Lana’s POV
The heavy door to our suite clicked shut, finally sealing out the chaotic aftermath of breakfast. I leaned back against it, letting out a long, weary breath. The air still felt charged with the ghosts of Dave’s roar and Sheila’s icy silence.
Damon was already pouring himself a drink at the minibar, his back to me. His shoulders were tense.
“Well,” I said, my voice sounding small in the quiet room. “He completely ruined it. I tried, Damon. I really did. I was talking to her, trying to calm her down, and for a second, I thought there was a chance. But then he just… exploded.”
Damon took a slow sip of his amber whiskey before turning around. His expression was unreadable, but his jaw was tight. “He’ll fix it,” he said, his tone leaving no room for argument.
A frustrated sigh
