Chapter 5 THE WOMAN FROM HIS PAST

Catherine calls it a small gathering.

By the time we arrive, I know that’s a lie.

The house belongs to someone whose name I don’t catch, perched on a hill with lights spilling down the driveway like a warning. Valets move with quiet efficiency. Music hums beneath laughter. Everyone looks polished, expensive, untouchable. Their conversations are light, practiced, layered with meaning I can’t fully grasp.

I feel like an accessory.

Catherine beams as she steps out of the car, her arm looped through Damon’s like it’s always belonged there. She barely glances back at me.

“Try to enjoy yourself,” she says lightly. “These people are important.”

To her.

I smooth down my dress, suddenly aware of every inch of skin showing. Damon doesn’t look at me. He’s already scanning the space, posture rigid, jaw set. Watching. I want to hide, to shrink, but I know that would be worse. He would notice. He always notices.

Inside, the air buzzes with conversation. Crystal glasses clink. Names are exchanged like currency. Catherine drifts immediately, pulled into a circle of women who look just like her, elegant, confident, uninterested in me. Their laughter rings hollow to me, distant, alien.

I linger near Damon, not because I want to, but because it feels safer than floating alone. Near him, I feel some semblance of control. Or maybe just some semblance of understanding.

Then she appears.

I didn't notice her at first. I feel her. The shift in the room is subtle, but Damon stiffens beside me, like something cold has slid down his spine. I follow his gaze.

She’s tall. Striking. Dark hair pulled back, red lipstick sharp enough to cut. She moves with ease, like she knows she belongs anywhere she steps. The air changes around her, almost imperceptibly, like a current shifting direction.

And she’s looking straight at him.

“Damon,” she says, smiling as she reaches us.

His expression closes instantly. “Lena.”

So this is her. The woman whose presence makes him tense in ways I can almost feel.

She turns to me, eyes flicking over my face with unsettling precision. Not curiosity. Assessment. The kind that weighs, measures, judges.

“And you must be Seraphina.”

My stomach tightens. “Have we met?”

“No,” she says smoothly. “But I’ve heard about you.”

I glance at Damon. His jaw clenches. The line of tension at his mouth is enough to make my heart pound.

“That’s not appropriate,” he says.

Lena’s smile widens. “Relax. I meant no harm.” Her gaze returns to me. “You look younger than I imagined.”

“I am young,” I reply, before I can stop myself.

Her eyes gleam. “Yes. I suppose that’s part of the appeal.”

Damon steps between us slightly. “Enough.”

She lifts her hands in mock surrender. “I’m just saying hello.”

Catherine reappears, oblivious. “Lena! I didn’t know you’d be here.”

“Last-minute invitation,” Lena replies. “You look radiant, Catherine. Marriage suits you.”

Catherine glows at the praise. “Doesn’t it?”

Damon doesn’t speak. He doesn’t need to. His silence speaks louder than any words could.

Lena leans closer to me, voice dropping just enough to feel intimate. “He always was drawn to things that needed… protection.”

My chest tightens. “Excuse me?”

She smiles again, but this one doesn’t reach her eyes. “Damon has a habit. Once he decides something matters, he holds on too tightly.”

“That’s enough,” Damon snaps.

Catherine laughs lightly. “Oh, Damon, don’t be so serious.”

But he is serious. Rigid. Guarded in a way I haven’t seen before. His posture, the way his eyes flick between people, the subtle tightening of his jaw it all signals danger, or at least warning. Lena studies him, satisfaction flickering across her face. “Some habits never die.”

She moves away then, leaving silence behind her like a bruise. The space where she stood feels heavier. My pulse quickens. The energy she brings doesn’t leave with her. It lingers, sharp, almost threatening.

Catherine sighs. “She’s dramatic. Ignore her.”

Easy for her to say. She has no reason to feel the subtle war of tension that just passed.

Damon barely touches his drink the rest of the night. He stays close, too close, eyes constantly moving. I catch him watching exits, corners, people who glance our way too long. The careful way he shifts, the quiet tension in his shoulders, the tight control over small gestures it all screams fear beneath his control.

Later, I slip away to find the bathroom, needing space. The hallway I wander into is quieter, lined with closed doors and muted light. I pause when I hear voices around the corner.

Damon’s.

And Lena’s.

“You shouldn’t have come,” Damon says.

“I was invited,” she replies coolly. “Unlike last time, when you locked me out.”

“That was necessary.”

“For you,” she counters. “You were always good at convincing yourself of that.”

There’s a pause. Heavy. The kind that presses into your chest, demanding attention.

“She’s not part of this,” Damon says.

“She already is,” Lena replies. “You brought her into your world. That never ends well.”

“I won’t let it happen again.”

Her laugh is soft. Bitter. “You said that before.”

My breath catches.

“I lost everything,” she continues. “Because you chose to protect the wrong person.”

Damon’s voice drops. “Lower your voice.”

“Why?” She challenges me. “Afraid she’ll hear?”

Silence stretches. Long enough for me to wonder if the world has stopped.

“I’m afraid,” he admits quietly, “that history will repeat itself.”

I step back before they can see me, heart pounding. Every muscle in my body tenses, every instinct screaming to run, to disappear. And yet, I linger. I need to hear it, I need to understand the fear I see reflected in him.

Back in the main room, the noise crashes over me, but it feels distant now. I try to follow the conversation in my head, reconstructing what I’ve just overheard. Pieces slide together not neatly, but enough to hurt. Enough to make the polished air around me feel heavy, oppressive.

Damon isn’t watching me because he wants control.

He’s watching because he’s scared.

And somehow, that frightens me more than anything else tonight.

Because fear is something I’ve never fully understood in him before. It’s not anger. Not authority. Not charm. It’s raw, protective, unrelenting. It sets him apart from everyone else here, from every person in this room. And yet, it’s terrifying because I feel it directed toward me.

I retreat a little, finding a corner to stand in, pretending to sip a drink, pretending the world isn’t shaking under the weight of what I just witnessed. I can feel his eyes even from across the room. Every glance is measured, a warning, a shield.

And I realize, with a chill, that the woman from his past Lena has uncovered the fault line between him and me. She’s exposed the space where I don’t yet belong, and for the first time, I understand that being near him is more dangerous than I ever imagined.

Tonight is not over. And I know, deep inside, that this is just the beginning of learning what Damon truly protects, and why.