chapter 11
1035 Words
Why was he hiding? This was his house, his sanctuary. He shouldn’t care if anyone saw him lingering in the shadows. And yet Damon stayed rooted to his spot, pressed against the wall, his pulse thudding in his ears as though he were the intruder here. This was all John's fault. He always found a way to get to him. Why was he being suddenly nice to a stranger? he should be cold to her. Make her feel uncomfortable and unwelcome. That was what Damon wanted. Not this. He couldn’t, he was doing this.
He strained his hearing, waiting for the sound of footsteps, but there was nothing. Silence filled the corridor. Damon let out a deep sigh and straightened. he cleared his throat and gave his head a little shake. He wasn’t going to let John get to him. She could have the cake if she wanted. He didn’t care.
He was just about to slip back into the rhythm of his evening when his heart nearly stopped.
John was no longer inside, he was standing at the dining room entrance, his eyes narrowed, his figure cutting a still and watchful shape in the dim light. Damon’s hand flew to his chest, breath leaving him in a sharp rush. How long had he been there? Why hadn’t he heard him approach?. This old man! What was his deal!
His embarrassment burned hot under his skin. John had always been like this, appearing suddenly, moving too quietly, watching too closely. And Damon knew the old man did it on purpose. It was one of his tactics, the same subtle, infuriating games he had used since Damon was a boy. Damon was still not used to it, no matter how many times John did it to him.
“Do you need anything, sir?” John asked, his voice warm, his smile infuriatingly calm, as though he hadn’t just unsettled him.
Damon wanted to lash out. He wanted to demand why John had dared give his favourite dessert to a stranger. A woman who had only just stepped into their lives, who hadn’t earned his loyalty, his history. But Damon bit back the words. He would not give John the satisfaction of seeing him sulk like a child. If John wanted to play this game, then he would do the same. He could be nice to her all he wanted. It wouldn’t change what was in his mind.
John had asked him earlier if he wanted some. He had declined. To complain now would make him look petty. Weak.
Swallowing his pride, Damon forced his expression into one of nonchalance. He stepped away from the wall, unclenching his fist where it had been buried deep in his pocket. His poker face slid into place.
“No,” he said evenly. “I was on my way out. I only meant to inform you that I’ll be back later.” He lied, his face stoic than ever.
John immediately saw through Damon’s lie. But he played along, as he always did. “Of course, sir.” he was trying his best to hold back a mocking smile. He knew that would only infuriate Damon, and he didn't want Lana to be disturbed by this.
Damon’s eyes flickered in irritation. The older man’s tone was never disrespectful, yet somehow it still managed to grate. He walked past him briskly, but after a few steps, he couldn’t resist glancing back.
John was still there. Still staring. He still had that smug look on his face that infuriated Damon.
Damon nearly cursed aloud, whipping his gaze away and heading for the front door. His chest expanded only when he finally stepped outside. The air was cooler, tinged with the last burn of the setting sun. Shadows stretched across the grounds, the silence thick.
His evening routine was ruined. No dessert, no peace, just a gnawing restlessness he couldn’t shake. And it was all because of her. She had ruined his day. Ruined his thoughts. Her father has ruined his family. She was to blame for everything that was going on with him. That was why he was so mad that she was comfortable, while he was here loathing every second. It was unfair.
“Does he think I’m still a child?” Damon muttered under his breath. “I can do whatever I want. She isn’t worth his kindness.” He continued, a deep frown on his face.
His feet carried him without thought, away from the house, away from John’s lingering presence. He passed the gardens, moving toward the courtyard, a place he rarely visited, a space that felt forgotten, much like the parts of himself he tried not to remember. There were parts of the house he could no longer visit. It held memories that he wanted to keep buried in him for the rest of his life. The entire house felt empty to him. Sometimes he felt out of place.
Normally, at this hour, he would be in his study, poring over documents, losing himself in work. That was the only way he could distract himself from his harsh reality of emptiness.
But lately, he couldn’t focus. Not with the pictures. Not with the letters. She had been another source of distraction to him, one that he loathed and couldn’t shake off.
Each one was a blade, slicing through the careful control he’d built. Someone out there was toying with him. Someone who knew too much. They had been watching her carefully, waiting for the perfect time to unravel him and disturb his peaceful emptiness. The perfect time to awaken his resentment.
At first, he’d convinced himself it was her, the stranger who had walked so suddenly into his home, into his life. No, he had brought her here. She didn’t suddenly just show up. She didn’t even know who he was.
But no. She wasn’t behind it. His investigations had confirmed that.
Which meant it was someone else. Someone who remembered what had happened years ago. Someone who wanted to remind him.
The thought curdled into anger, sharp and relentless.
He would find them. And when he did, they would regret ever trying to taunt him.
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- Writer
