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And then he appeared, the monster in question. I watched intently as David descended the stairs, his face filled with fury, his eyes dead set on the front door.

He reached the bottom step, and his shoulder brushed mine. He stopped in his tracks.

I pointed my gaze to him and he curled his lip at me.

“What the fuck are you looking at?”

My body was shaking, but I wasn’t afraid. I could only see my mother in my mind.

A tremor of rage ran through me, one emotion that I struggled to control. Especially around David.

“What the hell did you do to her?” The question spat out of me harsher than I meant for it too, my tone morphing into one similar to David’s in more ways that I’d care to admit.

Without another sound, David struck me. His hand connected to my cheek with an earsplitting pop. I guess I should’ve expected it with the way I spoke to him.

“She doesn’t know how to shut her fucking mouth,” he snarled. “Just like you!”

I touched the tender redness that blossomed across my face. I didn’t speak, only watched David’s expression continue to contort in disgust the longer he stared at me.

“Father!” Damian shouted, stomping down the stairs.

He saw.

David flinched, but didn’t bother to acknowledge Damian’s presence. He fixed me with another death glare, then continued marching forward to the front door. He’d made it five steps before Damian intercepted him, blocking the exit with his arm.

I stared as it unfolded, not sure how to process what I was seeing. Damian had never done that to David before.

“Look at me,” Damian whispered to David.

My mouth dropped.

I watched as Damian’s fingers reached upwards, tightening a grip on David’s shoulder. He didn’t raise his voice though, not even a little. His voice was calm, soft in a way that made goosebumps rise on my skin. “I need you to look at me when I’m talking to you. That way, we’re on the same page.”

David’s jaw worked. I could see it pulsing from across the room. For a second I thought he’d swing, but something in Damian’s face stopped him. It was an expression that I didn’t see on Damian’s face often, it was one that he had while on duty, usually in a confrontation with a criminal. It was a look that said—I want you to try me.

David met his eyes.

“You don’t touch him again.” Damian was shaking. “You don’t put hands on Noah like that again. Not ever. Do you understand?”

With a growl, David jerked his arm free and I took a few steps forward, preparing for a fight. But he didn’t hit Damian. Didn’t snap at him. Didn’t say a single word. He just shoved past him, slamming the door hard enough to rattle the frame.

And then he was gone.

“Are you okay?” Damian asked, touching my face, examining what the strike had left behind on my skin.

I pulled away from him gently, afraid that he would uncover some of the damage from the days before if he looked too hard. “I’m fine.”

“I should have been faster,” he murmured.

My eyes darted to my mother’s door. “What about her?”

Damian ignored my concern, continuing to inspect my face. “She’s alright. Startled, but fine.”

“Is she hurt?”

“He twisted her arm,” he said with a shake of his head. “She needs some ice.”

And a new husband, I thought bitterly.