CHAPTER 74: 74 - NEW LISA

74

~Lisa’s POV

I slammed the door shut and ran straight to my bed, gasping for air like I had just escaped a fire. My heart was pounding so hard I could hear it in my ears. My hands were shaking, and my throat was tight, like I wanted to scream but couldn’t.

I looked up at the mirror. My reflection stared back, but it didn’t feel like me. My eyes were wide with fear, my lips trembling. I wanted to cry, to yell, to run. I missed my father so much at that moment. If he was here, none of this would be happening. He would never let anyone treat me this way, despite the fact that I was an outcast and we were poor. I wanted to go home.

Without thinking, I pulled off my dress and looked at my body. There were bruises forming already, red and angry, especially around my arms and sides. I winced as I touched one near my rib. My skin felt sore, like I’d been thrown into a wall. The shame and pain clung to me like mud.

The door opened suddenly, and I gasped, turning quickly to cover myself with the bedsheet.

"What are you doing in here?!" I shouted, my voice shaking.

Damon stepped into the room like he owned the very air I breathed.

And maybe he did.

He looked calm, too calm—relaxed in that arrogant way only he could manage, as if the chaos he just walked into didn’t matter. Like my pain was an amusing little detail in his day.

"Oh yeah, he owned the palace," I muttered under my breath, not even realizing I’d said it out loud.

His sharp ears caught it though. He raised an eyebrow, then gave me a slow, knowing smirk. That smirk that always felt like he saw right through me—even when I didn’t want him to.

He let his eyes roam, shamelessly, stopping where the sheet clung to my body.

"What are you covering?" he said, voice casual like we were talking about the weather. "I’ve already seen it all."

I froze.

He wasn’t lying.

He and his brothers had forced themselves on me, assaulted me sexually and he had walked in while those maids were stripping me. Stripping me like I wasn’t even human. And he stood there, cool as ice, watching—until he found that earring and shattered Belinda’s lie like glass.

And now he was here... making jokes.

"And I must say," he added, his voice dipping lower, "the birthmark on your chest... quite lovely."

"You have no shame!" I snapped, fury cutting through my embarrassment like a blade. My voice cracked. I was still shaking, but I refused to let him see how broken I felt. "Get out!"

He chuckled. That deep, careless laugh that grated on my skin. Then he walked in further, slow and confident, like I hadn’t just told him to leave.

Like my voice didn’t matter.

"This entire palace belongs to me, Lisa," he said, eyes wandering around the room like he was inspecting furniture. "You’re in my room, technically."

My blood boiled.

"Well then, maybe I should leave!" I shouted, pulling the sheet tighter around me, clutching it like it was the only thing keeping me from falling apart. "I want to go home. I want to see my father."

That made him pause.

Just for a second.

His face changed—softened? No. Not softened. Shifted. Like something slid into place behind his eyes. Something I couldn’t read. Something I didn’t trust.

Then he smiled.

That slow, sly, unreadable smile that made my stomach twist in knots.

"You just want an excuse to run away," he said.

I looked away. I didn’t even have the strength to argue. The weight of the night was pressing down on me, crushing every ounce of fight I had left. My fingers gripped the sheet like it was the only thing anchoring me to reality.

I heard him sigh. That sound—the kind that wasn’t heavy with anger, but something else. Regret? Frustration? I didn’t know. But it made me look up, just slightly, just enough to catch a glimpse of him reaching into his coat pocket. He pulled something out—a small, dark-colored box—and walked over to the table. He didn’t throw it, didn’t drop it carelessly. He placed it down gently, like it mattered.

"Here," he said.

I blinked at the box, hesitant. My body tensed again, unsure of what to expect. "What is it?" I asked slowly, my voice almost a whisper, cautious and guarded.

"Pain relief patches," he replied, his tone neutral but lacking his usual sharp edge. "Use them. You’re clearly hurting."

My eyes lingered on the box as confusion wrapped around my thoughts. I didn’t understand. Damon had watched me suffer. He had mocked me before. Why was he helping now?

"Why are you giving me this?" I asked, genuinely curious—suspicious even.

He shrugged, like he didn’t want to make a big deal out of it. "Because I saw what they did to you. And as much as I enjoy chaos, that wasn’t justice."

There was a raw honesty in his voice that startled me. For the first time since I met him, he didn’t sound like he was performing. Not teasing. Not playing a part. He sounded real.

"It wasn’t," I whispered, the memory of what happened flashing in my mind. "It was humiliation."

He didn’t say anything for a moment. Just stood there, looking slightly awkward, an expression I’d never seen on him before. Like being near my pain made him uncomfortable, or maybe it made him feel something he didn’t want to feel.

"Yes, well," he said eventually, clearing his throat and glancing at the floor. "You didn’t deserve that."

There was a silence between us. I didn’t know what to say. I still wanted him to leave. But a part of me... a small part... didn’t.

"Why do you act like this?" I asked, my voice softer now. "Like you don’t care about anything. But then you come and help me."

He leaned against the wall, arms crossed, without saying a word.

I didn’t understand him. He confused me more than anyone ever had. One minute, he was cruel and mocking. Next, he was giving me pain relief and noticing my birthmark.

"Will you leave now?" I asked after a while.

He nodded. "Yeah. I just wanted to make sure you weren’t crying your eyes out."

"I’m not," I whispered, gripping the bedsheet.

He turned to leave, then paused at the door. "That birthmark is beautiful, you know, and I like the new Lisa."

"Damon!" I shouted.

He laughed and walked out, shutting the door behind him.

The silence that followed felt... strange. Heavy, but also comforting in a way. I looked down at the box he left. I touched the patches and then looked back at the mirror.