Chapter 177
Damon's POV
Sleep had become a stranger. I'd tossed and turned all night, my mind replaying Donald's message over and over. She'd still chosen Caleb.
The mansion felt suffocating. I dragged myself out of bed just as dawn crept through the windows, my body heavy with exhaustion I couldn't shake. The hallway stretched ahead of me, silent except for the distant murmur of voices.
I shouldn't have stopped. I should've gone straight back to my room, buried myself under the covers, and pretended the world didn't exist. But my father's voice cut through the air.
I froze outside the study door.
"...Vance Industries' annual summit," Marcus was saying into the phone. "We'll be presenting the innovation award to Caleb's AI team."
My hand clenched against the doorframe.
"It's not just about acknowledging his work anymore," Marcus continued, his tone smooth as silk. "We need to secure his team's loyalty. I'll make a public statement praising Caleb's contributions... The company needs to go to someone reliable."
Reliable.
The word hit like a punch to the gut. My nails dug into my palms hard enough to sting, but I barely noticed. Caleb. That bastard. The private son who'd crawled back from nothing was now the reliable one?
And me? What the hell was I?
My chest burned. I turned away before I could hear more, my feet carrying me on autopilot down the stairs, through the garage, into my car. I didn't think. I just drove.
---
The roar of engines greeted me as I pulled into District 6's underground racing complex. The acrid smell of burnt rubber and gasoline filled my lungs, grounding me in something real, something I could control.
Billy spotted me immediately, jogging over with his usual grin plastered across his face. But it faltered when he got closer.
"Damon?" He hesitated, eyes scanning my face. "You good, man?"
"Fine." The word came out harsher than I intended.
He didn't buy it. "About the engagement thing... I heard your girl switched sides."
"She didn't switch," I snapped, cutting him off. My voice was too loud, too sharp. "I walked away first. I chose to leave."
Billy raised both hands in surrender, his expression shifting to something that looked uncomfortably like pity. "Alright, man. Whatever you say."
That look—that fucking look—was worse than anything he could've said.
---
I got behind the wheel of my midnight blue supercar without thinking twice. The engine screamed to life beneath me, vibrating through my bones. This was what I needed. Speed. Control. Something that responded exactly how I wanted it to.
The first lap was smooth. The second, less so. By the third, my vision was blurring at the edges, images flashing through my mind unbidden—intimate scenes of Caleb and Elena together.
My hands trembled on the wheel.
The curve came up fast—too fast—and I realized too late that I'd misjudged it. My grip faltered. The car swerved hard.
The impact was deafening. Metal shrieked against concrete as the supercar slammed into it, the reinforced armor groaning under the force. Glass shattered around me in a crystalline spray. My head snapped forward, colliding with the edge of the steering wheel.
Pain exploded across my temple. Warmth trickled down the side of my face—blood, I realized distantly.
Everything went hazy after that.
Voices shouted around me. Hands pulled at the door. Someone was yelling my name, but it sounded muffled, like I was underwater.
"...Elena..." Her name slipped out before I could stop it, barely more than a whisper.
"Damon! Stay with me!" Billy's face swam into view, pale and panicked. "Elena's not here, man! You gotta—"
I pressed my palms against my face, trying to block out the noise, the light, the crushing weight in my chest that had nothing to do with the crash.
A tremor ran through me—whether from pain or something deeper, I couldn't tell.
---
The hospital smelled like antiseptic and failure. They patched me up quickly enough—healing ability already knitting the gash on my forehead back together—but the bandage wrapped around my skull felt heavier than it should have.
My mother appeared within the hour, her expression a storm of fury and worry.
"What were you thinking?" Isabella demanded, gripping my shoulders hard enough to bruise if I'd been human. "Racing? In your condition?"
"I'm fine." My voice came out flat, lifeless.
She didn't look convinced. "I'll have you transferred to the hospital where your grandfather is staying. They have our pack's own doctors there," she said sharply, brooking no argument.
I nodded mechanically. What else was there to do?
---
The two days lying in that hospital bed were torture. Not because of the wound on my head, but because I couldn't bear the fact that they were together.
My healing ability brought me to discharge standards quickly enough. I wanted to say goodbye to Grandfather, but just as I reached outside his room, I caught it—a scent I knew too well.
Cedar. Ice. Tobacco.
My entire body went rigid.
The door cracked open, and he stepped out.
Caleb.
He was dressed impeccably as always, his expression unreadable as stone. In one hand, he carried a thermal container, likely soup or something meant for Grandfather.
Our eyes met.
For a moment, neither of us moved. The air between us felt like it might crack.
Caleb's gaze flicked briefly to the bandage on my head. His brow furrowed for just a second—barely noticeable—but he said nothing.
He didn't need to.
That silence was worse than any insult he could've thrown at me.