The morning after the fight with Daemon felt like a storm that had passed, leaving behind unsettled air and a tension that still clung to the atmosphere of the house. I sat on the edge of my bed, the sunlight streaming through the window, but it felt cold and distant—just like everything else lately.
I couldn't stop replaying last night's events in my mind, Markus's confused expression as Daemon's fist collided with his jaw, Daemon's cold fury, and the words that lingered afterward. There was something in Daemon's eyes that I hadn't been able to place—something deeper than anger. But why? Why was he so furious, so protective? I was no stranger to Daemon's controlling nature, but this felt different, more intense.
I sighed, running a hand through my hair, trying to make sense of everything. Was it really just about Markus taking me to that party? Or was it something else entirely?
I knew Daemon didn't trust Markus, but Daemon had never trusted anyone. Markus was different, though. He had always been there for me, steady and kind, offering a warmth that Daemon never did. But now, Markus's easygoing nature felt overshadowed by last night's fight, the tension that had boiled over between them making everything seem so much more complicated.
Why did Daemon care so much?
I spent the rest of the morning in a haze, unsure of how to navigate the fallout. I couldn't stay in my room forever, but facing Daemon seemed like the last thing I wanted to do. My phone buzzed beside me, breaking the silence. I glanced at the screen: a message from Markus.
Are you okay?
Simple, but there was an underlying concern in his words. Markus had always been good at knowing when something was wrong without needing to ask too many questions. I hesitated, typing and deleting my response a few times before finally settling on something short.
I'm fine. Can we talk later?
I sent the message and set the phone aside, letting out a breath I hadn't realized I was holding. Markus was another complication—one I wasn't sure how to handle at the moment. My thoughts were too tangled up in Daemon's actions, the anger I saw in his eyes, the tension that had exploded out of nowhere.
But it wasn't out of nowhere, was it?
Deep down, I knew that the fight with Markus was just the tipping point. Daemon had been cold and distant for so long, but last night, it was like something inside him finally snapped. And I couldn't help but wonder if it had more to do with me than with Markus.
Later that afternoon, I found myself in the kitchen, aimlessly making tea to distract myself from the gnawing questions in my mind. The house was too quiet, the ticking of the clock on the wall feeling almost oppressive. I hadn't seen Daemon all day, and part of me wondered if he was avoiding me.
The sound of footsteps pulled me from my thoughts, and I turned to see Daemon standing in the doorway. He didn't say anything at first, just leaned against the frame, his arms crossed in that familiar, guarded stance. His gaze was heavy, watching me in a way that made my skin prickle with unease.
"I'm surprised Markus didn't come running back after last night," Daemon said finally, his tone clipped, but there was an undercurrent of something else—something almost bitter.
I frowned, setting the teapot down on the counter. "I asked him not to. I needed space."
Daemon raised an eyebrow, as if surprised by my answer. "Space from him? Or space from me?"
His question caught me off guard, and I didn't know how to respond. The truth was, I wasn't sure what kind of space I needed—or from whom. Markus had been my comfort, my stability, but Daemon… Daemon was something else entirely. Something I didn't know how to define.
"You didn't have to hit him," I said, avoiding his question. "He didn't deserve that."
Daemon's expression hardened, his jaw tightening. "You think I don't know what kind of person Markus is?"
I shook my head, frustration bubbling to the surface. "Why do you hate him so much? What has he ever done to you?"
"It's not about me, Nina," Daemon shot back, his voice sharp. "It's about you. You don't see what's right in front of you."
I stared at him, my heart pounding. "And what exactly am I not seeing?"
Daemon's gaze flickered, his eyes narrowing as if he was struggling to find the right words. "Markus… he's not what you think. He's—"
"What?" I demanded, cutting him off. "What is he, Daemon? Why won't you just tell me?"
For a moment, Daemon said nothing. His lips pressed into a thin line, his eyes dark and stormy. Then, he shook his head, pushing away from the doorframe and turning his back to me. "You wouldn't understand," he muttered, his voice lower now, almost defeated.
My chest tightened, the weight of his words settling like a stone in my stomach. "Why won't you just let me live my life?" I whispered, my voice breaking. "Why do you always have to control everything?"
Daemon stopped in his tracks, his shoulders stiffening. For a brief moment, I thought he might turn around, that he might actually say something—something real. But instead, he just stood there, the silence between us suffocating, before he finally walked away.
I let out a shaky breath, my hands trembling as I gripped the edge of the counter. I didn't understand Daemon. I didn't understand why he acted the way he did, why he seemed so intent on keeping me at arm's length yet refusing to let anyone else get close.
What I didn't realize was that Daemon didn't fully understand it either.
That night, I lay in bed, staring at the ceiling, the weight of everything pressing down on me. Markus's calm, comforting presence felt so far away now, and the tension with Daemon left me feeling unsettled, as if nothing in my life made sense anymore.
Why did Daemon care so much? Why did it matter to him who I spent my time with, what I did with my life?
I thought back to the accident, to the way he had looked at me when he woke up in the hospital—like something had shifted, like maybe, just maybe, he saw me in a way he hadn't before. But that softness had quickly disappeared, replaced by the same coldness I had grown so used to over the years.
I sighed, rolling over onto my side, pulling the blankets up to my chin. The truth was, I didn't want to think about Daemon anymore. I didn't want to try to understand his mixed signals or decipher his motivations. It was too exhausting, too confusing.
But despite my best efforts, I couldn't shake the feeling that everything was about to change—and not necessarily for the better.