Chapter 160
Damon's POV
"First," he said, voice cold and precise, "you end things with Scarlett. Completely. No contact."
My stomach dropped.
"Second. You apologize to your grandfather. In person. Whatever it takes to earn his forgiveness."
I nodded slowly, even as my chest tightened.
"Third. You accept whatever position I assign you. If I tell you to work at the company, you work. If I send you abroad, you go. No arguments."
"I can agree to the second and third right now, but the first one..."
These past few days, I'd considered breaking up with Scarlett more than once.
No one wants to be with someone emotionally unstable who threatens to jump off buildings at every turn. And I'd always hated being threatened. The novelty of being with her had been completely worn away by all this chaos.
When the tide of passion receded, I looked at Scarlett's messages and realized I didn't even want to respond. Seeing those messages just made me feel annoyed.
Before, whenever I was in a bad mood—irritable or down—I would go find Elena. We could talk about anything. She had this unique, calm and peaceful energy about her. Just chatting with her would make my heart feel light and settled.
But now, even seeing her once had become impossibly difficult.
"Then you're wasting my time."
"Marcus—" Mom's voice trembled slightly. "He's trying—"
"He's stalling." Dad turned his cold gaze back to me. "You think you can negotiate your way out of consequences? That's not how this works."
"I'm not trying to—"
"You want to know what your brother would do?" Dad's tone turned mocking. "Caleb wouldn't hesitate. He'd make the hard choice and move on. But you? You cling to your feelings like they're more important than your responsibilities."
Brother. He kept using that word like a weapon.
"Maybe that's why Elena chose him," Dad added. "He knows what matters. You clearly don't."
The words hit like a blade between the ribs.
Mom made a small sound—half gasp, half protest. "Marcus, that's enough. He's already agreed to your conditions—"
"He agreed to two. The first is the one that matters. Until he proves he can let go of his distractions, he's not fit to represent this family."
"I said I'd consider—"
"Then consider faster." Dad stepped toward me, and I felt myself tense.
Looking at his face—at the cold certainty there—I knew I had no choice.
Not really.
"Fine," I said hoarsely. "I'll end it with Scarlett."
Mom exhaled sharply.
Dad just nodded, as if he'd known I'd break. "Good. Then we're done here."
He waved a dismissive hand.
I stood there another moment, shame burning through me like acid.
Learn from Caleb.
The words echoed in my head, poisonous and cutting.
I turned and walked out before I said something I couldn't take back.
---
Dinner was set out in the formal dining room.
The long table stretched between us—Mom at one end, Dad at the other, me somewhere in the middle.
Alone.
Roast beef. Lamb chops. Roasted vegetables. Dishes I'd normally devour.
I couldn't taste any of it.
Three days without eating should have left me starving, but my body had given up. Everything tasted like ash—flavorless, heavy, wrong.
I forced myself to chew. To swallow. To pretend I was fine.
Across the table, Mom watched me with red-rimmed eyes, but she didn't say anything.
I thought about the last time I'd done this—refused food, locked myself away. I must've been twelve, maybe thirteen. And Elena had been there.
She'd sat beside me at this exact table, her voice soft and patient.
"You don't have to eat all of it. Just a little. For me?"
And I had. Because she could always smooth out my emotions.
I set my fork down, staring at the half-empty plate.
When did I start pushing her away?
---
The next morning.
The car rolled through Saint-Helier's streets in thick silence. I sat in the back, tugging at my collar—it felt like it was cutting off my air supply. The driver kept his eyes forward. Smart man.
I ran through the script in my head. Grandpa, I'm sorry. I was wrong. It won't happen again.
The words tasted like ash before I even said them.
I'd never had to do this before. Never had to bow my head and beg forgiveness from anyone.
But I had no choice.
If I wanted to see Elena—if I had any chance at fixing what I'd broken—I had to play by their rules first.
The hospital loomed ahead, all white walls and antiseptic efficiency. My stomach twisted.
---
The VIP floor was too quiet. My footsteps echoed down the corridor as I approached Grandpa's room. Through the half-open door, I could see him—smaller than I remembered, propped up against pillows like something fragile.
When did he get so old?
I stood there, hand on the doorframe, my nails digging into my palm hard enough to hurt.
The steady beep of the heart monitor filled the silence. A cough—weak and raspy—came from inside.
I pushed the door open.
Grandpa's eyes tracked me as I walked in. No warmth. No welcome. Just that flat, exhausted disappointment I'd been seeing more and more lately.
I stopped at the foot of the bed, my throat tight.
"Grandpa," I managed. My voice cracked. "I'm sorry. What happened at the engagement—it was my fault."
He didn't respond right away. Just looked at me like he was trying to figure out if I meant it.
Then he spoke, slow and careful, like every word cost him something. "You left an entire hall full of people waiting. Your fiancée. Our guests. Our family." He paused, his breath rattling. "Did you think about any of them? Or just yourself?"
I flinched.
"Now we're a joke," he continued, his voice gaining an edge despite its weakness. "The Vance family is a laughingstock. And your fiancée is your brother's now—congratulations."
"They're not married yet," I said quickly. "Elena can still—she can break it off. She can come back."
"Back?" His voice cracked like a whip. "You think there's a back after this? You think we can just erase what you did? Call off one engagement and start another like it's nothing?"
He struggled to sit up straighter, and I moved to help, but he waved me off sharply.
"If we break that Blood Pact now, we'll look even worse," he said, his voice shaking with anger. "You've already made us look weak. Don't make it worse."