Chapter 36
Elena's POV
Damon was silent for several seconds, then said: "Nothing. I just couldn't stand watching those drunks bully a girl."
"Her father was involved in the southern territorial disputes years ago, and after coming to this city he started making frequent deals with humans." Marcus's voice grew colder. "Her father was implicated in commercial bribery, territorial assassinations, corruption of human officials... many packs suffered because of him. I can't have you associated with his daughter and risk the Vance family's reputation."
"She's just an innocent girl!" Damon's fists clenched.
Randy rose, leaning on his cane, his voice aged but full of authority: "Damon, you are the legitimate heir to the Vance family. You cannot have such stains on your record."
He looked at his grandson, his eyes filled with complex emotions—disappointment, anger, and some deep exhaustion. "All these years, I've indulged you in nearly everything. You refused to study abroad—I agreed. You wouldn't join the company after graduation—I tolerated it. Now do you want to destroy the Vance family over a woman?"
Damon looked at his grandfather, his hands slowly unclenching, his voice defeated: "No."
Randy issued his final decree: "Whatever relationship you have with this Scarlett, it ends now. The Blood Pact cannot be betrayed. Your engagement to Elena was established long ago. You will not fail her."
Damon shoved his chair back and stood abruptly, the screech of wood against marble cutting through the tension. His eyes swept across the gathered elders.
"This is your outdated rulebook, not mine," he said, his words sharp enough to draw blood. "My generation has the right to choose our own mates. We're free."
The temperature in the room seemed to plummet. Randy's face went pale, then flushed dark. The old Alpha's presence exploded outward—a crushing, suffocating weight.
"Aren't you free enough already?" Randy's voice dropped to a lethal whisper. "Street racing, bar fights, reckless disregard for every rule that keeps this pack safe?"
Damon's hands curled into fists at his sides, but he didn't back down. "Those are mistakes. I admit it. But they have nothing to do with marriage."
Randy slammed his palm on the table, rattling the silverware. "This blood pact wasn't made in some boardroom. Old Cross and I stood under the full moon, cut our palms, let our blood mingle, and swore an oath witnessed by the Moon Goddess herself. You want to spit on that? You want to bring a curse down on both our houses?"
The words "blood pact" and "Moon Goddess" sent a chill racing down my spine. I'd known the engagement was old, traditional, binding—but this? This sounded like something from the ancient texts, the kind of magic that couldn't be broken without consequences.
Damon turned toward me then, his eyes searching. "Elena, you—"
He never finished the sentence.
Something inside me snapped. Maybe it was the humiliation of being exposed as a liar in front of everyone. Maybe it was the crushing weight of all those stares, all that judgment pressing down on me like drowning.
My eyes began to burn. I blinked hard, willing the tears away, but they came anyway. Hot and shameful and unstoppable, spilling down my cheeks and dripping onto my untouched plate.
The hall fell silent.
Every single person at that table turned to look at me. Damon froze mid-motion, staring at me like he'd never seen me cry before.
Maybe he hadn't. Not like this. Not in public, where I couldn't hide or run or pretend everything was fine.
I couldn't stop. The sobs built in my chest like pressure in a sealed container, desperately pushing up my throat. I pressed my napkin to my mouth, trying to muffle the sound, but it only made my shoulders shake harder. Each breath came in short, hitching gasps that I couldn't control no matter how hard I tried.
"Elena," Damon breathed, and I heard genuine shock in his voice. Shock, but not understanding. Never understanding.
"I'm sorry." The words tumbled out between broken breaths, my voice barely recognizable. "I'm sorry... I shouldn't have lied..."
My mother's hand found mine under the table, squeezed once before letting go. As if telling me: Pull yourself together.
But I couldn't. God, I couldn't.
"I'm really sorry," I repeated.
My makeup was ruined, mascara probably streaking down my face. My nose was running. My hands were shaking so badly I couldn't hold my napkin steady.
Damon reached toward me, his hand hovering in the space between us, but he didn't touch me.
Donald's face went brick red. "Stop crying!" His voice cracked like a whip across the hall, making me flinch. "You're the one who did something wrong, and you have the nerve to cry about it?"
The harshness of his tone only made it worse. My shoulders shook harder, my breathing turned ragged.
"Donald." My mother's voice was low, strained.
But he wasn't done. "You've embarrassed this entire family!" His hand hit the table. "Pull yourself together!"
I couldn't. The tears kept coming, my control completely shattered.
My mother stood up, her chair scraping back. She bowed deeply toward Randy. "I apologize. Elena isn't feeling well. I should take her home."
Marcus waved a hand, his expression caught between irritation and something that might have been pity. "Yes. Please do."
My mother moved to my side, her hand firm on my elbow. "Come on, sweetheart. Let's go."
Vivian pulled me to my feet, keeping one hand under my elbow to steady me. "We're leaving now. Donald, stay if you wish. We'll discuss this at home."
She guided me toward the massive doors, her grip the only thing keeping me upright.
Behind us, I heard Damon move. "Elena, wait—"
His hand caught my wrist. His fingers tightened slightly, not enough to hurt but enough to anchor me in place. "Elena, I—"
I wrenched my arm free with a violence that surprised even me. The movement was sharp, final, my entire body rejecting his touch like it burned.
I didn't look back. Didn't speak. Just let my mother steer me through those doors.
The doors closed behind us with a heavy thud.