Page 89 of Sticks & Serpents

“Excuse me,” I murmured to a group of alumni before weaving through the crowd. Each step felt heavier as I searched for his familiar silver-blond hair or stormy blue eyes amidst the sea of tailored suits and shimmering gowns.

But no matter where I looked—across the grand ballroom or toward the buffet table—he was nowhere to be found. A sense of unease settled over me as I made my way toward the terrace doors.

I stepped outside into the cool evening air, hoping he might have escaped to breathe or find some solace from this suffocating environment. Instead, I found only silence.

Then something caught my attention: Mrs. Sinclaire was also missing.

A cold chill slithered down my spine at the realization. The two of them together was dangerous enough; alone? It sent alarm bells ringing in my head. Why were they both gone? Was this part of her scheme to drive us apart?

My heart raced as dread settled deep within me. I needed to find Damien and fast. But now there was a growing fear—a whispering voice telling me that maybe, just maybe, something more sinister lurked beneath the surface of their perfect smiles and polite conversations.

I pushed past well-dressed couples, their laughter and chatter fading into a distant hum. The elegant decor of the ballroom blurred around me, and all I could focus on was finding him.

Where are you, Damien?

Every instinct in me screamed I needed to get to him before it was too late. The way he had tensed when we talked earlier replayed in my mind like a warning bell. His mother’s voice echoed in my ears—her cold words, her piercing gaze—they made me feel like a pawn in a game I didn’t want to play.

The pieces began connecting in my mind. Damien had been on edge ever since Cooper returned, and it wasn’t just about family dynamics or old resentments. It was something deeper—a familiar darkness creeping back into his life that threatened to consume him whole again.

I pressed on, weaving between conversations and empty glasses, feeling the weight of uncertainty pressing down on me.This isn’t just about the charity dinner anymore.The realization hit hard: his mother had always been a trigger for him, an embodiment of everything that haunted his past.

And now she was alone with him.

I pushed through the crowd faster, anxiety coursing through my veins like wildfire. My thoughts raced ahead of me, desperate for answers I feared I wouldn’t find in time.

Each face I passed felt like a ghost—shadows of concern crossing their features as they watched me move with purpose. But I didn’t stop; I couldn’t stop until I found Damien.

Just as I reached the far side of the ballroom, an unsettling thought took root:What if she tried something with him again?What if she had already begun? What if I was too late to stop it?

Chapter26

Damien

Ididn’t remember how my mother had followed me into the secluded hallway. One second, I was just trying to escape the small talk, the endless chatter about charity and connections. The next, she stood there, waiting. Watching.

She held a champagne glass, its contents shimmering under the dim lights, and that too-knowing smile crept across her lips.

“I see you brought her,” she said, her voice smooth as silk but dripping with something darker.

I didn’t take the bait. I never did. I clenched my jaw, feeling my hands curl into fists at my sides. The air felt thick between us, heavy with all the words unsaid.

“Why do you care?” My voice came out sharper than I intended, but it didn’t matter.

Her expression shifted slightly, amusement flickering in her eyes like a candle in a draft. She stepped closer, invading my space with that perfume of hers—sweet yet suffocating—making it hard to breathe.

“Because, Damien,” she began, leaning in as if sharing a secret meant only for me. “You never learn.”

Every muscle in my body tensed at her words. I hated how easily she could unsettle me, how she seemed to revel in knowing just how to push my buttons. It was infuriating and familiar all at once—a dance we’d done too many times before.

I took a step back, putting distance between us, but she closed it effortlessly with a smile that promised more manipulation.

“Your little flame,” she continued softly, almost tauntingly, “doesn’t know what she's getting into.”

Something twisted inside me at the mention of Holly, and I forced myself to remain stoic. But I could feel anger boiling beneath the surface like molten lava threatening to erupt.

“Stay away from her,” I snapped, more of a growl than an actual request.

My mother merely tilted her head, that infuriating smile still plastered on her face as if this was all just a game to her—one where she held all the cards and I was nothing but a pawn on her board.

---