Chapter 11.
1684 Words
Only then did the mother’s gaze fall on Emery. Her smile thinned into something polite, distant.
“And you must be… Emery.”
“Yes, ma’am,” Emery said softly, bowing her head.
A hum. Dismissive.
“Welcome.”
That was all.
Emery’s chest tightened. Clara had already won the room.
---
The Dinner Table
Dinner was served in a hall that could have housed Emery’s entire childhood home twice over. A chandelier glowed above them, spilling golden light onto crystal glasses and gleaming silverware. Emery sat at Damian’s side, but it felt like she was miles away.
Damian’s mother led the conversation, her words pointed, her tone graceful yet cutting.
“So, Clara tells us she’s been working with the charity foundation. Such noble work. You always had a heart for others, Clara.”
Clara’s laugh was gentle, perfectly measured.
“I do what I can.”
“Of course. And with your background, your education, your… refinement it’s only natural you’d find success anywhere.”
The mother’s eyes lingered approvingly on Clara before sliding past Emery as if she weren’t worth seeing.
Emery swallowed hard, her fork heavy in her hand. She wanted to speak, to assert herself, but every time she opened her mouth, Clara filled the silence effortlessly.
At one point, Clara turned to Emery with a saccharine smile.
“How are you finding it all, Emery? Overwhelming, I imagine. It must be quite the adjustment, coming from… simpler beginnings.”
The words were daggers dressed in silk. Emery’s cheeks burned, but she forced her lips into a small, polite smile. “It’s… different. But I’m learning.”
“Mm,” Clara hummed, her eyes glinting.
“Learning is important. Some lessons, however, take years.”
Laughter rippled softly around the table. Not at Emery’s expense directly, but the weight of it landed on her shoulders.
Damian sat silent. He ate, he drank, his expression carved from stone. He neither defended her nor joined in the mockery. His indifference was worse than open cruelty.
---
When dessert was served, Damian’s mother reached across to pat Clara’s hand.
“You’ve always been such a dear to us, Clara. A woman of your caliber is rare these days. Damian needs someone by his side who understands this world. Someone who strengthens the Cole name, not diminishes it.”
Emery froze. The words weren’t subtle they were arrows aimed straight at her.
Her chest tightened, but she kept her gaze on her plate, unwilling to let them see her break.
Damian’s father cleared his throat, murmuring something about business, but his wife’s eyes never left Clara’s glowing face.
---
After dinner, Emery escaped to the garden. The night air was crisp, heavy with the scent of roses. She pressed a hand to her chest, struggling to breathe. Humiliation throbbed in her veins. She had never felt so small, so out of place.
Clara had been perfect. Damian’s mother had adored her. And Damian—Damian had let it happen.
She bit her lip until it bled, the metallic tang of it grounding her. She had promised herself she wouldn’t cry. Not here. Not in front of them.
Footsteps crunched softly on gravel behind her. Damian.
He stopped a few paces away, hands in his pockets, his gaze unreadable in the moonlight.
“You handled yourself better than I expected,” he said finally.
Emery turned, pain flashing in her eyes. “Better? I was humiliated, Damian. Your mother doesn’t want me here. Clara....” her voice cracked,
“Clara made sure I felt like nothing. And you just sat there.”
His jaw tightened, but his voice remained calm. “What did you expect me to do? Argue with my mother over dinner? Defend you like some lovesick fool?”
Her throat closed, tears burning her eyes. “I expected you to care.”
For a heartbeat, silence stretched between them. Then Damian’s gaze hardened.
“You’ll need to get used to it, Emery. This is my world. And if you want to survive in it, you don’t wait for anyone to shield you. You fight.”
The words landed like a blow. Emery stared at him, her chest aching. He didn’t see her pain. Or maybe he did and simply didn’t care.
As Damian turned back toward the house, Emery stood alone in the garden, her hands trembling. For the first time, she realized the truth: Damian’s cruelty wasn’t always in what he said or did. Sometimes, it was in what he didn’t.
And that indifference cut deeper than any blade.
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.
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The night air was heavy when the Cole family’s iron gates swung open. The sleek black car rolled forward slowly, headlights carving a path through the long, tree-lined driveway. Emery sat stiffly in the backseat beside Damian, her hands folded tightly in her lap, her fingernails biting into her skin.
