Damion’s POV

The ice had melted long ago.

I stared into the bottom of the glass, the remnants of my third—no, fourth—scotch clinging to the corners like the last pieces of a man who used to matter.

Isabelle’s words kept circling in my head.

“You could wait forever, and I still wouldn’t choose you.”

I hadn’t wanted to believe her. Not the way she said it—calm, resolved, final.

I had expected rage. Screaming. Maybe even tears.

But she had just looked at me like I didn’t ...