Damien’s POV
I paced the length of the living room like a caged animal, my fingers wrapped around the neck of a whisky bottle that was half-empty, or half-full, depending on whether you were an optimist. I wasn't feeling particularly optimistic.
The amber liquid sloshed with each step, and I brought it to my lips for another burning gulp. It didn't help. Nothing helped. The alcohol just made the edges of reality blur without actually making any of it go away.
Not yours. The child isn't biologically yours.
The doctor's words played on repeat, a broken record I couldn't shut off.
"Stop drinking like you're auditioning for an intervention episode!"
Aria's voice cut through my spiral. I barely registered her approach before she lunged forward and snatched the bottle from my hand mid-gulp
