Rise of the Worthless Son in law

9

Damon paced around the room, feeling impatient. It had been hours since the scandal happened, and he worried about Vivan. The hurt in her eyes, her trembling lips—everything.

She had come from a rich family, but one thing was sure and obvious to Damon: she didn’t exactly have a happy family.

Damon wondered if she was fine as he paced around the room in worry.

He glanced at his phone again and saw no missed calls or messages from Vivan.

He knew there was a probability that Vivan could have gotten his phone number from his bag, and yet he saw no call.

He ran his hand through his hair in frustration. Goddamn it. He was going to speak to her. He was going to make sure she was okay—the same way she had done for him.

The argument with Klaus had been explosive, and Damon knew how deeply it had hurt her. Vivan had asked for space, but he couldn’t shake the image of her trembling lips and teary eyes. She had been there for him, supporting him. Now it was his turn.

Stepping into the hotel hallway, he hesitated for a moment, glancing in both directions. Her suite was a few doors down from his, and he didn’t want to barge in and overwhelm her. But the longer he stood there, the heavier his worry became.

He walked down the hallway, and as soon as he got in front of Vivan’s door, he was surprised not to see any of her numerous bodyguards or at least her personal assistant standing by the door—and that worried him.

He raised his hand but hesitated, debating whether he was overstepping his boundary or not. Then, he raised his hand and softly knocked on the door. “Vivan? It’s Damon. Are you in there?”

Knock. Knock.

“Vivan? It’s me, Damon. Are you in there?” he called softly, shifting his ear close to the door.

Silence.

He knocked again, louder this time. “Vivan, I just want to make sure you’re okay. Please, if you’re in there, just say something.”

Still no response.

Damon frowned as he thought of the worst scenarios that might have happened. What if she’d collapsed? Or left the hotel altogether?

Just as he was about to try knocking again, he noticed something—the faintest glow of light slipping through the bottom of the door and the muffled sound of movement inside.

“Vivan,” he said, his voice firmer now, “I know you’re in there. I’m not leaving until you open the door.”

Still no response. Damon sighed, leaning his forehead against the door. His patience was wearing thin, and his worry was growing. He glanced down the hallway and spotted a housekeeper pushing a cart a few doors away.

Without overthinking, he approached her. “Excuse me, I think my friend might need help, but she’s not answering her door. Could you check on her?”

The woman looked at him hesitantly, her brows furrowing. “I’m sorry, sir, I can’t open the door for anyone who isn’t the guest.”

Damon cursed under his breath, running a hand through his hair. “I get it. I just… I’m worried about her. Could you maybe knock for me? Maybe she’ll answer if it’s someone else.”

The housekeeper seemed to sense his genuine concern and reluctantly nodded. She followed him to the door and knocked firmly.

“Ms. Vivan? It’s housekeeping. Are you alright?”

A few seconds passed, and then they finally heard the faint sound of movement inside.

Damon exhaled as he heard the creak of the door.

“Damon,” Vivan whispered in a raspy voice as soon as she saw him.

The housekeeper slowly stepped back as she began to walk away, giving them space. Damon didn’t wait for an invitation. He gently pushed the door open wider and stepped inside. Vivan didn’t stop him.

Damon stepped into her room to find it dark. The curtains were drawn shut. A half-empty bottle of water sat on the nightstand, and the bed was unmade. Her eyes were puffy and red, as if she had just finished crying.

“Vivan,” Damon said softly, his eyes locking onto her face. “Why didn’t you answer me?”

She sank onto the edge of the bed, clutching the hem of her sweater. “I didn’t want to talk to anyone,” she admitted.

Damon crouched in front of her, grabbing her hands. He looked into her eyes, his gaze boring into hers. “I get it,” he said gently, his voice steady. “But shutting everyone out won’t make the pain go away. I know it feels easier to handle it alone, but you don’t have to, Vivan. I’m here. For you.”

Her lip quivered as she avoided his gaze, gripping the hem of her sweater tighter. “It’s not just about tonight, Damon,” she whispered, her voice cracking. “Today… today is my mother’s death anniversary.”

Damon’s heart sank as he heard her words. He hadn’t known. It explained so much—her father’s coldness, her present fragile and disoriented state.

“Vivan,” he murmured, gripping her hands tighter. He didn’t know what to say. How was he going to console her? “I’m so sorry. I didn’t…”

“It’s fine,” Vivan said, cutting him off as she shook her head. “No one remembers. Not even him.”

“Him” could only mean one person—Klaus.

She looked up then, tears filling her eyes. “You know,” she scoffed bitterly, “my father wasn’t always like this. When my mom was alive, he was different. He smiled more, cared more. We were one big happy family. But after she… after she died, he just changed. At first, we thought he was grieving, but he kept getting worse, and he never changed. Everything became about control—about making sure I was perfect so he wouldn’t lose anyone else.”

Her voice broke, and she pulled her hands away to wipe at her tears. Damon stood and sat beside her on the bed.

He sat quietly for a moment, letting her words fill the air. He could feel her raw pain, and he knew this wasn’t the time for empty reassurances. Instead, he placed a hand over hers.

“I’m sorry for everything you’ve been going through,” he said softly.

Vivan shook her head. “After Mom died, everything fell apart. He acted like I had to make up for her loss… as if being perfect could somehow fix what happened. But no matter what I did, it was never enough for him.”

Her voice cracked again, and she buried her face in her hands. “He’s my father, Damon. He’s the only family I have, and I’m the only one he has.” She cried.

Damon placed his arm gently around her shoulders, pulling her into a comforting embrace. “You’re not alone, Vivan,” he murmured. “I know it feels that way sometimes, but I’m here, For you. Whatever you need—space, support, anything—I’ll be here for you.”

Her sobs softened as she leaned into him, letting herself cry jnor his arms. For the first time that night, the weight she carried felt just a little lighter.

“Thank you,” she whispered as she pulled away, wiping her tears. Her eyes were red, but there was a new resolve in them. “I need to speak to him!” she uttered, her voice trembling but determined.

Damon frowned. “Speak to who?”

“To my Dad now.” she said firmly. “I need to confront him about my mother. He didn’t even rememberher anniversary."

Damon's expression softened with understanding, but there was still concern in his eyes. “Vivan, are you sure this is the right time? After everything that’s happened today? Confronting him now… it could make things worse.”

Vivan stood up, her hands clenched into fists at her sides. “I can’t keep pretending everything’s fine. He’s been ignoring her for years, and today… today of all days, he couldn’t even remember her anniversary. I can’t let that go anymore, Damon.” Her voice shook with emotion and determination as she grabbed her bag insanely

it was obvious she was tipsy as she grabbed her bag

Damon took a deep breathe, “You are a bkt drunk Vivan! are you sure about this?"

Vivan ignored him as she grabbed her car key,

Damon stood, she was definitely drunk and she looks like she was going to drive herself, "Let me go with yiu vivan. Let me Help you there."