Chapter 163
Damon's POV
Scarlett's expression shifted—just for a second—like I'd caught her off guard. Then she laughed again, this time softer, more bitter.
"You want to know why?" She crossed her arms, her eyes narrowing. "Fine. I'll tell you."
She took a step closer, her voice dropping low.
"This whole time—this entire six months we've been together—do you have any idea how often you've mentioned her name? How many times you've brought up Elena in conversation, even when she wasn't there?"
I stared at her, my mind going blank.
"Elena likes this," Scarlett mimicked, her tone mocking. "Elena used to say that. Elena wouldn't think this way. If it were Elena, she'd do it like this."
Each word landed like a slap. I tried to think back, tried to remember if I'd actually said those things, but the memories were blurry, overlapping. Had I really done that?
"You talked about her constantly," Scarlett continued, her voice rising now. "Like she was this fucking ghost haunting you. And I tried—God, I tried so hard to ignore it, to tell myself it didn't matter. But it did. It always did."
Her eyes were glassy now, but she wasn't crying. She looked past that. Past tears, past anger. She just looked... tired.
"And then one day, it hit me." She let out a slow breath, her gaze steady on mine. "You and Elena aren't just friends. You never were."
My chest tightened.
"You're in love with her, Damon." Her voice was soft now, almost pitying. "You have been for a long time. You just didn't realize it."
The words hung in the air between us, heavy and suffocating. I wanted to argue, to deny it, to tell her she was wrong. But I couldn't. Because somewhere deep down, a voice told me she was right.
"It doesn't matter anymore," Scarlett said, and this time there was a cruel edge to her voice. A finality. "It's too late. She's marrying someone else now. Not just anyone—your brother."
The mention of Caleb made my blood boil, but Scarlett didn't stop.
"And you know what the worst part is?" She smiled, but it didn't reach her eyes. "He's better than you. He's smarter, more capable. And most importantly—he knew he loved her from the start. He didn't waste time pretending otherwise."
Each word was a knife to the gut. I wanted to tell her to shut up, to get the fuck out, but I couldn't move. I couldn't speak.
"You lost, Damon." Her voice was almost gleeful now, like she was relishing this. "You lost her to him. And you're never getting her back."
She laughed—loud and unhinged—and I felt something crack inside me.
"I can't wait to see what you get out of all this," she spat. "After everything you've done to me, to her—what do you think you'll be left with? Nothing. You'll regret this for the rest of your miserable life."
---
I stood there, completely still, her words ringing in my ears. My hands were shaking. My chest felt like it was caving in.
"You'll never get her back."
No. That couldn't be true. It wasn't true.
Elena was supposed to be with me. We'd grown up together. She'd been promised to me since we were kids. She was supposed to—
But even as I thought it, I knew how hollow it sounded. How pathetic.
She wasn't mine. She never had been. And now she was his.
I tried to push the thought away, tried to tell myself Scarlett was just being vindictive, but the pain in my chest said otherwise. If I didn't care about Elena, if I didn't love her, then why did the idea of losing her to Caleb feel like someone was tearing my ribs apart?
Why does it hurt this much?
The anger came out of nowhere, sharp and vicious. I turned on Scarlett, my wolf stirring beneath my skin. She flinched, her cocky expression faltering for just a second.
"Get out," I snarled.
She opened her mouth to say something, but I didn't let her.
"Pack your shit. Now."
I grabbed her wrist—not hard, but firm enough—and dragged her toward the bedroom. She stumbled, trying to keep up, and when we reached the door I shoved it open and pushed her inside.
"Damon—"
"I said get out!" My fist slammed into the doorframe beside her head, and the wood splintered under the force. Pain shot through my knuckles, but I barely felt it.
Scarlett's eyes went wide, and for the first time tonight, she looked genuinely afraid.
"You really think I won't snap?" I leaned in close, my voice low and deadly. "You think I won't rip your throat out right here?"
It was mostly an empty threat—but the look on her face told me she believed it.
"Damon, please," she whispered, her voice breaking. "I love you. I—"
"Don't." I stepped back, my chest heaving. "Don't you fucking dare."
I looked at her—really looked at her—and all I felt was disgust. Not at her. At myself.
What the hell had I been doing?
"Leave the apartment," I said coldly. "Take your things and get the fuck out of my life."
She stared at me for a long moment, tears streaming down her face now. Then, without another word, she grabbed her phone off the nightstand and walked past me toward the door.
I didn't watch her leave. I couldn't.
When the door finally clicked shut behind her, I collapsed onto the bed, my head in my hands.
If I hadn't believed her at the ski resort. If I'd just listened to Elena...
But I hadn't. And now it was too late.
I punched the nightstand. Hard. The wood cracked, and blood smeared across the surface, but I didn't care. The physical pain was nothing compared to the ache in my chest.
Elena will never forgive me.