Page 45 of Sticks & Serpents

Planning committee.

Holly.

Here.

The fork scraped against my plate; the metal grating like nails on a chalkboard. My muscles locked tight as I processed what he’d just said.

“What?” I forced out, my voice a low growl that surprised even me.

My father sighed, his eyes still glued to his wineglass as if it held the secrets of the universe. “You’ll behave, Damien. This dinner is important.”

My jaw clenched, and I could feel the tension radiating through my body like an electric charge. “Who invited them?” I snapped, not bothering to mask the irritation in my tone.

He chuckled lightly, a sound that dripped with condescension. “I did. Holly’s father was more than happy to accept.”

Rage coiled inside me like a serpent ready to strike.She’s coming here? Into my house? Near my mother?The thought alone set my blood boiling.

“Cancel it,” I commanded, every word thick with authority.

“Damien—” My father began but stopped short when he finally glanced up at me, meeting my fierce gaze.

“Do you have any idea what you’re doing?” I pressed, not willing to back down. The prospect of Holly stepping into this house felt like a violation—one that would send every chaotic memory rushing back, taunting me with reminders of who she was and how easily she slipped away.

He waved a dismissive hand as if brushing off my concerns like an annoying fly. “It’s too late for that,” he said, returning his attention to his wineglass as if the matter were settled.

The table felt constricting now; every breath stung as anger surged within me. I wasn’t just dealing with an ordinary dinner; this was an invitation for her to walk back into my life—into this chaotic mess that defined us both.

“I won’t be here,” I stated flatly, rising from my chair and pushing it back with a sharp scrape against the hardwood floor.

“You will be,” he insisted, his voice hardening.

The tension in the air thickened, a battle of wills unfolding between us in silence. I knew he wouldn’t let this go easily—and neither would I.

I watched as my father set his glass down, finally looking at me with that trademark disinterest he wore like armor.

“Don’t be dramatic,” he said, dismissing my concerns with a wave of his hand.

My chest tightened, each breath feeling heavier than the last. "You don’t want her here,"I growled, fury boiling just beneath the surface. The mere idea of Holly stepping into this house—this twisted realm of my family—made my blood run cold.

“On the contrary,” he continued smoothly, “I think she’ll be a lovely guest. The two of you made such a lovely couple. Before you ruined it, of course.”

I clenched my fists around the back of the chair, staring him down, the tension crackling between us like electricity in the air. “You don’t get it. Holly isn’t?—”

He interrupted me again, his tone casual as if he were discussing the weather. “She’s exactly the kind of girl we want associated with this family.”

Something inside me snapped. The weight of his words pressed against my chest, igniting an anger I hadn’t expected to feel so intensely. I could practically hear the echoes of my past—a chorus of memories where Holly stood by me and where our love thrived before it all fell apart.

“She’s not some trophy for you to flaunt,” I shot back, unable to keep quiet any longer. “She’s a person.”

My father’s expression remained unreadable as he leaned back in his chair, fingers steepled under his chin like he was assessing a chess move rather than contemplating someone’s life.

“She’s your ex-girlfriend,” he said dismissively, as if that alone was enough to justify treating her like some strategic asset rather than a human being with her own thoughts and feelings.

“Don’t you see? This isn’t just about appearances for once,” I insisted, leaning closer across the table, frustration surging through me like an uncontrollable tide.

But there was no breaking through that wall he built so meticulously over years. His gaze never wavered from mine, cold and unyielding.

“I’m not interested in your emotions or whatever past you two shared,” he replied flatly. “What matters is how she reflects on us—on this family.”

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