The clock read 3:47 a.m.
The kind of hour where dreams and nightmares blur.
Serena stirred beneath the sheets, her fingers curled against the warmth of Damon's chest. His arm held her close, even in sleep, and for the first time in years, she had drifted off without waking up gasping, without the taste of old fear in her throat.
Until now.
Bang.
A sound split the quiet.
Not thunder. Not wind.
Not the soft city ambiance they'd grown used to.
A sharp, deliberate pound against the penthouse door.
Damon's eyes opened instantly.
Serena, still half-asleep, flinched. "What was that?"
He was already sliding out of bed, movements silent but alert. No robe. No hesitation.
Just instinct.
Another knock—harder this time. Measured. Threatening.
Damon's jaw tightened. "Stay here."
Her heart thudded. "Damon—"
"Serena," he said, calm but firm, "stay in this room. Lock the door behind me."
He didn't wait for an argument.
She was out of bed before he reached the hallway.
"Don't you dare walk into something alone—"
His hand touched her cheek briefly. "I'm not alone. You're here."
And then he was gone.
---
Serena didn't lock the door.
She stood behind it, barely breathing, listening as Damon reached the front of the penthouse. The elevator's private chime hadn't gone off. Whoever was out there hadn't come through the front.
Which meant…
They were never supposed to be there at all.
She heard Damon unlock the door, the bolt sliding slow and controlled.
Then—his voice. Sharp. Cold.
"You have ten seconds to explain why you're here."
A man's voice answered, muffled by distance but unmistakably smug. "Come on, Cross. No need to be rude. We're old friends, aren't we?"
Serena's heart froze.
She knew that voice.
Marcus.
She grabbed her phone. No missed calls. No alerts.
How had he found them?
How had he gotten in?
"Or do you want to do this in front of her?" Marcus added. "Your new pet?"
Something heavy slammed.
Serena rushed out of the bedroom, unable to stay hidden.
"Serena—" Damon turned the second he saw her.
But she was already there, behind him.
The door stood wide open now. Marcus leaned against the hallway wall in a sleek dark coat, his hair wet from rain, his smile too calm.
"What do you want?" she asked.
Marcus's eyes flicked over her, lingering with cruel familiarity. "Now that's not how you greet someone who used to own your heart."
Damon moved between them instantly.
Serena had never seen him like that.
His entire body was tense—muscle, steel, rage wrapped in control. He didn't shout. He didn't gesture.
But he didn't need to.
His presence spoke louder than violence.
"This is your only warning," Damon said lowly. "You leave. Or you won't walk out at all."
Marcus chuckled. "Careful. Wouldn't want to make this personal."
"You came to my home, uninvited, in the middle of the night. You made it personal the second you said her name."
A long silence.
Then Marcus's voice dropped into something more dangerous. "I'm not here for her."
He looked at Serena again.
"But I thought she'd like to know what you've been hiding."
Damon's eyes didn't flicker.
Serena froze.
"What is he talking about?" she asked, voice barely audible.
Marcus stepped forward, just enough to get under Damon's skin. "You think this man is some kind of savior? He's not clean, sweetheart. He's just quieter about the blood he washes off."
Damon said nothing.
Not yet.
And that silence—that—was worse than any denial.
Serena's stomach twisted.
Marcus looked between them, then offered a final smirk.
"Door's always open. You want truth, Serena? You know where to find me."
And then—he left.
---
The door clicked shut.
Serena stood still, arms folded across her chest like armor.
Damon locked the door slowly, turned to face her, and found her already watching him.
"Are you going to tell me what that was about?"
He didn't answer immediately.
"Damon," she said, voice cracking. "I need to know if there's something I don't see. Something I should have."
He exhaled, slow and painful. Walked past her. Poured water into a glass with hands that were too steady to be okay.
Then—
"There are things I've done that you'll hate me for."
She flinched.
"Tell me anyway."
He looked at her.
And for the first time, she saw something in his eyes she hadn't before.
Guilt.
Not just grief.
Not just the weight of old loss.
Guilt.
"I'll tell you," he said. "Everything. Tomorrow."
"Why not now?"
"Because you're still shaking. And I promised I'd never give you truth in a way that feels like a weapon."
Serena bit her lip. Tears welled—but didn't fall.
She walked to him slowly, placed a hand against his chest.
"I'm not asking for the clean version."
"I know."
She leaned forward, resting her forehead to his shoulder.
And this time, it was him who trembled.
They stood in silence.
Not because they had no words left.
But because what came next…
Would change everything.