Chapter 80
Damon's POV
The second she vanished upstairs, Donald's expression shifted.
The rage melted away like ice under hot water. He turned to me with an apologetic smile.
"Damon, I'm so sorry." His voice was smooth now, conciliatory. "Elena, she... yesterday's decision really hurt her."
I blinked, thrown by the sudden change. "Sir?"
He gestured for me to sit back down, settling into his own chair with a heavy sigh. "You have to understand. This girl has had feelings for you her whole life."
I tightened my jaw.
"Her mother told me," he continued, not meeting my eyes. "Elena cried last night. Because of what you said yesterday."
I said nothing. The words felt calculated.
"She's just protecting her pride right now," Donald said, leaning forward. "You know how girls are. She's hurt, so she's lashing out. But deep down? She wants this marriage."
Doubt crept in. Had I missed something?
No. I'd seen her eyes yesterday. There was no love there. Only exhaustion.
Still, I nodded slowly. "I see."
"Just give her some time," Donald said, his smile widening. "Go talk to her. She'll come around."
I stood, my mind racing. "I'll try."
As I headed toward the stairs, one thought kept circling.
If she's been crying over me, why does it feel like she's been running away from me?
---
The staircase felt longer than it should have.
Each step gave me too much time to think.
I replayed the past few weeks in my head. Elena's eyes when she looked at me—they used to hold something. Light. Hope.
But lately? Dull. Distant. Like looking at a stranger.
When had that changed?
The resort. No—before that. After she bailed me out from Enforcement.
When I made her lie for me. Cover for me. Over and over again.
My hand gripped the banister.
And then I told her I never wanted her. In front of everyone.
I paused outside her door, one hand raised to knock.
Why is she pulling away?
Was it because of my relationship with Scarlett? Or something else?
I pushed the thought away and knocked.
---
Elena's POV
I was sitting on the edge of my bed, staring at my phone screen.
Caleb's last message was still there.
A knock at the door startled me.
"Come in," I said automatically, assuming it was Mother.
The door opened.
Damon stepped inside.
I froze.
My thumb moved on instinct, locking the screen just as his eyes flicked toward the phone in my hands. I set it down on the bed, face down.
"I didn't say you could come in," I said, my voice flat.
He stopped just inside the doorway. "You said 'come in.'"
"I thought you were my mother."
His gaze moved from the phone to my face.
"Your father told me something."
I said nothing.
"He said you were upset. Because of what happened yesterday." His eyes bored into mine. "Is that true?"
A bitter laugh escaped before I could stop it.
"You actually believe that?"
He hesitated. "I don't know what to believe anymore."
"Then let me make it simple," I said, my voice dropping to ice. "My father will say anything to get what he wants. He needs your family's money and protection."
His expression flickered.
"Is it because of my relationship with Scarlett that upset you?"
"You're overthinking it."
"Then why do you hate Scarlett?" He stepped closer.
I stepped closer too, my voice rising. "You made me take the fall for her. You made me lie to your family, to my family. And then you had the nerve to ask me why I don't like her?"
His mouth opened, but I didn't let him speak.
"You want me to accept this blood pact. You want me to smile while you parade your girlfriend around. And you expect me to bless your relationship?" I laughed bitterly. "Tell me, Damon. Do you think that's fair?"
He didn't answer.
Because he couldn't.
---
Damon's POV
She was right.
Every word she said was right, and it made my blood boil. Not at her. At myself.
"If you don't want to marry me," I said, forcing my voice to stay even, "then go to my grandfather. Tell him you refuse."
Her eyes narrowed. "You think I have that power?"
"You're part of this arrangement—"
"I'm a sacrifice, Damon." Her voice was cold. "I didn't make this deal. Your grandfather and mine did. I'm just the thing they're trading. I don't get a say."
The words hit harder than I expected.
"You're the heir," she continued. "Your word carries weight. Mine doesn't. If you want this to end, you go talk to Randy. Or tell my father you'll never marry me. Make him give up."
I opened my mouth to argue. Then closed it.
Because she was right again.
This whole thing was absurd. Neither of us wanted it.
But I couldn't be the one to walk away. If I did, it would look like I was backing down. Like I lost.
My pride wouldn't allow it.
I stared at her, the silence stretching.
Why does this bother me so much?
I didn't want to marry her. That was the truth.
But hearing her say she didn't want to marry me either—it stung.
My mind drifted back to before.
Elena's room had always been safe.
When Father tore into me for screwing something up. When Mother forced me to attend another pack ritual I didn't care about—I'd come here.
She never asked questions. Never judged. She'd just sit there, listening. Her scent would wrap around me, calming me down.
I'd taken it for granted.
And now? Now she wouldn't even let me in the door.
I've lost her.
But she'd been mine. In some unspoken, undefined way.
And now she wasn't.
"Damon."
Her voice snapped me back. She was standing by the door now, one hand on the handle.
"If you don't have anything else to say, please leave."
I didn't move.
She walked over, reaching for my sleeve. "I said, leave."
Her hand grabbed my sleeve and pulled.
"Damon, I'm not joking. Get out."
She tugged harder, frustration radiating off her.
My hand reacted on instinct the moment she touched me.
I grabbed her wrist.
She gasped. I realized I was gripping too hard. But I didn't let go.
Instead, I turned. Before she could react, her back was against the wall.