Chapter 161
Damon's POV
I stepped closer, desperation clawing up my throat. "You can't possibly want her to marry him. You've always loved Elena—you used to say she was perfect for me. You wanted this. You wanted us together."
His expression didn't change. "Didn't you say you didn't want her?"
The words hit like a punch to the ribs.
I opened my mouth. Closed it. My chest felt too tight. "I… I didn't mean—"
"You didn't mean it?" He let out a bitter laugh. "Which part didn't you mean, Damon? The part where you humiliated her in front of everyone? Or the part where you ran off with another woman?"
My hands curled into fists at my sides.
"I made a mistake," I said, my voice hoarse. "I know that. But please—just let me talk to her. Let me fix this."
He shook his head slowly. "I can't even control you. What makes you think I have any sway over Caleb?"
I went still.
"I never really acknowledged that boy," Grandpa continued, his voice softening into something sadder. "So I have no right to make demands of him. Why would he listen to me now?"
He leaned back against the pillows, suddenly looking a hundred years old.
"If you still consider me your grandfather," he said quietly, "then stop this nonsense. Stay away from your brother's fiancée. Don't make things worse than they already are."
He coughed—hard enough that I winced—and closed his eyes.
"The family can't take any more shame," he murmured. "Not from you."
I stood there, frozen.
Even Grandpa's given up on me.
---
I remembered college. My friends laughing, telling me how lucky I was to have such a sweet, obedient fiancée waiting for me.
I'd rolled my eyes. "She's boring as hell."
They didn't get it. Didn't understand that I needed someone with fire—someone who challenged me, made me feel alive.
Elena was too soft. Too easy. Too… nothing.
Now no one was telling me to marry her.
And I'd never felt emptier in my life.
---
The drive to the apartment felt like moving through fog. Scarlett was already back from Starport. I needed to end things with her.
The apartment. I'd give her the apartment. Maybe some cash on top of it. Enough to make the breakup clean. Enough so she wouldn't cause trouble.
I was done with her. Done with the drama, the jealousy, the constant need for attention.
Whatever I'd felt for her before—it was gone now. Burned out.
The car stopped outside her building. I took a deep breath and pushed the door open.
---
The door swung open before I could knock.
Scarlett stood there in that silk robe I'd bought her—deep crimson, almost as bright as her hair. Her face lit up instantly, her eyes shining with something I hadn't seen in a long time.
Hope.
It twisted my stomach.
"Damon!" Her voice came out in a relieved gasp. "God, you're finally here. I thought—"
She threw her arms around my neck. Her pheromones hit my nose—the scent that used to captivate me.
Now it just irritated me.
I caught her wrists, rougher than I meant to, and pushed her back.
Her smile froze. I saw confusion flash through her eyes, then a hint of fear.
"We need to talk," I said, my voice colder than I intended.
She took a step back, arms crossing over her chest—defensive. "Okay. Sure. Should we sit down?"
Her voice was too bright. Too fast. She was trying to control the situation.
But I didn't move.
The air between us shifted—colder now. She sensed it. I could tell from the way her shoulders tensed, the way her breathing changed.
"Let me make you coffee," she said quickly, moving toward the kitchen. "Or we could go out—maybe that place you like? The steakhouse?"
"Scarlett."
She froze.
"We need to end this," I said. The words hung in the air, heavy and final. "It's over."
Her face went pale. "What?"
"My grandfather's in the hospital because of the engagement disaster," I continued, like I was reciting a prepared statement. "My family's reputation is destroyed. The board is questioning my judgment. I can't—" I paused, searching for the right words. "I can't keep doing this. I have responsibilities."
"Responsibilities," she repeated, her voice hollow. Her eyes searched my face, looking for some crack, some softness. "You're talking about responsibilities?"
"I'm the Vance heir," I said, sounding exactly like my father. "I can't just—there are expectations I have to meet. Family alliances. Business interests. You understand."
She stared at me for a long moment. Then she laughed—that chilling kind of laugh, bitter and sharp.
"Is that really why?" she asked, her voice trembling. "Or is it because you finally admitted you care about her more than you ever cared about me?"
My jaw tightened. "This isn't about—"
"Don't you fucking lie to me!" Her voice shot up, almost a scream. "I saw what happened at the engagement. The whole city saw. You ran. You left her there alone for me."
Tears started streaming down her face, but they weren't tears of sadness. They were anger.
"I told you we could leave. I told you we could go somewhere else—start over—"
"I told you that wasn't realistic."
"For her, you came running back," Scarlett said, her voice breaking. "You left me stranded at Starport because you wanted to salvage the engagement you ruined. Don't pretend this is about your family."
My jaw tightened.
The words stung somewhere, but I pushed it down.
"Scarlett, listen—"
"No, you listen," she cut me off. "You love her. You're fucking in love with her."
"This isn't about—"
"Admit it!" she shouted, her voice cracking. "Just fucking admit you love her!"
I opened my mouth. Closed it. The words stuck in my throat.
Because she was right.