Damien's POV…
The shrill buzz of my phone rattled on the nightstand, slicing into the quiet of early morning. I groaned, dragging a hand over my face as sunlight streamed through the half-closed blinds, warming my bare chest. I blinked, annoyed, until the caller ID came into focus:
Mom.
Great. Exactly the kind of peaceful wake-up I didn't need.
I cleared my throat and answered, forcing my voice into something less groggy.
"Good morning, Mom."
"I've been trying to reach Daisy," she said gently. "Her phone is switched off. Can you take yours to her room? I need to speak to her before the flight."
I sat up, jaw tightening. Of course she wants to talk to her.
I was the one who switched Daisy's phone off last night, mostly to stop her from calling anyone about… the incident. The argument. The shouting. The moment I'd grabbed her too hard and she'd stared at me like I'd shattered her soul.
I didn't want to think about it.
"Fine," I said. "I'll take it."
"Thank you, sweetheart."
I hung up before the softness in her voice could make me feel guilty, swung off the bed, and strode out of my room.
Entering Daisy's room, I didn't bother knocking. She never deserved that courtesy—not after everything she did to Lola.
But the moment the door swung open, I froze.
Daisy spun around from the bathroom doorway, wrapped in nothing but a white towel that clung to her damp skin. Droplets slid down her neck and collarbone, disappearing into the folds of fabric. Her red hair was darkened from water, plastered against her cheeks, and her skin glowed from the steam like she'd stepped out of a dream.
My breath caught before I forced it out.
She looked… better. Healthier. Less pale than yesterday.
And painfully beautiful.
I had spent years ignoring the fact that my stepsister was stunning. I'd always tried to see only the mess, the troublemaker, the manipulator. Anything that made it easier to hate her for what she'd done to Lola.
But moments like this—raw, unguarded—made it difficult.
I swallowed the sudden heat in my chest and shoved the phone toward her.
"Mom wants to talk to you," I said, my voice harsher than intended.
My eyes narrowed at her, silently warning her: Don't screw this up. Don't embarrass us.
Daisy blinked, startled. She stepped forward to take the phone, and her cold fingers brushed my warm ones. She pulled back like she'd been burned.
She turned away from me immediately, clutching the towel with one hand and answering softly, "Good morning, ma'am."
Her voice transformed—polite, respectful, gentle. The way she only spoke to one person in this entire family: Mrs. Javier, the woman who took her in when she had no one.
I lingered in the doorway, arms folded, pretending not to notice the way her wet hair dripped onto her shoulder.
"Darling," my mother's voice floated through the speaker, warm as always, "I hope you slept well. Please dress up and join your siblings downstairs. I already booked your ticket. I can't wait to see you all here in Greece tomorrow."
Greece.
I exhaled sharply. I'd forgotten how excited Mom always got about family vacations.
"Yes, ma'am," Daisy replied, her tone soft and sincere. "I… can't wait to see you too."
The call ended.
She walked back and held out my phone without meeting my eyes—pointedly ignoring my shirtless chest, my presence, my existence.
Good. It was better when she kept a distance.
"Get ready," I said coldly. "If you take too long, I'll leave you behind."
I didn't wait for her response. I walked out, slamming the door behind me before the urge to…
No. No urge. Nothing.
Downstairs, Lola was already dressed perfectly—hair curled, perfume choking the air.
"Look at you. That ugly sweater again? You're such a disgrace to the Javier family. Honestly, you should've been thrown out years ago."
Daisy said nothing. She never did—she learned long ago that defending herself only made things worse. She picked up her small, simple luggage and headed toward the door.
Lola looked around, and the moment she heard footsteps walking down the stairs, she took her chance.
Jallen and I had just appeared down the last step when it happened.
Lola let out a dramatic gasp, stumbled forward, and hit the floor.
At the same time, Daisy's suitcase tipped, and Daisy stumbled too—clearly having been tripped.
But Lola was already screaming before Daisy's palms even hit the floor.
"She pushed me! Damien! Jallen! She pushed me!"
I rushed forward. Daisy froze, her face blank with resignation, not shock.
Jallen's temper flared instantly.
"Why would you push her?!"
Before he could strike Daisy, I grabbed my brother's arm.
"Enough," I snapped. "We're leaving. Daisy, carry everyone's luggage out as punishment."
Her lashes lowered in quiet defeat. She didn't argue. She never did anymore.
She simply picked up our bags—three times heavier than hers—and hauled them outside.
I clenched my jaw as I watched her small frame strain under the weights.
Lola limped dramatically out the door, Jallen holding her hand like she was made of glass. Daisy was already loading bags into the trunk when Lola cried out.
"I need to sit quickly, it hurts so much," she sobbed.
"Open the back door for Lola," Jallen commanded.
Daisy stiffened. She opened it anyway.
"And fix my seatbelt," Lola called as she sat in the car.
Daisy turned, narrowed her eyes, and hissed,
"I'd rather slam my fingers in this door than obey you."
Lola gasped, preparing to cause another scene—but I leaned in and buckled her seatbelt myself before she could speak.
From the corner of my eye, I caught Daisy's expression crumble.
A mix of jealousy, hurt, and something deeper. Something I refused to acknowledge.
She spun away quickly, masking it with annoyance.
Why does she care? I wondered. Why does she look at me like that?
I pushed the thought aside.
"Daisy," I said curtly, "sit in front. I'm driving."
Jallen sat in the back with Lola, who milked her fake injury like an Oscar performance.
After a few minutes of driving, we stopped for breakfast at a takeout shop. Jallen ordered for everyone—except Daisy. No one bothered to ask what she wanted.
She sat through it silently, her stomach rumbling loud enough for me to hear over the engine. I gripped the steering wheel tighter, faintly irritated.
By the time we reached the long stretch of road that led to the airport, Daisy had fallen asleep, her head leaning against the window. The sunlight traced her features—soft, peaceful, almost childlike.
I glanced at her longer than I meant to.
How can someone who looks like this… be so cruel to Lola?
How can she cry so convincingly when she's exposed?
How did she become such a problem?
And yet…
I couldn't shake last night.
Her voice, breaking.
Her hands trembling.
Her words—
"You're dead to me."
Why did that sting so damn much?
I tore my gaze away.
When we finally reached the airport parking lot, I nudged her shoulder coldly.
"Wake up. We're here. Get out."
Her eyes fluttered open, confused and soft for one second.
Then she saw me.
And everything hardened again.
She stepped out of the car without a word.
And I hated—absolutely hated—how empty the seat felt after she left it.