Page 22 of Sticks & Serpents

Frustration boiled inside me as I paced across the room, trying to shake off the unease gripping me. Each step felt heavier than the last, and yet all of it led back to one terrifying thought: there was no escaping him.

I shoved my phone into my pocket, wanting to bury it along with all those feelings swirling inside me—the fear of Damien’s influence over my life and the anger for letting him slip back in so easily. But deep down, beneath all that chaos simmered something else—a reluctant recognition that whatever was happening next was going to force me to confront him again.

And there would be no backing down this time.

I walkedinto the planning committee meeting, my stomach a tangled mess of nerves. The event office buzzed with energy, but today it felt suffocating.

As I settled into my seat, I could feel the whispers swirling around me like a thick fog. They buzzed with speculation and concern—everything about Logan’s absence weighed heavy in the air. My heart raced as I tried to focus on the committee head outlining the agenda for the charity game.

“Have you heard?” one girl murmured to her friend across the table. “They say Logan’s in the hospital.”

I forced myself to keep my eyes on the agenda in front of me, pretending I didn’t hear them.

Another voice chimed in, sharper and filled with accusation. “Do you think he’ll still play? I mean, after what happened?”

The question hung in the air like a brick, and my throat tightened. They didn’t know what had really gone down; they only saw what Damien wanted them to see. A sick twist of fate that I felt deep in my bones.

Someone else piped up quietly, “I heard it was Sinclaire who did it.”

I stayed silent, biting down hard on my lip as dread pooled in my stomach. My mind raced through memories of Logan’s easy laughter and confident charm—the boy who made me feel safe for once. And now he lay broken somewhere, all because of Damien’s vendetta against anyone who dared to get close to me.

The chatter continued around me as people exchanged hushed comments, but all I could hear was that ominous thrum in my chest. They spoke about players and schedules as if nothing significant had happened, while inside I felt everything shattering apart.

And there I sat—silent—stuck between loyalty and fear, knowing that nothing would ever be normal again.

The meeting droned on, my mind still reeling from the whispers. I shifted in my seat, trying to focus, but each second felt like an eternity. Then the committee head, a man named Bernie Skully, cleared his throat, and a hush fell over the room.

“I have an important update regarding player assignments,” he said, glancing at his notes. “Due to Logan’s injury, we’ve had to make some changes.”

My heart sank. The words hung heavy in the air, wrapping around me like a vice. I barely registered what he said next.

“Effective immediately, Holly Walker will be paired with Damien Sinclaire. I've shifted Brennan over to…”

But I didn't hear the rest.

The world tilted. My breath caught in my throat as shock coursed through me. I scanned the room, searching for familiar faces—everyone seemed equally stunned. My mind screamed in protest; this wasn’t happening.

“Wait—what?” I managed to stammer, my voice barely rising above the murmurs that swept through the group.

“Logan’s out for now,” Bernie repeated, unfazed by my reaction. “Holly will take over coordinating with Damien for the charity game.”

I sat there frozen, every instinct telling me to flee. This was a disaster waiting to happen.

This was all part of his plan.

The room spun as I tried to process it all. My fingers trembled against the tabletop. How could they do this? Did they even understand what this meant? A sense of betrayal bubbled up inside me as I thought about how easily they brushed aside Logan’s injury for the sake of logistics.

“This is a mistake,” I muttered under my breath, but deep down I knew it was far too late for that now.

I stormedinto my father’s office; the door slamming shut behind me with a satisfying bang. My heart raced, a mix of anger and disbelief bubbling up inside me.

“This isn’t happening,” I spat, glaring at him from across the room.

Dean Walker looked up from his desk, his expression as cold and distant as ever. He didn’t even flinch at my outburst, just adjusted papers on his desk and regarded me with that infuriating calm.

“You’ll manage Sinclaire. That’s the arrangement.” His voice dripped with authority, like it was something I should have accepted without question.

I felt the blood drain from my face as I connected the dots—Damien had maneuvered this entire situation to pull me back into his orbit. And my father? He had let it happen.

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