With Alex absent—still recovering at the clinic under Dr. Addison's close watch—Damien saw a rare opportunity to observe the family without the person he had assumed was favored. So he moved in immediately after dropping Alex off to the clinic.
For almost three days, Damien sat through breakfasts, luncheons, and drawn-out dinners with the Masterson family. But the more time passed, the more unsettling the silence became. No one asked about Alex. Not once. No one wondered why he was never present.
On the third morning, Damien finally broke the silence.
"Where's Alex?"
The question hung in the air like an unexpected draft. The staff stilled. Elena blinked but kept sipping her coffee, uninterested. Ian glanced up, then returned to his phone.
Alex's mother folded her napkin with mechanical grace and said, "He must be with that friend of his. What's his name… Eric?"
Damien raised an eyebrow. "Eric?"
"Yes. Eric. They've been close since school."
Damien nodded slowly, pretending to accept it.
He tried speaking to the household staff next. A few friendly smiles, casual questions. "Has Alex always been so quiet?" "How's his health been lately?" But every staff member responded with stiff professionalism and guarded glances. They weren't allowed to talk freely—he could feel it in the way they lowered their eyes and offered neutral pleasantries that said nothing.
Loyal to a fault or afraid of consequences.
Then he tried his luck with Elena.
"Elena, has Alex always been... distant from the rest of you?"
"Alex? Oh...he's always been dramatic. Sensitive. A bit of a recluse, I guess."
"That sounds lonely."
"Maybe. Or maybe it's just who he is. He never really fit in."
Damien frowned. "Did anyone try to make him feel like he did?"
She gave a light laugh, airy and cold. "This family doesn't do hand-holding, Damien. We swim. Or we drown."
The answer chilled him to a fault.
Next, he cornered Ian in the study. The air smelled of old books and stronger whiskey. Damien leaned against the bookshelf as Ian poured himself a drink, not offering one.
"Do you even know where your brother is?" Damien asked bluntly.
Ian shrugged. "Probably hiding out somewhere. He does that. Disappears when things get hard."
"You don't sound worried."
"Why would I be?" Ian downed the whiskey in one swallow. "He always comes crawling back."
Damien's jaw clenched. "And what if he doesn't this time?"
"I doubt that. Where could he hide from the Masterson name?" Ian sneered with cold indifference.
Damien's frustration reached a boiling point after talking to Richard. He found Richard in the drawing room, cigar in hand, swirling a glass of amber liquor. The man looked entirely at ease, his greying temples immaculately styled, his tailored suit perfectly ironed.
"Richard," Damien began, voice measured, "I'm curious about something."
The older man looked up with that practiced politician's smile. "Aren't we all?"
"Your son—Alex. I've asked around. No one seems to know much about him. Or care that he's been gone for almost three days."
Richard chuckled, a deep, rumbling sound. "He's a private boy, always has been. Probably off sulking somewhere over something unimportant."
"You don't even know what he could be upset about."
"Does it matter?"
Damien's nostrils flared. He took a step closer. "You don't seem particularly concerned."
"And you," Richard said, narrowing his eyes, "seem unusually invested."
Damien held his gaze. "Maybe I am."
"Ah." Richard smiled wider, leaning back in his chair. "So, you've taken a special interest in my boy?"
"What kind of interest do you think I have taken?"
"The kind a man takes when he feels attracted to someone," Richard said, as casually as commenting on the weather. "My boy—though not the most conventionally handsome—has a side to him that might intrigue an alpha like you."
Damien's hands curled into fists at his sides. "And what side is that?"
Richard's smirk deepened. "The kind of side alphas tend to enjoy."
The room dropped into a thick, sickening silence.
"And if I said I was genuinely interested," Damien said slowly, "what would you expect in return?"
Richard sipped his drink. "Nothing outrageous. Perhaps a small favor. Say... erasing the mortgage I took out using this house as collateral. We both know you're in a position to make that happen."
It hit Damien like a slap.
This man—Alex's father—was offering up his own son in exchange for financial relief. As if Alex were a transaction. A bargaining chip. A possession.
Damien swallowed the bile rising in his throat. "I'll think about it."
He turned on his heel and left the room before he did something he couldn't take back. For all the Mastersons' carefully cultivated image of upper-class elegance and familial warmth—the saccharine smiles at social events, the whispers of being a "close-knit" household—it was becoming painfully clear that it was all a carefully choreographed lie. And strangely, they weren't even trying to uphold the charade in front of him.
There had been no attempt to feign concern for Alex's absence. No offhand comments laced with affection or worry. Just silence. A heavy, deliberate silence. As if Alex's presence—or absence—meant nothing at all.
Any illusion Damien might've had about Alex being the cherished youngest child—the emotionally indulged beta protected by his powerful family—shattered like glass. What he saw now was something far uglier: emotional neglect so normalized it had become wallpaper, familial cruelty dressed in designer suits.
And yet... in a strange, bitter way, Damien was grateful.
Grateful that the masks had slipped so easily. Grateful they hadn't bothered to hide their true faces from him. Because now, at last, he could see things as they were. Not just about the Mastersons, but about Alex.
Alex hadn't been pampered. He'd been ignored. Overlooked. Minimized.
The bruises Damien had left on Alex's heart weren't the first. They were just layered over years of emotional neglect, of being treated like less—by the very people who should have protected him.
And what had Damien done?
He'd treated Alex like a pawn too. Someone he could use to hurt the Mastersons. He'd seduced him, thinking he was taking a piece off the board. And now that he saw the truth, it made his stomach churn.
"What have I done?" he whispered into the dark.
He sat down heavily on the edge of the bed, running a hand through his hair. Maybe Alex would never forgive him. Maybe he didn't deserve it.
But Damien wasn't going to walk away from this. He would try to make up for his mistakes as much as he could.