Page 21

Chapter 21

Holly

I stood outside the tuxedo shop, arms crossed and foot tapping impatiently against the pavement. The afternoon sun beat down, making the air thick and stifling. This was ridiculous.

The charity event loomed over us like a storm cloud, and both of us were required to be here—but here I was, alone.

I glanced at my phone again. No messages. No missed calls. Just silence, stretching out between us like an unbridgeable chasm.

Coward.

Damien was avoiding me. Running. Again. The familiar anger bubbled beneath the surface, threatening to spill over. I couldn't shake the feeling that he was hiding from something more than just our complicated history.

The scars…

I pushed off the wall, pacing back and forth in front of the shop's window, watching my reflection in the glass. My hair fell messily around my shoulders; my eyes burned with frustration. How could he do this? We had been through so much together, yet here he was—still playing games.

No more waiting.

I took a deep breath and steeled myself against the rising tide of emotions swirling inside me. I was done waiting for him to figure himself out; I wouldn’t let him dictate this any longer. The thrill of standing up to him—of confronting him head-on—was almost intoxicating.

With each passing second, my resolve hardened further. I’d spent too long caught in his whirlwind of chaos and uncertainty, and now it felt like he wanted to pull me back in without even giving me a choice.

I stumbled upon something I wasn’t supposed to see, and it gnawed at me like a festering wound. The scars. Had I been so consumed by what we had that I didn't notice? Could I really have been so negligent not to see? Or had it started after?

The thought made my stomach churn. I hated that I couldn’t remember when things had changed between us. One moment we were inseparable; the next, it felt like he’d vanished into thin air without a trace.

I hated it. Hated that I felt powerless, watching him run away while I remained tethered to the chaos he had left behind. The silence between us stretched endlessly; he wouldn’t talk to me, and I couldn't understand why he had to be this way.

Enough is enough.

Right then and there, I made a decision. I wouldn’t stand by any longer as a spectator in my own life, waiting for him to figure things out while I felt like an afterthought. Damien needed to hear me out whether he liked it or not.

I turned on my heel and marched away from the shop, determination pulsing through my veins. He could run all he wanted, but I was done playing his game of avoidance. No more lingering in the shadows of his decisions—I would find him and force him to confront what we both knew lay between us.

He was going to listen this time; no more hiding from me or himself. This would end today, one way or another.

I drove straight to Damien’s place, summer rain misting over the streets, blurring the world around me. My hands tightened on the steering wheel, knuckles white as I navigated the familiar path.

He better be here.

The Sinclaire estate loomed ahead, dark and perfect against the stormy sky, an imposing structure that always felt more like a prison than a home. I’d been here before, but it never felt welcoming—not to me and certainly not to Damien.

Unless that was a lie too.

As I pulled into the driveway, my heart raced with each beat. I wanted to see him. I needed to confront him about everything—the chaos he brought into my life, his inability to face his demons head-on, and those scars that haunted my thoughts.

I barely got out of the car before spotting someone waiting for me on the steps. A woman, elegant and composed in a tailored suit that looked far too expensive for a rainy day like this. Her lips curled into an amused smirk as our eyes met.

Damien’s mother.

The air turned thick with tension as she stepped forward, her gaze piercing through me like an icy dagger. I felt a jolt of unease; she was everything I remembered—calculated and relentless in her pursuit of perfection.

“Fancy seeing you here,” she said, her voice dripping with condescension.

I swallowed hard, fighting back a rush of indignation that threatened to spill over. “Where’s Damien?”

Her smile widened slightly, though it didn’t reach her eyes. “Oh, he’s around somewhere.”

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.

Mrs. Sinclaire stepped even closer, invading my personal space as she leaned in slightly. Her voice softened to a sickly sweet tone that sent shivers down my spine. “You don’t belong in his world anymore.”

I swallowed hard, her words laced with venom that stung deeper than any physical blow ever could.

“Walk away before you break him again.”

Her final statement hung between us like a death sentence. In that moment, doubt gnawed at my insides; a familiar panic rose up from within me like bile.

I had come here to find Damien and confront him—to prove that I wouldn’t let him slip away again—but now? Now I questioned everything about why he shut me out in the first place and whether Mrs. Sinclaire was right about anything at all.

I didn’t know how I ended up back in my car. One moment, I stood facing Damien’s mother, and the next, I was slumped in the driver’s seat, hands gripping the steering wheel like it was a lifeline.

My body moved on autopilot, as if some part of me wanted to escape before the truth sank in. The rain drummed against the roof, each drop amplifying the chaos swirling in my mind.

