Chapter Twelve: The Plot

Chapter Twelve: The plot

Damien walked into the house and stopped dead in his tracks, completely surprised.

Soft jazz drifted through the air, and the lights twinkled like candlelight on champagne. The spacious hall buzzed with a well-dressed crowd. And the long banquet table? It was something else entirely. Crystal sparkled, fresh orchids added a touch of elegance, and golden cutlery gleamed the kind of extravagant setup you'd expect for visiting dignitaries, not just a tech CEO returning from a business trip, all of that was what was prepared to welcome her.

"Dad? I honestly think this is too much. I mean, you probably shouldn't have bothered," Damien said as he walked alongside his father to the banquet hall. "Nonsense. Let me, Damien. Let me go overboard; this is good news. I mean, 'Damien, you have no idea what this means to me,' he began, his voice thick with emotion. 'You've always been exceptional a true prodigy in business, a master of cyberspace, just brilliant at anything that requires a cold, calculating mind. But I've always worried about you. You approached life as if it were a conference call, or a boardroom negotiation, not a vigorous, pulsating heart.

Always analyzing, never truly feeling."

He paused, his gaze drifting into the distance, lost in a sea of memories.

"There was a time, years ago, before the accident, you must have been around eighteen. You were quite fond of a girl back then a sweet, innocent thing with wide eyes and a radiant spirit. She actually saved your life, you know. Our nanny had tried to poison your lunch. That girl noticed something was off, and she raised hell about it, the dog that ended up eating the food died almost instantly. She saved you, Damien."

Damien's brow furrowed in confusion. The memory was faint, like dust in the wind if it even existed at all. I thanked her immensely, of course, Joseph continued, his voice laced with a hint of sadness. We were all quite shaken up by the incident. But the next time she came to visit, I overheard you yelling at her, saying the most awful things. You told her never to come around again. I simply couldn't believe it. Not after what she did. It made me wonder, did you hate women? Or were you just afraid of getting close? I never asked, though. I just kept it to myself.

He exhaled, a softer smile replacing the previous one.

"So you should know what it feels like knowing that all is well with you, and it's probably just me overreacting, seeing you with someone, someone real. She's cute, clumsy, and everything, but I like whatever my son chooses because I trust you and you have never let me down."

"Thanks, Dad. It means a lot," Joseph gave Damien's shoulder a good, solid pat.

"Good job, son. I like her already,"

"Thanks, Dad," Damien replied, his voice barely audible. He watched Joseph turn and vanish into the crowd, his fancy suit disappearing into the party's glitz.

Damien stood there, unmoving. The applause and laughter faded into the background, like echoes in a long tunnel. His jaw tightened as he muttered to himself,

"But, how come I don't remember any of that?"

On the large table, the family seems to be having a swell time as there are sounds of chattering and clinking of cutlery. Eleanor Lopez picks at her food with little or no interest, and it is obvious she has no appetite, as she steals glances at Tyler from time to time. Her gaze is sharp and intense enough to make Tyler feel uncomfortable, as she cannot stop shifting uneasily in her seat while holding her fork with shaky hands.

Then, like an announcement, Eleanor's voice breaks through the chatter and banter of the dinner's conversation.

"I would like to know, though, why the choice of these huge glasses? Is it that you have poor fashion sense, which is not a problem, as I can always help to refine and train you in that area, or is there some sort of story behind it? Because those glasses look a bit off on you; forgive my manners, of course."

All eyes immediately shifted to Tyler as absolute stillness took over.

Tyler didn't look up. She couldn't. Her cheeks were flushed, and the edge of her water glass was milky because her eyes were watering. But Damien's hand was calm, encouraging, and supporting. It gave her something to hold onto literally.

He cleared his throat and lifted his gaze to meet Eleanor's across the table. That controlled calm was more intimidating than rage.

"I don't know when this turned into a fashion critique," he said suavely, his tone low and steady, "but I do know we invited Tyler to dinner, not on some makeover show."

The table went still.

Eleanor raised an eyebrow. She was irritated but still indifferent by Damien's intervention.

"Curiosity is a natural feeling, no?," she said, swirling her wine. "You know how much I value aesthetics, Damien. Tyler is, unique. I was just trying to understand her better."

