Chapter 5

Ophelia’s POV:

My heart was in my throat. All I could smell was him. Damon. The sharp, overwhelming scent of cedarwood and caramel.

I wanted to turn. I wanted to bolt into the woods and let the shadows swallow me whole. But I couldn’t move. His hand was a vice around my arm, the heat of his palm seeping through my sleeve.

He leaned in, and I was forced to look at him. The anger simmering in his dark eyes was an exact, haunting reflection of the look he had given me four years ago, on that final night in the Vitale mansion. It was a cold, predatory fire that stripped me bare.

My mind was ringing with internal alarm bells, a deafening cacophony of run, run, run. This man wouldn't have any pity on me. He never had. To Damon, I was an intruder, a stain on his family’s reputation. My stomach twisted with a sickening thought; he wouldn't help me. He would see the mess I’d made of the Ambrose alliance and drag me right back to Raymond.

Confusion bubbled in my gut, quickly overtaken by a fresh ignite of fear, as he suddenly lurched forward. He didn't push me away; instead, he hauled me flush against his chest. I stumbled until I was pinned against his chest. “What are you doing?!” I gasped, my voice coming out breathless.

I began to thrash, my hands flat against his chest as I tried to shove him away. Panic surged as I felt his hands move behind my back, reaching for the heavy bundle where Valeria was secured.

“Get off me! Don't touch her!” I screamed, twisting my shoulders in a frantic attempt to break his hold.

“Fucking hell, stop moving!” Damon’s voice exploded, a roar that vibrated through my very bones. He shoved me back till I was almost against the frame of his car, his massive frame towering over me, effectively pinning me in place. “You can’t sit in the car with her strapped to your back like this, woman!”

The sheer volume of his shout made my heart jolt, a shock that rippled through my limbs. But as the words registered, my body finally went limp. He wasn't trying to take her, to hurt her.

Damon didn’t wait for my permission. His fingers were nimble and surprisingly steady as he worked the knots of the bedsheets I’d used to tie Valeria to my back. As the fabric fell away, he caught her small, limp form in his arms.

The air seemed to leave his lungs in a sharp hiss. His eyes widened, his gaze raking over Valeria’s pale, sweat-beaded face and her small frame. I saw the muscles in his jaw clench so hard they looked like they might snap.

“God damn it,” he muttered under his breath. “What the hell is happening to her?”

He moved efficiently, laying her down across the leather of the back seat. He kept the car door open before he turned back to me. I stood there, shivering under my hoodie.

A moment passed. Damon quirked his brow, his eyes trailing from my hair down to my feet.

“Well?” he snapped, the impatience returning to his tone. “Get in.”

I didn't move. My feet felt like they were rooted into the ground. “Where are you taking us?”

I couldn't help the question. The worry clouding my mind was so thick it was making me nauseous.

He frowned at me, his lip curling in a flicker of his old disdain as he looked me up and down. “The hospital, where else? Look at her, Ophelia.”

I swallowed hard, the lump in my throat feeling like a jagged stone. I nodded slowly and then climbed into the back, sliding in beside my daughter. I gently lifted her head, cradling it in my lap, my fingers stroking her matted hair.

Damon slammed the door shut, the sound echoing like a gunshot. He climbed into the driver's seat, the car shifting under his weight. I watched him in the rearview mirror. He reached up, angling the glass until his eyes met mine directly—sharp, piercing, and unforgiving. I tensed, pulling Valeria closer.

The engine roared to life. He didn't hesitate; he pulled a swift, aggressive U-turn right in the middle of the highway, tires screeching against the pavement. I let out a long, shaky sigh of relief. He was heading toward the city. He really wasn’t taking us back to the Vorthas pack house. Not yet.

The car was a silent pressure cooker. My knees jumped up and down in a rhythmic, anxious tic. I stared out the window at the blurred lights of Vesper City in the distance, my mind racing through a thousand memories.

Finally, his voice echoed through the cabin. “Care to explain just what the hell is going on? How did you get that bruise? Did you run away?”

