Chapter 9

[Damon]

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” The words fly out before I can stop them. “Standing this close to some stranger?”

The moment I saw her standing that near to the man in scrubs, something in my chest burned. My hands clenched, my jaw locked.

I don’t even know what got into me. She was just talking to him. But for some reason, that little distance between them—which, thinking about it now, wasn’t even that small—made me completely lose it.

“We were just talking,” she says, her tone calm—too calm. It throws me off. Before this, every time I accused her of something, she’d rush to defend herself, desperate to make me understand. But now, for the first time, she acts like it doesn’t matter.

She turns to the man. “Thanks for earlier.”

He nods, then glances at me with a look that practically screams murder. Before I can say anything, he turns and walks away, disappearing around the corner.

No. Why the hell would he look at me like that? Like I’d offended him somehow. And even if I did—who would dare? The Blackwoods are the richest and most powerful family in Raventon. No one would even think about crossing me.

I must be imagining things. I did wake up with a terrible hangover—that has to be it.

“Let go of me!” Elara jerks her hand free, rubbing the spot where I held her. “You’re holding too tight.”

I open my mouth to apologize, but then I stop. What do I have to apologize for? She was the one crossing the line. Even if they weren’t standing too close, there was still something about it that wasn’t right. Else, I wouldn’t have lost it.

“Whatever,” I fix my tie. “Come on, we need to talk.”

I drag her down the corridor until I find a less crowded place.

“What’s there to talk?” She pulls away, back to rubbing her wrist but glaring up at me this time. “You weren’t even here when Cora needed the urgent surgery. Where the hell you were Damon? What took you so long?”

Her words hit me right in the chest. I hate it. This feeling. It frustrates me even more. It’s not like I did it on purpose. I was on my way to her when Hannah suggested I have some tea. She said it would ease my muscles and help me stay awake. But all I remember is dozing off and blacking out like a light.

I still need to confront Hannah about that.

When I checked my phone this morning and realized what had happened, I rushed straight to the hospital.

“I was…” I start to say, but then stop myself. I don’t owe her an explanation. She’s probably just hurt that I didn’t show up when she needed me. But really, what could I have done even if I was here? It’s not like I could have operated on Cora myself. I might run a pharmaceutical corporation, but I’m no doctor. I couldn’t have helped her in any way.

I look away, sighing. “I was tired.”

“Tired?” She scoffs, staring at me like she doesn’t even recognize me anymore. “Do you hear yourself right now? What the hell do you mean you were tired? Your daughter was fighting for her life here, and you say you were tired? Do you even realize how ridiculous that sounds?”

“You think yelling at me changes anything? She’s alive, isn’t she? The surgery was a success. That’s what matters.”

Her eyes widen, disbelief flickering across her face. “That’s what matters? Damon, she almost died! Do you have any idea what those hours felt like? Every second, I thought I’d lose her—our daughter—and you weren’t here!”

“I wasn’t here because I didn’t know,” I snap back, my tone sharper now. “And when I did find out, I came straight here. What else do you want from me, Elara? A scene? Tears? I don’t do that.”

“You don’t do that?” Her lips tremble. “You don’t feel anything, do you? Not fear, not guilt, not love—nothing!”

“Emotions don’t fix things. Actions do. I paid for the surgery, didn’t I? I made sure she had every possible resource. That’s how I show I care.”

She lets out a humorless laugh, eyes glistening. “You think throwing money at a problem counts as love?”

“It counts as responsibility,” I say flatly. “Something one of us has to maintain while the other breaks down.”

For a moment, she just stares at me, silent—like she’s finally realizing something she should’ve known all along.

She scoffs, letting out another bitter chuckle. “I see how it is now. Fine. Then tell me—where were you last night? What did you do that made you so tired you couldn’t even show up when we needed you the most?”

“I said I was tired, didn’t I?” Why isn’t that enough?

“Of course, you were tired. Going two rounds with Hannah sure wiped you out, didn’t it? Oh, wait—maybe it was three. Or four. Did you even keep count of how many times you were cheating on me?”

“Enough, Elara!” I stare at her, jaw tight, voice cold and clipped. “Why do you always have to blame Hannah for everything? When will you stop bullying your own damn sister?”

Tears rush down her face. I can’t help but look away, growing more and more annoyed.

Does she really have to put on such a pitiful act every time we talk? She clearly slandered her own sister just now, but wants to act like a victim at the same time. When the fuck does this nonsense stop?

She shakes her head. “You two can sleep around behind my back, and I can’t even call her out!”

“Elara!” Before I can stop myself, my hand connects with her face.

Did I just slap her?

I didn’t mean to, but…

Her hand flies up to her cheek, eyes wide—a mix of shock and hurt burning through her tears. For a second, the world goes still—my heart thundering in my chest, but my face betrays nothing.

“You…” she starts to say, her lips trembling. “You hate me, don’t you?”

I… should hate her, shouldn’t I? That’s how all of this started.

But instead of admitting it, I look her straight in the eye. “So what? Can you do something about it?” She can’t. All she’s good at is staying by my side and acting like a dutiful wife. “Let’s face it, Elara. You’re nothing without me. So stop acting like you’ve suddenly grown a spine overnight. We both know how this ends. With you on your knees. Begging for my forgiveness.”

“Five years, and that’s how you see me? Like I’m some pathetic loser with no self-respect?”

“Aren’t you?”

She freezes—just for a moment. Then, softly, like it costs her everything, she grits her teeth.

“Fine. If you hate me this much… then let’s get a divorce.”