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Adding a new feature to every chapter so I can be more engaged with my readers: One reply to the best comment! <3

ASTRID'S POV:

The morning came too quickly, dragging me out of a restless, whiskey-soaked sleep. My body ached in protest as I sat up, the bruises from the attack making themselves known with every movement.

The first thing I did was check my phone. My hands trembled as I unlocked the screen, praying for some message, some sign of life from him. Nothing.

Not even Laufy.

I swallowed the lump forming in my throat, my jaw tightening against the wave of frustration that threatened to spill over. Damon had promised. Two days. And now, two days had turned into three. So where was he?

There was nothing left but my own doubts and unanswered questions.

I'd called. Texted. Even left him a voice message, my voice breaking in ways I hated.

Still, nothing.

...

The day stretched endlessly before me. I tried to distract myself—attempted to read, turned on the television, even tried sorting through paperwork Damon had left behind. None of it worked. Every tick of the clock felt like another nail driven into the fragile patience I was clinging to.

By noon, I was pacing the estate. My mind wandered to every terrible scenario, every worst-case possibility. Had he been hurt? Captured? Was he lying in a ditch somewhere, unable to reach me? Or worse—was he choosing not to?

I hated that last thought.

Hated it because it felt like a betrayal to even consider it. Damon wouldn't abandon me. He wouldn't. But he did.

The house felt emptier than ever. The only sound was the clock on the wall ticking loudly, mocking me with every second that passed, until evening finally came. By then, I was struggling to keep that whiskey bottle untouched beside me. I needed to stay sharp, even if my body begged for the dull comfort of oblivion.

"Where the fuck are you, Damon?" I whispered into the silence, the question as much an accusation as it was a plea. I didn't have an answer. All I had was the promise he'd broken—and the faint hope that wherever he was, he hadn't broken it for nothing.

It was nearing midnight when a knock came. A sharp, deliberate sound that shattered the stillness of the estate. I'd been sitting by the window again, my head resting on the cool glass, half-daring myself to hope that maybe it was Damon. Maybe he'd finally come home.

Instead, I found a stranger on the doorstep.

The man was tall and lean, his face shadowed under the faint glow of the porch light, dressed in a crisp suit that didn't quite match the easy smile he wore. He held a leather briefcase in one hand, the other casually tucked into his coat pocket.

I didn't open the door all the way, just enough to lean against the frame, keeping the weight of it between us. I narrowed my eyes. "Who the hell are you?" My voice was sharp, my body tenser.

"Colin," he said simply, his tone calm, almost rehearsed. "I need to speak with you. It's about Damon."

That name. The way he said it made the hairs on the back of my neck stand up.

My grip on the door tightened. "If you're looking for him, he's not here."

"I know." He glanced past me into the house, then met my gaze again. "That's why I came to you. You're the only one I can trust."