My heart fell, and I looked away, staring at the back of his headrest.

What could I possibly say?

Damon probably didn’t have a clue about the treatment I’d endured in the Ambrose manor. Why would he? I hadn’t spoken to him in over four years. Not a single word. Only Margot—my adoptive mother—called me every so often. Each time she called, I told her I was fine. I told her I was happy. I never complained.

It was the least I could do after injuring her so badly. I owed her my silence. I owed her a life without more scandals and worries.

After all, my marriage hadn't been about love; it was a billion-dollar alliance for the two families. It was a bridge. God only knew what would happen once Marino—my step-father—found out I had broken the bridge. Even though technically it was Raymond who broke it.

But why was Damon here, on this specific stretch of road, at this specific hour? Was he aware of what had happened? No... if he knew, he wouldn't be asking.

If I told him I ran away... if I told him Raymond abused me... would Damon even care? I knew Marino wouldn't. My step-father knew exactly what kind of man Raymond Ambrose was when he signed the papers. To them, my pain was secondary.

“I asked you a question, Ophelia.”

His icy glare met mine in the mirror again, pinning me like a butterfly to a board. I looked away, my voice trembling as I found the strength to speak.

“I didn’t run away,” I lied.

The words felt like ash in my mouth. I just needed to get through the next hour. Just until we reached the hospital and Valeria was out of danger. As long as she survived, I was ready to face the Vitale wrath. I was ready to face anything. This was all for her.

“Then what’s the matter with you two?! How did you end up like this?” he questioned, his voice lashing out like a whip.

The car was already speeding extremely fast down the highway, the needle climbing higher, but I wished it could go faster. Every second felt like a minute; every minute felt like an hour. My lower lip trembled unconsciously, and I bit down on it so hard I tasted copper, desperate to stop the visible sign of my weakness.

When I didn't answer again, the silence returned, heavier than before. He went silent, unspeaking, but the car felt smaller. I could feel his gaze shifting back and forth from the road to the mirror. It was burning into me, a physical heat that made my skin crawl.

We reached the hospital in a little over twenty minutes. After that, it was a chaotic rush. Damon didn't wait for me; he barked orders at the staff the moment we hit the entrance. Nurses swarmed, dragging a gurney over and lifting Valeria's small body away from me.

I stood in the middle of the sterile, fluorescent-lit hallway, watching helplessly as they wheeled her into the emergency room. The double doors swung shut, leaving me standing there.

Damon walked over and grabbed my shoulder, turning me around to face him. I winced as his fingers dug into a fresh bruise, and a small, pained sound escaped my lips.

He caught the wince, his eyes narrowing into a deep frown. “Why won't you tell me what happened—”

He cut himself off abruptly. His eyes, which had been locked on mine, shifted upward, landing on my hairline.

I frowned, confused by the sudden change in his expression, seeing his gaze stuck on my forehead. His hand reached up, moving toward my face. On instinct, I flinched, my eyes snapping shut as I jerked my head back.

Instead, I felt his fingers—surprisingly gentle—part my hair slowly. I opened my eyes to see him staring.

His breath seemed to catch in his throat. For a split second, I saw something that looked almost like worry. Then he cursed under his breath. He turned around on his heel, flagging down a passing nurse.

“She’s bleeding from her head,” he said, his voice tight and commanding. “Please give her a thorough check-up as well. Now.”

My eyes widened. I pulled away immediately, stepping back toward the ER doors. “No! I’m not leaving Ria alone here! I’m fine, I don't need—"

Damon leveled a look at me, his eyes dark. “I’m here, aren’t I? She’s not alone.”

His voice dropped, the volume lowering with a strange hint of hurt that I wasn't prepared for. My back stiffened at his words. I didn't know what to do so I stood frozen.

“Or do you think I’m some monster here to hurt both of you?” A hard, dangerous edge entered his voice again.

I swallowed hard, looking at the man who had been my tormentor for a decade. How did he expect me to trust him? After everything the Vitale family had put me through?