "Her father called her worthless. She didn't even argue."
"I didn't know—"
"I found her that night on the floor of her room, knees pulled to her chest, eyes swollen from crying." Vivian finally looked at me. "You hurt her, Damon. Do you understand that?"
The words hit like a physical blow.
"I... I really didn't mean to..."
My voice came out low.
Vivian closed her eyes. Said nothing more.
I stood there for another moment, then turned and left.
The food sat untouched on her bedside table.
---
I ended up on a bench in the hallway, head in my hands. My chest felt like someone was crushing it.
I pulled out my phone. Stared at Elena's contact.
My fingers moved before I could overthink it.
Me: Your mother is hurt. She's in the hospital.
After she called me, I told her everything I knew.
I attached the location pin and hit send.
Then I waited.
Thirty minutes crawled by.
The elevator dinged.
The doors slid open. Elena stepped out.
Despite an obvious limp in her right leg. Pain visible with every step—from jumping out of a second-story window to escape my house.
To escape me.
The thought sat like lead in my chest.
---
Elena's POV
The hospital hallway stretched ahead like a tunnel. My right ankle screamed with every step, but adrenaline shoved the pain down. All I could process was the scent layered beneath the antiseptic—fear and blood.
I moved faster.
Footsteps intercepted mine from the side. Damon stepped into my path, hand reaching out. "Elena, wait—"
I jerked back instinctively. My injured ankle buckled. The floor tilted.
His hand shot to my shoulder to steady me. I shoved it off like it burned. "Don't touch me."
The words came out sharp as broken glass. His hand froze mid-air, fingers still curved where my shoulder had been.
"Your foot," he started, voice carefully soft. "Is it—"
"Not your business." I sidestepped him, refusing to meet his eyes. "Move."
My pheromones must've spiked with rejection because I saw him flinch. His pupils contracted. Something hollow opened up in his expression.
I didn't stop. Didn't look back.
---
Behind me, Damon stayed rooted to that spot. I felt his gaze tracking me all the way to the door marked 407.
The smell hit me first.
Mom was propped against the raised bed, her left side turned toward the window. When she heard me, she shifted—and I saw it.
Her entire left cheek was swollen, mottled purple-black from cheekbone to jaw. The bruise crawled up toward her eye socket, down to her chin. Her bottom lip had a dried split at the corner. Around her neck, five dark fingerprints stood out like brands.
A human would be dead from that grip.
"You shouldn't be here." Her voice came out rough, like speaking hurt. She tried to sit up straighter.
I crossed the room in three limping steps and pressed her shoulder down. "Don't move."
My throat closed. The word came out cracked: "Mom..."
She tried to smile. Failed. "It looks worse than it is."
My hands shook. I couldn't stop staring at the fingerprints on her neck. "God, Mom, your face—"
"Just surface bruising. A little infection. The doctor said rest and antibiotics." She said it like she was listing groceries.
But I saw the way her facial muscles barely moved when she talked. Swelling. Her jaw probably hurt like hell.
"Was it Dad?"
Silence.
Then a single, slow nod.
The floor seemed to drop out from under me.
"Because of me." My voice broke. "Because I ran. Because he couldn't find me, so he—"
"No." She cut me off, sharper than I expected. "Not just you. He drank last night. Was already in a mood."
"But I made it worse." Tears burned hot down my face. "If I'd stayed, if I'd just—"
"Elena." She caught my wrist, grip weak but firm. "Listen to me. This isn't your fault. Your father is drowning. He put all his hope into your marriage with Damon. Now that's slipping away and he's—" She paused, searching for words. "He's a cornered animal. Desperate people do desperate things."
I thought of Dad's face the last time I saw him. The wild look in his eyes when he'd slapped me.
"He's terrified," Mom continued quietly. "Of losing everything. The fear makes him cruel. And the alcohol..." She closed her eyes. "Alcohol strips away what little control shifters have."
"Leave him." The words ripped out of me. "We can—"
"And then what?" Her smile was bitter. Broken. "You think leaving solves this?"
She gestured weakly at the IV in her arm. "Severing a mate bond could have serious consequences. And the debts—Elena, those debts don't disappear with divorce papers. Legally, I'm still liable for half."
Her eyes went distant. Gray. Empty.
"Married or divorced... we're already finished."
The finality in her voice chilled me worse than the bruises.