Chapter 83 WORN OUT.
\~~~SERENA.
I sat there at the kitchen table, spoon halfway to my mouth, and the warm soup suddenly tasted like nothing. The steam rose in lazy curls, but my appetite had vanished. I set the spoon down with a soft clink and raised my head to look at Damien. He was across from me, eating steadily, his broad shoulders relaxed under the morning light streaming through the window. But my mind was racing, replaying everything from last night. The way I'd thrown myself at him, and the desperation in my voice. It all felt so wrong, and so unlike me.
My cheeks flushed hot, and I shifted in my seat, twisting the napkin in my lap. “Damien,” I started, my voice barely above a whisper. “I don't understand what happened yesterday. I am sorry. I acted so out of place. It wasn't me.”
He paused, his spoon hovering over his bowl, but before he could say anything, his phone beeped on the counter. He reached for it, glancing at the screen with a quick frown. I watched him, my heart pounding a little harder. His face was unreadable as he scrolled through whatever message had come in, his thumb flicking across the display. Seconds stretched into what felt like minutes, and I bit my lip, waiting.
Finally, he set the phone down and met my eyes. “It wasn't your fault, Serena. I understand.”
But I couldn't let it go that easily. Shaking my head, I leaned forward, my voice gaining a bit of strength.
“No, Damien, it was impossible for me to get drunk on just two glasses of champagne. I know my limits. I've had more before and never felt like that… like I lost control completely.”
He breathed out slowly, setting his spoon down and rubbing a hand over his jaw. His eyes were steady on mine, calm in that way he always was, even when things got messy.
“It wasn't your fault,” he repeated, his tone gentle but firm. “Your drink was spiked.”
My eyes widened, the words hitting me like a slap. “Drugs?!”
He nodded, leaning forward with his elbows on the table, closing the distance between us. “Yeah. The test just confirmed it. You truly consumed drugs last night.”
“What test?’' I asked, my voice rising a notch. My mind reeled, piecing together the fog of the evening. The ball, the laughter that had bubbled up too easily, and the heat that had spread through me like wildfire.
“One of my guys took the remaining contents from the glass you had last night and ran it through testing," he explained, his voice even, like he was discussing the weather. “It just came back positive. Someone drugged you.”
I palmed my mouth, my hand trembling slightly as reality sank in. The room seemed to tilt for a second, the cozy kitchen turning cold. “Why would anyone do that?” I whispered, my eyes searching his face for answers he didn't have yet.
Damien reached across the table, his hand covering mine briefly, warm and reassuring. “Don't bother about it right now. I am on it already. Whoever did this will pay for it.”
“B... but why?” I pressed, pulling my hand back to wrap my arms around myself. The thought of someone tampering with my drink, and watching me sip it innocently made my stomach churn.
“What did I ever do to anyone?”
He shrugged, leaning back in his chair with a sigh. “It was probably to make you act out of place. You know... embarrass you and me in front of everyone. Make us look weak or foolish at that event.”
I shook my head, refusing to accept it so easily. My brows furrowed as I stared at my cooling soup. “But what would anyone gain from that? Who would even care enough to... to drug me?”
He shook his head too, mirroring my frustration, but his expression stayed composed. “I don't know yet, but I'll find out.”
I drew my brows together tighter, a name popping into my mind like a spark. “But... Do you think Ryan did this?”
Damien's eyes narrowed just a fraction, but he didn't dismiss it outright. “I will get to the bottom of this, okay? Trust me on that.”
I nodded slowly, but my thoughts were swirling faster now. Last night replayed in snippets, the crowd, the music, and the way people had smiled and chatted. And then... “Lisa came to me last night," I said suddenly, the memory sharpening.
“Lisa?” He tilted his head, curiosity flickering in his gaze.
“Yeah. She just sat down next to me, out of nowhere, and started talking about how her marriage was treating her well and all that shit. Like she was trying to rub it in or something. Do you think...?”
He cut me off gently, shaking his head. “Lisa doesn't seem involved in any of this. But we can't overlook it either, can we? For now, you should eat your food. You look so... worn out.” His eyes softened as they roamed my face, taking in the dark circles under my eyes, the way my hair fell messily around my shoulders. There was concern there, deep and unspoken, making my chest tighten.
I swallowed hard, the lump in my throat making it tough to respond. He was right. I felt exhausted, like the drugs had drained every bit of energy from me.
“Okay,” I murmured, picking up my spoon again. But as I stirred the soup, another thought hit me, sharp and insistent. I snapped my brows together, setting the spoon down once more.
“How did you know Gwendolyn Forbes?”
There was little to no change in his reaction, no flinch, and no widening eyes. Just that steady gaze holding mine. But the air in the kitchen shifted, growing thicker, like we'd crossed into dangerous territory.
He clasped his hands together on the table, his knuckles whitening slightly as he swallowed. The silence stretched, heavy and loaded.
“Gwendolyn,” I repeated, my voice firmer now, leaning forward. “How did you know her?”
The question hung between us, unanswered, as his jaw tightened just a bit. I could see the wheels turning in his mind, the way he weighed his words. But he didn't speak, and that silence said more than enough. My heart raced, a mix of fear and determination bubbling up.