28 - MOVE OUT

28 - MOVE OUT


Cheryl’s POV

Aiden’s head snapped sideways from the force of the punch, and I froze.

My breath caught in my throat as I stared—horrified, stunned, completely unable to move.

Damon’s fist was still clenched, his knuckles already turning red from the impact. Aiden barely reacted at first, just rolling his jaw like he was testing if it was still intact. But then—he smiled.

Blood stained his lips as his smirk grew, his tongue darting out to taste the metallic tang of his own blood like he was enjoying this. His eyes darkened, glinting with something dangerously close to amusement.

"To what do I owe this pleasant surprise?" Aiden sneered, his voice dripping with mockery, the smirk on his face infuriatingly smug.

Damon still had him by the collar, his chest heaving, his muscles coiled with rage.

"You stay the hell away from her," Damon snarled, his voice rough and commanding, his grip on Aiden’s shirt tightening.

Aiden let out a low chuckle, completely unbothered. "How can I do that? We live together." He tilted his head slightly, his smirk widening. "Oh wait, don't tell me you're upset because your date ran off with me last night. Scared I might steal her? Maybe if you’d actually kept her at your side all night—"

Damon’s hand shot up, his body winding like a spring, ready to strike again.

"Stop!"

The word tore out of me before I even had time to think.

I lunged forward, catching Damon’s clenched fist just in time. His entire body was rigid beneath my touch, his breathing heavy and erratic. Aiden just stood there, still wearing that dirty, bloody, infuriatingly smug smile.

For a second, nobody moved. The room was thick with tension, humming like an electric wire about to snap.

Then, Damon slowly turned his head to me, his expression still burning with fury.

I didn’t say anything.

I just grabbed his wrist and pulled.

Without another word, I yanked him out of the house, dragging him to the driveway. His car was parked haphazardly, the front wheels turned at an awkward angle, as if he’d slammed on the brakes and jumped out without even thinking.

Outside, the late morning sun hit our faces, the warmth doing little to soothe the tension still crackling in the air. Damon’s suit—not the same one from last night—was slightly wrinkled, like he’d thrown it on in a hurry.

I turned to face him, arms crossed, heart still hammering in my chest.

"You didn’t have to do that," I muttered.

Damon scoffed, running a hand through his hair, his jaw still tight with anger. "You ran off with him last night," he shot back. "You were supposed to be my date, and you ran off with the same man you claim there's nothing going on with."

I winced.

"There’s nothing going on," I said quickly, emphasizing each word like I could somehow beat the truth into the air between us.

But inside my head, a voice whispered: Just a stupid crush.

A stupid, messy, heart-racing, nerve-wracking, blood-boiling crush.

But I didn’t say that part out loud.

Damon narrowed his eyes at me, his gaze sharp, skeptical. "That’s not what I saw when I walked in."

I let out a long, deep sigh. "Look, that was stupid. There’s an explanation." I hesitated, then finally said, "His mother died. Or she’s missing. I’m not even sure which one it is. It’s a whole mess, and I was just—" I gestured vaguely. "Trying to help."

Damon’s brows knitted together for a second, like he was processing that information. But his expression didn’t soften.

"That doesn’t change the fact that you left with him." His voice was quieter now, but there was still something dangerous lingering in it.

I lifted my chin. "I wouldn’t have left with him if you hadn’t spent half the night hugging and kissing every woman that walked your way."

Damon exhaled sharply, his jaw tightening. "It’s business," he said, his voice clipped. "The whole benefit is a front for closing deals. That’s how it works."

For a moment, we just stood there.

Silent.

Tense.

Waiting for the other person to crack first.

And then, Damon spoke again. His voice was lower this time, more careful. "Am I wasting my time here?"

My breath hitched.

"Do you like him?" he asked. "Because if you do—"

"No, I don’t," I cut him off way too fast.

I felt the words stick in my throat, felt the lie curl its way around my tongue.

But I forced myself to keep talking.

"I was just trying to be a good person. Be a good friend. Because it seems like he’s going through a lot, and I know what it is to lose a parent—I’ve been there."

I watched as Damon’s expression shifted. The anger in his eyes dimmed just a little, replaced by something… softer.

And then—he did something that completely caught me off guard.

He lifted a hand to my face.

Slowly. Gently.

His fingers brushed against my cheek, warm and careful.

For a second, I just stared at him, frozen.

I never would’ve thought Damon was capable of this kind of touch. He was all sharp edges and brutal confidence—not this.

But somehow, it made my chest ache.

It made me feel… fuzzy.

Like maybe, just maybe, I wasn’t entirely alone in this mess.

"How can I make it up to you?" I asked, my voice quieter now. "There has to be something."

Damon didn’t answer right away.

Instead, he just looked at me.

Really looked at me.

Then, finally, he spoke.

"I need you to move out."

I blinked.

For a second, I wasn’t sure if I’d heard him right.

"What?"

His expression didn’t waver. "You can’t keep living with him"

The words landed like a slap.

I felt my breath hitch, felt my stomach twist into a tight, painful knot.

Damon’s gaze was steady, unreadable.

Serious.

And for the first time since he stormed in, punched Aiden, and practically ripped me out of the house—

I had no idea what to say.