𝐁𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐒𝐅𝐔𝐋 𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐎𝐒 | SPINOFF

CHAPTER FIFTY-ONE

DAMON
LARS

The ballroom was alive with the hum of conversation and the clinking of glasses, but my attention was solely on Avery. Dressed in deep red, her dark makeup adding a sharp edge to her youthful features, she looked far older than her fifteen years. Too old, in fact. It made the men in the room glance her way, their eyes lingering too long.

I hated it.

"Stay safe. I'll be right back, okay?" I said quietly, leaning down to meet her gaze.

Avery gave me a small smile, but it didn't reach her eyes. She was good at hiding it, but I could tell she felt out of place here. We both did. "You stay safe, Damon. And be careful."

I nodded, but before walking away, I reached into my waistband, pulled out a small knife, and placed it discreetly on the table in front of her. My jaw tightened as I stared at her. "If anyone so much as looks at you wrong, you don't hesitate."

Her eyes widened slightly at the gesture, but she quickly masked it with a smirk. "Always the overprotective one, huh? I'll be fine. Go."

I didn't respond. I didn't trust anyone here, and I sure as hell didn't trust the men eyeing her. But my father had summoned me, and in this world, that wasn't a request.

Straightening my suit, I walked through the grand hall, the noise of the party fading behind me. The corridor ahead was dimly lit, the heavy scent of cigars and aged whiskey lingering in the air. At the end of the hallway, my father sat alone, a half-empty glass of wine in his hand. His presence was as cold and commanding as ever. "What did you need?" I asked flatly, stopping just short of the table where he sat. My tone was curt, bordering on disrespectful, but I didn't care. I never cared when it came to him.

He raised an eyebrow at me, the faintest smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. "So cold, Damon. You could at least pretend to have some respect for your old man." I didn't reply, my expression hard as stone. My silence only seemed to amuse him further.

"I wanted to talk," he continued, swirling the wine in his glass. "You're not a boy anymore. It's time you started thinking about the future."

My stomach twisted. I knew where this was going. "If this is another lecture about taking over the family, save it," I said. "I'm not interested."

His smirk disappeared, replaced by a scowl. "You don't have a choice. Whether you like it or not, you're going to be the next leader of this family."

"I don't want it," I snapped, stepping closer to the table. "I don't want any part of your world. I don't want to run an empire built on blood, drugs, and trafficking. I'm not you, and I never will be."

That struck a nerve. His expression darkened, and he slowly rose from his chair, towering over me. "You think you're better than me?" he growled, his voice low and menacing. "You think you can wash your hands clean of this family's legacy? This is in your blood, boy. No matter how much you try to fight it."

My jaw clenched, my fists curling at my sides. "I don't want to be a monster like you."

The words had barely left my mouth before he lunged at me. His hand shot out, grabbing me by the neck and slamming me against the wall. The breath rushed out of my lungs as the impact rattled through me, but I didn't flinch.

"You don't want to challenge me, boy," he hissed, his grip tightening. "You're already a man like me. The sooner you accept that, the better."

"No," I managed to choke out, a defiant smirk curling my lips. "I'll never be like you."

His fist came crashing into my face, splitting my lip and filling my mouth with the metallic taste of blood. I stumbled but didn't fall. I wouldn't give him that satisfaction. "You're weak," he snarled, his voice dripping with disgust. "Too soft to lead. Too soft to survive."