Something's not right.
His back muscles are tense, but what worries me is the air around him. It’s like an invisible fog of rage.
Aria starts screaming, and Zion takes a step back, followed by Ivette.
"Damien," I whisper and put my hand on his forearm, but he shakes me off, his hand flexing.
"You had one responsibility. One. To take care of her," he tells my father, who's turning purple.
"Damien, let him go," I tell him clearly, but it's like he doesn't hear me.
What the hell is happening to him?
With his other hand, he reaches behind his back and pulls out a blade hidden beneath his jacket, and I know that if I don't intervene, in seconds that knife will be buried in the man who raised me. So, ignoring the women's screams in the kitchen and Zion, who I think is calling the police, I insert myself between Damien and my father.
I don't have much room, and when I look into his eyes, I know it's not him. It's not the man who made love to me in the bathroom an hour ago. It's not the man who kisses my cheeks before leaving me. It's not the man who promised me he wouldn't miss a single dinner.
Because his entire gaze is covered by a veil. Of fury. Of confusion.
Before that blade makes contact with my father, I grab it by the handle, but in the process, I cut myself.Fuck.
I can't help but make a sound from the sting, and only then do his eyes find me and clear.
Just that simply.
"Slonko?" he asks hoarsely.
"Yes, baby," I answer with a smile.
His eyes weigh the entire scene—his hand at my father's throat, the knife in both our hands, the blood dripping down my wrist—and he instantly takes two steps back.
I turn to the two women staring in horror at Damien, then to Zion.
"Not a word about what happened. For your own good."
In their eyes is something I never thought I'd see: fear. And I can't help it, a smile spreads across my face.
I turn to my father, who still has wide eyes from shock and Damien's fingerprints around his throat. Normally I'd feel a wave of guilt, but I know why my husband had that reaction. And I can't make my heart feel any remorse. Maybe because now I know what it should feel like when someone loves you, without compromise and without trying to change you.
"I'm sorry for you," I tell the man who raised me. "I'm sorry you'll never know what an amazing woman I am. I am sorry you’ll never see me shine."
My gaze moves to Ivette, and a smile full of pity appears on my face.
"I'd check if all that injected Botox wasn't expired, because you have one cheekbone lower than the other. You can have all the surgeries, you can weigh the same as you did at twenty, not a single gray hair on your head, impeccable manicure...and still, you'll never beher. Not even if you're reborn. As for you, Aria," and I look now at my "sister," "call me when you want me to organize your divorce party because I guarantee, in six months max, your man's dick will be paying rent at other women's places," and I leave without looking back.
Because my husband needs me.
Damien leaves the house like it is on fire. I know he's processing what happened in that kitchen, so I don't say anything until we're on the road.
"Damien."
"Not now, Roxanne."
I bite my tongue but stay quiet. I'm not delusional, I understand the gravity of his actions. This lack of control is dangerous. Especially when you have witnesses, especially when you don't know what you're leaving behind.
When we get home, he instantly gets out of the car, and I run after him.
Vasili looks at us with a frown as we climb the stairs one after the other, but I wave at him to stay there.
