Chapter 90- Fractured Bonds

I shoved my palms against his chest, pushing with every ounce of strength I could summon. Malios had already pulled away, but his weight barely shifted. Frustration surged through me—why couldn’t I force him further back, away from me, away from this mess he had created? Fury bubbled over, and without hesitation, I swung my right hand back and delivered a resounding slap across his face. The sharp crack echoed in the still night air, followed by the satisfying sight of his head jerking to the side.

For a fleeting moment, I felt relief. Then, vindication, as his hands flew up to cradle his reddened cheek. When he finally looked at me again, his wide eyes held shock—like my reaction wasn’t something he had anticipated. He was a fool if he hadn’t.

“How dare you?” My voice was venomous, each syllable dripping with fury.

“I—I'm sorry. I didn’t think—” he stammered, scrambling for an explanation.

“I should let Damon kill you!” My voice rose, raw and unfiltered.

“I thought that if I kissed you, you’d see the truth—” he pleaded.

“I told you! I feel nothing for you except pity! You’re pathetic, Malios. Naïve. Do you honestly believe I would ever choose you over Damon? Even at his worst, he’s still twice the man you’ll ever be!”

His expression shattered with hurt, but this time, I felt no guilt.

“I never want to see you again. Do you understand me?” 

His silent nod was the only answer I needed. Without another word, I spun on my heel and stormed back to the house.

Sleep was impossible that night. The knowledge that Bullet was stationed outside, watching, reporting, made it even harder to rest. This meant Damon still cared—so then, why was I here? If he cared, if he still loved me, what was the point of this separation?

No matter how deeply I despised him for doing this to us, I longed for home. I ached for the warm embrace of my bed, the quiet moments spent soothing my son to sleep, the familiar feeling of waking to Damon’s kisses. This limbo was excruciating—far worse than simply knowing where I stood.

My mind drifted to Malios. Perhaps his upbringing as a Hybrid soldier had shielded him from the complexities of human emotion. Maybe it had made him reckless—unafraid of Damon in a way no one else dared to be. And that terrified me.

The next day blurred into monotony. Mason left early for work at his tool shop, Maria was once again summoned to the mansion, and I spent my hours cleaning, trying desperately to fill the void of time.

Then, near midnight, I stepped outside and lingered by the bushes, waiting. Bullet was late—later than usual. I nearly gave up, sleep tugging at my limbs, when tires screeched against the pavement. I straightened instantly.

The back door of the van swung open. My breath hitched as Damon emerged.

I hesitated. Was he here to come inside? To bring me home? The moment he stepped forward, I realized something was off. He was stumbling—unsteady in a way that was unmistakable. Bullet remained by the vehicle, cigarette in hand, watching silently.

Damon was drunk.

I stepped forward, allowing myself to be seen. Damon halted, eyes locking onto mine.

“What are you doing?” My voice was quiet, restrained, but my pulse raced. It felt surreal to see him—too good. Like I hadn’t laid eyes on him in years. 

“I came to see you,” he said simply. His voice was controlled, but the scent of alcohol tainted the air between us. 

“For what?” I snapped, anger resurfacing with full force. No matter how much I missed him, I couldn’t let my emotions cloud the reality of what he had done to us.

“To ask you why,” he said, standing there in a jacket that was clearly too small for his broad frame.

“Why what?”

“Why would you let someone come between us again?” His voice dipped low, rough with emotion. “You know what happened to the last one—”

My stomach twisted. “Listen to yourself. You sound insane. I didn’t do anything—”

“I saw the cameras,” he cut me off. “You were all over each other.” His expression held raw pain, the same devastation I’d seen when he stood over his mother’s grave. 

“When we were in the woods together, it was because he didn’t think I should be alone. And when I fainted, he caught me—”

“And when he was in my bed?” Damon countered. “The night I was out searching for our son?”

I swallowed hard. “He was comforting me. That’s all. Yes, Malios has feelings for me, but I don’t feel the same.” I shook my head, willing away the sting of tears. “I can’t believe you let her get in your head! This is exactly what she wanted—”

“This feels like Evan all over again,” he admitted. “And if that’s true… what am I supposed to do when I have to face Luke after killing his son?”

My breath hitched. “You can’t kill him. He’s just a kid—”

“He was Evan’s age,” Damon snapped. “He’s older than you!”

I lowered my gaze, unable to argue. Damon was drowning in heartbreak and assumptions, and I had no way of pulling him out.

“Damon, I love you,” I whispered. “I think you’re still mad at me for what happened with Evan. I think you blame yourself for his death.” I stepped closer. “And you believe I do too.”

His expression darkened. “Sometimes, I feel like you hate me for it. Like you want revenge.”

“You’re wrong,” I said firmly, closing the distance between us. “I don’t hate you. I could never hate you.”

“If Evan was still alive… would you have chosen me?” His voice cracked slightly.

And suddenly, I understood him completely. This wasn’t about Malios. It was about Evan—about Damon’s lingering guilt, about the weight of his past mistakes.

I thought back to those days of endless grief—when I cried myself to sleep over Evan’s death, unaware that Damon had seen, had known, had carried that pain too.

“Yes,” I answered without hesitation. “I loved Evan, but he was my best friend. I never loved him the way I love you.”

Damon stared at me. For a moment, he seemed frozen.

Then, suddenly, he exhaled. “I’ll be back soon. I just need… time.”

I blinked. “Are you serious? You’re leaving—”

Before I could finish, he turned sharply and stumbled back to the car. Bullet gave me a knowing nod before climbing into the driver’s seat. 

I clenched my fists, resisting the urge to scream.

I watched them drive away.

And convinced myself—like I had so many times before—that Damon would come back. 

Soon.