Chapter 11 MY WOMAN.
\~~~SERENA.
“This woman has no right being in this family, Uncle. She has no right being a part of this family!” Ryan finally burst out.
The words slammed into the room like a thrown glass.
For a moment, no one breathed.
I felt Damien hiss beside me, his hand firm on my waist, grounding and possessive all at once. Ryan’s voice was shaking now, cracked with fury and desperation, like a man watching his world burn and screaming at the fire instead of running.
“This is a joke,” Ryan continued, pacing like a caged animal. “You can’t be serious. You just woke up one morning and decided to marry her? Her?” He laughed, sharp and ugly. “She is nothing. She was nothing!”
That one hurt.
I won’t lie. It did.
But before the sting could settle in my chest, Damien moved slowly and deliberately.
The kind of movement that made people instinctively step back.
“You will lower your voice,” Damien said calmly. “Or I will make you.”
Ryan stopped pacing. “You’re choosing her over blood?”
Damien turned fully to him then. His eyes were dark, and unreadable. “Blood? Blood does not entitle you to disrespect. And it certainly does not give you ownership over a woman that is not yours.”
Ryan scoffed. “Oh please. You don’t know what she is like…”
“I know exactly what she is like,” Damien cut in. “And I also know what you are.”
That shut him up.
Ryan’s mouth opened, then closed, his hands trembling at his sides.
“She is using you,” Ryan tried again, weaker now. “She is bitter. She is angry and she is doing this to hurt me.”
I stepped forward before Damien could speak.
“No,” I said quietly.
Every head turned toward me.
“I am doing this because I finally chose myself.”
Ryan laughed bitterly. “You expect us to welcome you? To accept you?”
I met his gaze, steady. “I don’t need your acceptance.”
Damien’s hand tightened on my waist, pride flickering briefly in his eyes.
Melissa cleared her throat nervously. “Ryan… maybe this isn’t the right time…”
“This is exactly the right time,” Damien interrupted.
He looked around the room, at every single face. The relatives and even ones pretending to sip wine, pretending not to stare.
“Let me make something very clear,” he said. “This house is mine. This family exists because I allow it to. And Serena,” his thumb pressed lightly into my side, “She is my woman.”
Ryan shook his head. “You can’t just force us…”
“I can,” Damien replied simply. “And I am.”
Silence fell again.
“You will treat her with respect,” he continued. “You will address her properly. And if anyone here has a problem with that…” His gaze hardened. “There are doors and they open very easily.”
My heart was pounding not from fear but from the weight of it all and the way he stood there, unapologetic, unyielding, and choosing me in front of everyone.
Ryan looked around desperately, as if waiting for someone, or anyone to defend him.
But, no one did.
Even Lisa stayed quiet, her smile thin, and eyes calculating.
“Now, before we forget every other thing. Apologize to my fiancée,” Damien said again.
The room went painfully quiet.
Ryan froze where he stood, his chest rising and falling fast, like he was fighting the urge to explode. For a long second, I thought he would refuse and that he would say something reckless and get himself thrown out of the house he once bragged about.
Then his shoulders sagged in defeat.
He straightened slowly, dragging in a long, shaky breath. I watched his throat work as he swallowed hard, pride sticking painfully on the way down.
“I… I am sorry,” he began, his voice strained, and forced. “For the disrespect I caused you, Sere…”
“Aunt,” Damien cut in coldly.
The word landed like a slap.
“You will address her as such,” he continued, his tone sharp and final. “She is not your friend.”
Ryan’s jaw clenched so tight I thought his teeth might crack. His fists curled at his sides, knuckles whitening, his face turning an alarming shade of red. Humiliation burned in his eyes, raw and undeniable.
Slowly, and painfully, he lifted his head again.
“I am sorry,” he repeated, each word sounding like it was being dragged out of him. “For the disrespect… Aunt.”
The silence that followed was heavy, thick and suffocating.
I could feel every single person in that room watching me now waiting and measuring how much grace, or cruelty I would show.
I lifted my chin, refusing to let my hands shake. I wasn’t about to gloat. I wasn’t about to beg either.
My shoulders rose in a small, indifferent shrug.
“Of course,” I said calmly, nodding once.
Ryan’s head dipped lower, his breath shaky, his pride in pieces at his feet. He didn’t look at me again.
Damien didn’t wait for Ryan to recover from the humiliation.
His hand closed around mine, firm but calm, and he gently led me out of the kitchen and everyone parted for us like the Red Sea.
No one spoke and no one dared meet my eyes. I caught glimpses of their faces, tight mouths, lowered gazes, and their forced politeness. Whatever tension had poisoned the kitchen followed us out, clinging to the walls, but no one tried to stop us.
When we finally reached the room upstairs, the weight finally lifted.
I exhaled dramatically and dropped onto the couch, my body giving up all at once like I’d been holding myself together with tape and willpower.
“That was crazy,” I muttered, running a hand through my hair. “Jesus.”
My heart was still racing. My palms were damp, and my legs felt weak now that the danger had passed.
Damien didn’t respond.
He simply loosened his cufflinks, adjusted his watch, and went about his business like he hadn’t just pinned his nephew to a cabinet and forced him to apologize to me. Like chaos didn’t follow him everywhere he went.
And maybe it didn’t. Maybe chaos just bent around him.
My phone rang and the sound made me flinch.
I glanced at the screen and groaned softly, scratching my forehead. Of course, of all times.
My mom.
“You’re not going to pick it up?” Damien asked, glancing at me briefly.
I sighed. “It is my mother. She must have seen the news.”
“More reason to pick it up.”
I leaned back against the couch, staring at the ceiling. “I know my mother. She’s going to throw a fit. She will want explanations. She will want to see you. She will want…”
“Why not?” he interrupted smoothly.
I looked at him.
“Shouldn’t I meet my mother-in-law too?” he asked, one brow lifting slightly. A small smirk tugged at his lips, slow and dangerous.
I blinked.
Mother-in-law.
Oh, sleek.
I laughed softly, breathless, shaking my head. “You say that like you’re not terrifying.”
His smirk deepened. “She raised you. I doubt she’ll scare me.”
I hesitated for a second longer, then swiped to answer.
If I was really doing this, really stepping into his world, then there was no point pretending anymore.
I brought the phone to my ear, my pulse quickening.
“Hi, Mom,” I said softly.
And just like that, there was no turning back.