Did I do this? Did I really cause the scars? The damage? The darkness that hung over Damien like a shroud? Was that why he didn't want me to see them?

I pressed my forehead against the steering wheel, breath shallow and erratic. It felt like I was drowning in a sea of confusion and guilt. Every word Mrs. Sinclaire had spoken echoed in my ears, twisting and morphing into accusations that clawed at my insides.

You were his first love. And you ruined him.

The thought rattled around in my brain like a caged animal desperate to escape. I shook my head violently as if that would dislodge the weight pressing down on me.

She’s lying. She’s manipulating you. That’s what she does.

But what if she wasn’t? What if there was some truth buried within her venomous words? What if my leaving had sent Damien spiraling into this dark abyss?

The thought felt like a punch to the gut. How could I have done that? How could I have walked away when he needed me most? Each question only fed into another wave of guilt that crashed over me.

I squeezed my eyes shut, trying to block out the thoughts that tormented me like ghosts from my past—ghosts that were never truly gone but merely lay dormant, waiting for moments like these to resurface.

I took a deep breath, hoping to steady myself, but it didn’t help; instead, it filled me with panic. When he lashed out and pushed people away.

The weight of everything settled heavily on my chest as tears pricked at my eyes.

I leaned back against the seat, gripping the steering wheel as I replayed Mrs. Sinclaire’s words in my mind. Damien always told me to stay away from her. He warned me, time and time again, about the manipulation and games she played. But the way she spoke, the conviction in her voice—it felt too real.

Tears burned behind my eyes, threatening to spill over. I refused to be weak; I couldn’t let her win. Not today. Taking a deep breath, I focused on what I needed to do.

I reached for my phone and dialed Damien’s number, my heart racing with every ring. Each tone echoed in the silence of the car, a stark reminder of how far apart we had drifted since that night in the rain.

Straight to voicemail.

Frustration bubbled within me as I hung up, staring at the screen as if it would magically change the outcome of my call. My fingers hovered over his name again, but I forced myself to resist dialing back immediately. Instead, I took another deep breath and tried to think clearly.

What was he doing? Where was he? Did he even care about what happened last night? My chest tightened with anxiety as doubt clawed at my insides like a wild animal desperate to escape its cage.

Damien had made it clear—his mother was dangerous territory. Yet here I was, having just crossed an invisible line by allowing her words to penetrate so deeply.

A sinking feeling settled in my stomach; I wanted to scream at him for leaving me in this position without any warning or explanation.

But mostly?

I wanted him to come back and reassure me that everything would be okay—that his mother’s twisted perception of reality wouldn’t seep into our lives.

But as each second ticked by with no response from him, that reassurance felt more like a distant fantasy than an attainable reality.

Finally giving in to frustration, I dialed again—determined not to leave it at voicemail this time.

Damien, I thought fiercely as the phone rang once more— you better pick up.

I stared at my phone, jaw clenched tight as the voicemail greeting cut off again. Each beep felt like a punch to my gut, igniting the frustration simmering beneath the surface.

Fine. If he wouldn’t answer, I’d make him listen.

With shaking hands, I typed out a message and hit send before I could second-guess myself.

I don’t care what your mother says. We need to talk.

A moment passed, and then I followed up with another text.

You don’t get to run from this.

My heart raced as I wrote the last one, fingers trembling over the screen.

You don’t get to run from me.

Once the messages were sent, I threw my phone onto the passenger seat, breath coming in quick bursts. A storm brewed inside me.

Because I knew—this wasn’t over. Not even close.

The rain pounded against my windshield, a chaotic rhythm echoing my internal turmoil. I couldn’t just sit here waiting for him to decide when he was ready to face me. Not again.

Damien had always been good at running away when things got too real, but I wasn’t going to let him escape this time. The thought of his mother’s icy words hung heavy in the air around me like fog: You ruined him.

I shook my head, trying to banish her voice from my mind. Whatever twisted logic she used to manipulate him wouldn’t work on me. Damien needed someone who would stand firm—not cower under his family’s weight or their expectations.

The car felt claustrophobic as I drummed my fingers against the steering wheel, impatience bubbling inside me like a shaken soda can ready to explode. Did he think he could just disappear? Did he really believe that pushing me away would somehow make everything better?

I glanced at my phone again as if willing it to light up with his name, but nothing happened.

Frustration boiled over; I started the engine and backed out of the driveway without a second thought.

If he wanted to hide, then fine—I would drag him out into the light myself.