Damion’s POV
I stormed out of Isabelle’s house, her last words echoing in my mind. “He’s not yours. That’s all you need to know.”
But I didn’t believe her. I couldn’t. The way she avoided my gaze, the tremor in her voice—it all screamed of something she was hiding. And I wasn’t about to let this go.
My car sat idling on the curb, but I didn’t get in. Instead, I leaned against the hood, the cool night air doing little to calm the fire burning inside me. Nathan’s face lingered in my thoughts. The resemblance, the timing—it all fit.
If Isabelle was lying, I’d find out.
My phone buzzed in my pocket, breaking my train of thought. When I pulled it out, the name on the screen sent a chill down my spine. Walter Ryder.
My father.
I hesitated before answering, my grip on the phone tightening.
