After an hour had passed, which was exactly 7:30 p.m., Vivan walked back into Damon’s room. She was holding a tray of food and smiling a little. “It’s dinner time,” she said softly. But her smile faded when she saw Damon standing up and trying to wear his jacket. “Wait—what are you doing?” she asked, sounding surprised. Damon turned around and gave a small smile. “I’m leaving,” he said. Vivan blinked. “Leaving? You can’t leave yet! You’re still hurt.” “I’m fine,” Damon said, trying to sound strong even though he moved slowly. “You’ve done enough for me already. I don’t want to bother you anymore.” Vivan frowned and shook her head. “You’re not bothering me, Damon. You should stay tonight.” He raised an eyebrow. “Stay? Why?” Vivan shifted uncomfortably as she folded her arms, "Because I want you to keep an eye on you, you are living alone and you need someone to keep an eye on you" Damon looked at her for a moment, a small smile forming on his lips. “You want to keep a

Damon quickly reached for the phone, grabbing it before Klaus could step closer. “That? Oh, yeah, she, uh, brought it here last night,” he said, his voice a touch too casual. “She was helping me with my shoulder, remember? It was pretty bad after dinner. I think she left it behind when she went back to her room.” Klaus’s brow furrowed slightly. “She was here last night?” Damon nodded smoothly, slipping the phone into his good hand and gesturing vaguely toward the table. “Just to help. She insisted on doing that, stubborn as ever.” Klaus gave a small chuckle at that, though his gaze still lingered suspiciously on Damon’s face. “That sounds like her,” he said slowly. “Always insisting she knows best.” “Exactly,” Damon said with a grin, relieved that his excuse seemed to be working. “Trust me, she was bossing me around like a doctor on call. I think she even threatened to confiscate my Charger if I didn’t rest.” Klaus’s lips twitched into an amused smile. “That does sound like V

The room was already thick with tension when the doors opened again. Every head turned as he walked in — Sebastian Lockwood. Rich. Sophisticated. Perfectly composed in a tailored suit that probably cost more than Damon’s entire wardrobe. His presence alone drew attention — quiet, commanding, deliberate. He didn’t need to raise his voice; the world bent toward him naturally. But Damon saw the flicker in his eyes first — not interest in the meeting, not even in the negotiation — but in Vivan. Lockwood’s gaze lingered on her for a second too long, his expression polite, almost charming. But Damon knew the type — the kind of man who smiled while calculating what he could own. Vivan, ever the professional, kept her posture straight. Her expression was unreadable, her voice composed when she greeted, “Mr. Lockwood.” “Miss Whitmore” Sebastian replied, his tone smooth as silk. “It’s been far too long. You look… radiant as ever.” Vivan’s lips curved faintly, though her eyes rem

“I’m going to teach you a lesson, you bastard!” Sebastian’s voice tore through the air. He lunged forward, his eyes burned with fury, but before his fist could land, another voice cut through the noise, this was calm, commanding, but sharp enough to slice through his anger. “Enough!” Everyone froze. Vivan stood at the doorway, her expression unreadable but her presence strong enough to silence the entire room. Her voice didn’t rise, but it carried weight — the kind that made people listen whether they wanted to or not. “Mr. Lockwood,” she said, her tone firm, “you’re coming with me. Now.” Two men in dark suits stepped forward behind her. Within seconds, Sebastian was restrained, still struggling but he was outmatched. His protest died the moment her eyes locked with his. “Take him to the precinct,” she ordered coolly. “No special treatment. I’ll handle the paperwork myself.” The men nodded and led him out. The room grew quiet again, thick with tension that refused to fade. Vi