Chapter 113: An Uninvited Evening Guest

Damon’s POV

By six o’clock in the evening, the sun had dipped below the horizon, painting the sky in dark, stormy shades of purple and grey. I drove my sports car straight toward the residential district where the Miller house was located.

Noah wasn’t expecting me, neither was my darling Micah. But they could see my visit in their holy home as a blessed surprise.

I finally arrived at the house.

Just as always, the Miller house was cold, and imposing. It looked less like a home and more like a high-security house. Or should I just call it a prison? A beautiful version of a prison.

Just looking at it gave me a weird, suffocating feeling in my chest. No wonder Micah was always so anxious and timid... living in a place like this with a tyrannical father and a sociopathic brother would drive anyone insane.

I parked my car a little distance down the driveway, hopped out, and smoothed down my black shirt.

There was no entrance gate, since the house was in an estate so I just walked through the small grassy pathway to the door. I looked around the entrance to see if Micah’s father had arrived, but no. There wasn’t any car parked anywhere to show he had arrived.

I reached the door and my jaw dropped.

It was unlocked. Typical arrogance... or maybe Micah had forgotten to lock it because he was rushing around in a panic. Or maybe it was my dear captain.

I slipped inside, closing the heavy wooden door silently behind me.

The main entrance hall was completely silent. The lights were dim, casting long, eerie shadows across the wooden floors. I stepped further into the living area, listening closely. From the end of the small hallway, near the dining area, I heard the faint, clattering sound of silverware and trembling footsteps.

I smirked, walking softly across the polished floor until I stood right in the doorway of the dining room.

There he was.

Micah was standing by the round oak dining table, arranging silver cutlery next to pristine white porcelain plates. He was wearing a soft, oversized sweater that swallowed his thin frame, making him look small, fragile, and utterly breathtaking.

His hands were shaking so violently that the silver fork in his grip kept clinking loudly against the glass plates. His breath was short and uneven, his face pale as paper. He looked so terrified, so consumed by pure anxiety, that it made a sudden, unexpected knot of anger tighten in my own chest.

How terrifying was his father that just preparing a stupid dinner table had the poor boy shaking like a leaf?

I leaned against the doorframe, crossing my ankles and resting the box of pastries casually in one hand.

"You know, darling," I purred softly into the quiet room, "if you keep shaking like that, you’re going to break those expensive plates before anyone even sits down."

Micah gasped loudly!

He jumped a full inch off the ground, dropping the silver fork onto the table with a loud CLANG! He turned around, slapping his hands over his chest, his big eyes wide with utter terror.

"F-Father—!" he choked out, his voice cracking with sheer panic.

"Relax, sweetheart. It’s just me," I smiled softly, stepping out of the shadows and walking straight toward him.

The moment Micah recognized my face, the terror in his eyes turned into speechless shock. He stared at me like he was seeing a ghost, his jaw dropping open.

"D-Damon?!" Micah gasped, stuttering horribly as he stumbled backward against the dining table. "What... what are you doing here?! How did you get in?!"

"Through the front door, of course," I chuckled smoothly, stopping right in front of him. I reached out and gently set the pastry box on the table next to the cutlery. "I told your grumpy brother I was coming over, but he didn’t seem very keen on inviting me properly. So, I invited myself."

"Are you crazy?!" Micah practically shrieked in a harsh whisper, his eyes darting frantically toward the front door as if expecting a bomb to go off. "You can’t be here! You need to leave right now! My father... my father is coming home any minute! If he sees you here—"

"If he sees me here, he’ll see a very handsome, extremely wealthy guest standing in his dining area," I interrupted effortlessly.

I stepped closer, closing the distance between us until I was standing right in his personal space. I raised my hand and gently cupped his cold, pale cheek.

Micah flinched slightly at the sudden touch, but he didn’t pull away. His skin was freezing, his heart beating so hard against his ribs that I could practically feel the vibrations through the air.

"Look at you," I said softly, my voice losing its usual sarcastic edge as genuine concern washed over me. "You’re trembling, Micah. Your face is pale, and your hands are ice-cold. You’re terrified of him, aren’t you?"

Of course, I knew that already. I was just busy asking silly question.

Micah swallowed hard, his eyes glistening with unshed tears as he looked up at me. He bit his lower lip so hard it almost bled, trying his best not to break down right in front of me.

"He... he’s terrifying, Damon," Micah whispered, his voice shaking so violently it broke my heart. "You don’t understand. That man doesn’t treat us like sons. He treats us like property. If he finds out about the scandal... if he finds out I was at that club yesterday... he will destroy everything. He would destroy me."

A deep, burning protective rage surged through my entire body. I hated seeing him like this. I hated that this sweet, innocent boy was trapped in a golden cage, forced to live in constant fear of the man who was supposed to protect him. I should have kidnapped him and taken him to another city where we’d live happily ever after. That way, he wouldn’t have to remain with his father or tremble at the mention of his father.

I swept my thumb gently across his cheekbone, smoothing away a tiny stray tear that had escaped his eye.

"Listen to me, darling," I murmured, leaning down slightly so my eyes were level with his. "I am not going anywhere. I don’t care how scary your father is, and I certainly don’t care about his temper. You are not going to face him alone tonight. Do you hear me?"

Micah blinked, staring at me in absolute bewilderment. "B-but... why? Why are you doing this? You don’t owe me anything..."

"Of course, I don’t. I’m only doing this because I want to," I answered simply, giving him my most brilliant, reassuring smile. "And because I can’t stand seeing you look so sad. Maybe I’m bored too. Now... where is the rest of this dinner? Let me help you set the table before the old monster gets here."

A tiny, breathless sound escaped Micah’s throat... halfway between a gasp and a quiet sob. The relief that flooded his eyes was so intense it made my chest ache. For the first time all evening, the overwhelming terror in his posture softened just a little bit.

"The... the main course is in the kitchen," Micah whispered softly, his cheeks flushing a faint, pretty pink under my gaze. "Noah ordered it from a private catering service. He was sure that I won’t be able to cook anything properly with the way I was shivering,"

Oh? Captain is that charming, huh? I wonder how he would react when he sees me in the house.

"Perfect," I grinned, taking his small, cold hand in mine and squeezing it tightly. "Lead the way, my darling."

Micah let out a soft, shaky exhale, letting me guide him toward the kitchen doorway. For a few sweet, quiet minutes, the suffocating atmosphere of the massive estate seemed to melt away. I helped him arrange the warm serving dishes, teasing him softly to keep his mind off the ticking clock, watching with absolute satisfaction as a faint, genuine smile finally touched his lips.

"See?" I whispered, leaning close to his ear as he placed the final napkin on the tray. "You’re doing great."

"Thank you, Damon..." Micah murmured, looking up at me with soft, vulnerable eyes. "Really... thank you."

Before I could reply, before I could pull him closer and whisper another playful line into his ear...

SCREEECH!

The sharp, aggressive sound of heavy tires grinding against the gravel driveway outside echoed through the silent house.

Micah froze dead in his tracks.

The color instantly drained from his face once again. The faint smile vanished, replaced by an absolute, terrifying paralysis.

THUD.

The heavy slam of a luxury car door echoed from the front courtyard, followed immediately by the sharp, echoing sound of firm, heavy leather dress shoes marching up the stone front steps.

The front door lock turned with a loud, metallic CLICK.

Finally, the Miller family head had arrived.