"Try asking her what she likes, then," Damien said immediately. "Or her job. Or anything else for that matter besides what she's wearing. You'd find out more about her like that." Damien said in defense.

Tyler glanced up at him then, her throat tightening. His jaw was tight, but his thumb stroked her knuckles beneath the table, silent reassurance in each pass.

She swallowed. Her voice came out soft, but clear. "I like them. They help me see clearly."

Vivian chuckled, trying to lighten the tension but only stirring it further. "How, poetic," she mused. "Very Clark Kent in reverse."

Tyler gave a small, brave smile, still holding onto Damien's hand.

Eleanor's smirk faded. Then silence returned, heavy and electric.

Damien leaned back in his seat with a faint smile that didn't quite reach his eyes.

"Then maybe we could all try to see a little clearer tonight," he said evenly, gaze never leaving Eleanor's.

Something shifted. A line was drawn.

Tyler's spine straightened. For the first time since she sat at that glossy oak table, she didn't feel completely alone. No, Damien had held her hand like it meant something. Like she mattered.

Eleanor recovered first, lifting her glass in a light toast. "To clear vision, then," she said, a thin smile on her lips as she sipped her wine.

"Clear vision and even clearer boundaries," Damien murmured under his breath, just loud enough for Eleanor to hear.

Across the table, Vivian leaned forward slightly, her voice honey-sweet but edged with curiosity. "So, Tyler, what is it that you do exactly? Damien said you're in tech, right?"

Tyler blinked, still steadying her breath. "Yes," she said quietly, adjusting the jacket Damien had wrapped around her. "Coincidentally I also work with techs, erh, I deal in systems development. Mostly backend infrastructure and some cybersecurity consulting."

"Cybersecurity?" Eleanor echoed, one brow lifting. "How.., very masculine of you."

Damien's expression didn't change, but Tyler felt his fingers curl slightly around hers under the table.

"It's not really about gender," Tyler replied, finding her footing. "It's about precision, pattern recognition, and logic. I find it, very satisfying."

Eleanor offered a tight smile. "I'd imagine it's also helpful in keeping secrets."

Tyler's breath caught. That had teeth in it.

"I suppose it can be," she said calmly. "But I've found honesty to be more useful in most cases."

"Refreshing," Damien aunt said, the corner of her mouth lifting in the ghost of a smile. "You don't hear that often at this table. I mean, she's doing something great, and the fact that our family also deals in tech just makes your union divine"

Eleanor smirked, clearly irritated now, though she masked it behind her wineglass.

"Divine indeed for all we know, they could have met in their work field, don't say things like that aunty" Vivian said, as she eats her food clearly not supportive of Tyler.

Tyler was beginning to feel the pressure under her skin like a slow boil. She could hold her own, but every second here chipped away at the illusion she was trying so hard to maintain.

Damien was there, defending her, but that warmth didn't numb the sting.

So she decided not to decive herself. Especially when the cold truth very much lingered at the edges of her thoughts, 'this family would never fully accept me.'

Not if they knew why she was really here. Not if they understood what she had to do.

So who cares if they don't want me, I don't want them either, Tyler gave them a middle finger in her mind.

So, when the laughter returned and the wine flowed again, she carefully stood. "I think I'll go freshen up," she said softly, pushing back her chair. "Excuse me."

Damien looked at her, eyes catching hers with subtle understanding. He didn't stop her. He simply gave a small, protective nod.

"Take your time," he said gently.

As she walked away, her spine straight, the din of conversation returned behind her like a tide rolling back in.

But Tyler wasn't headed for the restroom.

Not even close.

No, Tyler turned left down the hall and slipped into the corridor that led to the east wing_a part of the estate few ever ventured into during dinner. She moved swiftly, confidently. Her heels silent on the polished marble as she approached the door she'd memorized from floor plans she'd spent months studying.

A thumbprint scanner. A coded keypad.

And behind it, a vault.

She entered the codes she'd rehearsed a hundred times in her mind. A soft click. The door hissed open.

She exhaled, heart pounding, adrenaline rushing through her veins.

So far, smooth sailing.

But this was only the beginning.