Chapter 64
Elena's POV
"You're back early," Vivian said carefully. Her voice had that deliberate neutrality she used when trying not to detonate a bomb. "...Did everything go okay?"
Donald leaned forward. "Where's Damon?"
The question landed like a punch. I slowly set down my suitcase and took off my coat, buying myself a second. Two seconds.
"He didn't come with me."
"I can see that." Donald's tone sharpened. "I'm asking how things went. Did you two—"
"He has a girlfriend."
Silence.
Vivian's mouth opened slightly. Donald's drumming fingers stopped.
I kept my voice flat. Emotionless. Like I was reciting a shopping list. "She got hurt on the slopes. He thought I caused it. So he told me to leave."
Donald's face cycled through confusion, disbelief, rage. When he spoke, his voice was dangerously quiet. "When did he get a girlfriend."
"I don't know. A few months, maybe." I met his eyes. Didn't flinch. "He's been with her the whole time."
"And you just—" Donald shot to his feet, the movement so sudden I took a step back. "You just let it happen? You couldn't keep his interest for one weekend?"
"Donald—" Vivian tried to interrupt.
"No." He cut her off, advancing on me. His finger jabbed the air between us. "You go back there tonight. You seduce him. You get him to mark you, and if you're smart, you get pregnant. Once you're carrying his pup, he can't get rid of you."
I was laughing before I could stop myself. The sound came out broken, half sob. "You want me to seduce him into getting me pregnant? Like—like some kind of human mistress?"
"If that's what it takes." Donald's breathing was harsh. "You'll be Luna. You'll have position, resources. The Cross family keeps its territory. Isn't that worth it?"
"Worth it?" My voice cracked. "Being a Vance Luna isn't some prize. It's a cage. You'd lock me in that manor to breed heirs and perform rituals while my mate fucks other women. I'd rather be a rogue wolf—at least they're free!"
The slap came before I could react.
My head snapped to the side. The crack of his palm against my cheek echoed in the quiet room.
For a moment, I couldn't process it. My father had never—
Heat bloomed across my face. I tasted copper. My hand rose slowly, pressing against the swelling skin.
"Donald!" Vivian jumped up, putting herself between us. "Are you insane?!"
"Elena, you need to stop too—" Vivian pleaded.
"No!" I said defiantly. "Damon's girlfriend is Scarlett. Yes, the same woman from that dinner—the one Damon violated the Veil for. Damon chose her. Not me."
Donald staggered back like I'd punched him.
Tears were streaming down my face now, hot and furious. "I've been good. I've been obedient. I accepted not being able to shift, accepted being the family joke. I thought if I just tried hard enough, sacrificed enough, things would change. But nobody cares what I want. They never have."
I wiped at my face with shaking hands. My cheek throbbed where he'd struck it.
I looked at my father. Really looked at him.
"Don't take your failures out on me," I said quietly. "Your dying wolf. Alex's death. None of that is my fault. And I'm not your redemption."
His face went white.
"Me and Damon?" I enunciated each word carefully. "Not happening. It never was. I'm done pretending."
Then I turned and left. Didn't look back at either of them. Just walked to the door, pulled it open, stepped into the cold.
The door slammed shut behind me with a sound like finality.
---
I dragged myself toward the gate, the morning air biting cold, but the burning on my face was worse. I could feel my cheek swelling, that pulse of pain reminding me of everything that had just happened.
I didn't know where I was going. I just knew I couldn't stay in that house.
Then I saw him.
Damon stood at the end of the path, hands in his pockets, morning frost settling on his black coat. His hair was disheveled, like he'd been running his hands through it. Or like he hadn't slept.
The light was still dim, but I saw the moment his eyes focused on my face. Focused on my swollen cheek. Focused on my bleeding lip that I hadn't realized was bleeding. Focused on the tear tracks I hadn't bothered to wipe away.
His entire body went rigid.
"Who hit you?"
---
Damon's POV
Elena stood there, suitcase beside her, one cheek swollen with the clear imprint of five fingers. Her lip was split.
When I moved toward her, she flinched. Actually flinched. Like I was the one who'd struck her.
"Elena—"
"Does it matter?" Her voice came out flat. Empty.
An hour ago I'd returned to Blackwood Manor, restless—parents gone to some territory meeting, grandfather out as well. I'd stood at my window smoking, unsettled, my gaze drifting toward Cross Manor without meaning to.
Something felt wrong.
So I'd come looking, telling myself I was just checking if she'd made it home safely. We'd fought, sure. She'd deleted my contact info.
Now she stood in front of me, hurt, and wouldn't let me near.
"Of course it matters." I reached for her wrist. "I'm asking because I—"
She jerked back. "And what? You care?"
The sarcasm in her tone hit like a slap. My fingers closed on air.
My voice came out rougher than I meant. "You can't keep this up. I'm trying to—"
"Your concern is very touching." She looked at me like I was a stranger. "Does Scarlett know you're here?"
My jaw locked. "Don't."
"Don't what?"
"Don't bring her into this." I glanced toward the street. The last thing I needed was someone overhearing. "If anyone finds out—"
"Finds out what?" Elena's eyes hardened. "That you have a girlfriend? That you chose her?"
"Keep your voice down—"
"Why?" She laughed, bitter and sharp. "Afraid someone might hear the truth?"
I felt agitated. This wasn't how this was supposed to go. I'd come to make sure she was okay, and instead she was throwing Scarlett in my face like a weapon.
"You're being ridiculous," I said. "I came here because I was worried—"
"Your worry is a little late." She touched her swollen cheek, and I saw her wince. "And way too scattered."
"What the hell is that supposed to mean?"
"It means your concern is pretty cheap when you spread it around to everyone."
The words landed like acid. My hands clenched. "You know what? Fine. Yeah, I care about Scarlett. But that doesn't mean I want you getting hit. So I'm asking you one more time—who did this?"
Silence stretched between us.
Then Elena spoke, voice unnaturally calm: "My father."
The words didn't process at first. "What?"