She hadn’t said a word since they left the dinner table.
Her reflection stared back at her from the tinted window: wide eyes, flushed cheeks, lips pressed into a trembling line. She looked like a stranger. A weak, small stranger who didn’t belong in that glittering palace.
Clara’s laughter still rang in her ears. His mother’s approval of her echoed louder than the clink of silverware. Emery’s chest burned as though the humiliation was etched into her bones.
She blinked hard. She wouldn’t cry. Not here. Not in front of him.
---
Damian leaned back in his seat, one hand resting against his jaw, the other draped across his knee. His face was unreadable, as though the evening hadn’t touched him at all.
The silence stretched, thick and suffocating. Emery wanted to scream, to demand why he let her sit through that nightmare, but the words stuck in her throat.
Finally, she whispered, her voice trembling, “Why did you even bring me there?”
Damian’s eyes flicked to her briefly, then back to the dark road ahead.
“Because you need to understand what this world is.”
Her breath hitched.
“Humiliation? Is that what you wanted me to understand?”
“No.” His tone was cool, clipped.
“I wanted you to see the truth. The Coles don’t bend. They test. They measure. And if you can’t stand in their world without breaking, you’ll never survive in mine.”
Emery’s hands shook.
“So you let your mother insult me, you let Clara… degrade me, and you just sat there. Like it was nothing.”
Damian turned his head slightly, his jaw tightening. “It was nothing.”
Her throat closed. The words sliced sharper than Clara’s barbs. She turned her face back to the window, biting her lip until she tasted blood. If she spoke again, she’d break. And she refused to break in front of him.
The car hummed along the road, carrying them farther and farther from the estate, but the shame sat heavy in the air, an invisible passenger neither of them could ignore.
.........
Back at the Cole estate, Clara stood at the balcony, watching the taillights fade into the night. A smile curved her painted lips.
Tonight had been a victory. Damian’s mother had sung her praises, and Emery had sat there mute and awkward, a shadow at the table.
Clara’s nails traced the cool stone of the railing. Emery might think she was strong, but tonight proved otherwise. The cracks were showing, and Clara intended to pry them wide open.
She whispered into the night, almost lovingly, “This isn’t your world, Emery. And soon, everyone will see it.”
..........
The Cole mansion was quiet when they arrived. The staff greeted them silently before disappearing into the shadows. Damian walked inside first, his stride calm, unhurried, as though the night had left no mark on him.
Emery lingered at the door for a moment, her eyes stinging. Then she went straight upstairs, her heart pulling her toward one place only.
Ethan’s room.
She slipped inside, closing the door softly behind her. Her little brother was curled up in bed, his chest rising and falling in peaceful rhythm, his hand clutching a toy she’d given him when he was younger.
Emery sat on the edge of the bed, brushing a strand of hair from his forehead. He murmured in his sleep, and her lips trembled as she pressed a kiss to his temple.
Here, in this room, she could breathe again. Here, she wasn’t a stranger. She wasn’t humiliated or out of place. She was his sister. His protector. His world.
But the thought lingered like poison:
what if Clara was right? What if she couldn’t protect him from this world?
Her tears fell silently, dampening the sheets. She whispered to the sleeping boy, “No matter what happens, Ethan, I won’t let them take you from me.”
---
Damian’s Solitude
Downstairs, Damian entered his office. The room was dark, lit only by the amber glow of a single lamp. He poured himself a drink, the glass catching the light as the liquid swirled.
He sank into the leather chair, his posture casual, but his eyes gave him away.
For the first time that night, his mask slipped.
He had known his mother would test Emery. He hadn’t expected Clara to be there, hadn’t wanted her there but when she appeared, something inside him had twisted. He would never admit it, not even to himself, but her presence had unsettled him.
His hand trembled faintly as he raised the glass to his lips. He stared at the golden liquid for a long moment, then drank deeply, swallowing the unease.
Feelings were weaknesses. Attachments were chains. He had built his empire on severing both.
And yet, when he closed his eyes, it wasn’t Clara’s laughter he heard. It was Emery’s voice breaking in the car, whispering,
“I expected you to care.”
Damian opened his eyes sharply, jaw clenching. He slammed the empty glass onto the desk, the sound shattering the silence.
He wouldn’t let her undo him. He couldn’t.
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Starlight ✍️
- Writer
