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Somewhere? The way she spoke sent alarms ringing in my mind. It felt deliberate, a veiled warning that this encounter was about more than just her son—it was about power dynamics and control.

“I need to talk to him,” I insisted, unwilling to let her dismiss me so easily.

She stepped closer, her presence suffocating. “You should know by now that Damien has his own ways of dealing with things.”

Something flickered behind her eyes—a hint of amusement or perhaps disdain—and I steeled myself against it. Whatever games she was playing wouldn’t stop me today; I wasn’t backing down without a fight.

“Is he hiding from you?” I challenged.

She raised an eyebrow but said nothing more. The silence stretched between us like a taut wire ready to snap at any moment.

Mrs. Sinclaire watched me like a cat watches a mouse, her eyes glinting with that predatory satisfaction. “I knew you’d come,” she said, her tone as sweet as honey but laced with venom.

I straightened my spine, refusing to let her intimidate me. “Is Damien here?” I asked again.

Her lips curled into a slow smile as she took a deliberate sip from her crystal glass. “He’s not available.”

Frustration coiled in my stomach, tightening my fists at my sides. “I need to talk to him.”

She tilted her head, the mock sympathy in her gaze only serving to infuriate me further. “Holly, dear. Haven’t you done enough?”

“What?” I snapped, my heart racing as confusion and anger twisted together.

She stepped closer, lowering her voice to a chilling whisper that sent shivers down my spine. “You think you can come back into his life and not destroy him again?”

My body stiffened at the accusation—again? The weight of those words hung heavily in the air between us.

She smiled, but there was no warmth in it; just cold calculation. “You really don’t know, do you?”

My heart slammed against my ribs as dread filled the space where courage had been just moments before. “Know what?”

With a theatrical sigh, she swirled her drink again, watching me through narrowed eyes like I was an intricate puzzle waiting to be solved. “Damien was doing so well after he ended things with you. He was focused. Controlled.” She shrugged nonchalantly, dismissing his struggles like they were mere inconveniences. “But then…”

Her words trailed off as if she didn’t need to finish the thought; the implication was clear enough.

“Something broke him.”

Each word felt like a punch to my gut, twisting the knife deeper into wounds I thought had begun to heal.

I shook my head; the words tasting bitter on my tongue. “That’s not true. He ended things with me.”

Mrs. Sinclaire’s smirk deepened, a twisted satisfaction curling her lips. “Did he?”

A cold chill ran down my spine, making the hairs on the back of my neck stand up. I had always thought it was Damien who chose to shut me out, who turned away when I needed him most.

But as her gaze bored into mine, doubts crept in like shadows—was I really the one who gave up on us? Had I ruined him?

“Damien was the one who let me go,” I insisted, though my voice trembled under the weight of her accusation.

Mrs. Sinclaire stepped closer, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper that felt like ice slicing through my resolve. “You were his first love, Holly. And you ruined him.”

The air left my lungs as if someone had punched me in the gut. No. That wasn’t how it happened. My throat tightened around the words I struggled to form.

“His scars,” she continued, almost reveling in the pain she was inflicting on me. “You think they’re just physical reminders? They’re a reflection of what you did.”

The world spun around me, each beat of my heart echoing with uncertainty. Was this what caused his scars? The realization settled over me like a suffocating blanket, smothering every ounce of defiance I had left.

“No,” I whispered, barely able to meet her gaze.