Chapter 190: Blood Is Thicker
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[Damien Lockwood]
Damien trailed behind Dianne down the final hallway, silent. His footsteps fell into the steady rhythm he’d always known in this house, like some old instinct was reawakening as soon as he stepped inside.
Nothing felt different.
The polished oak floors shone under the light of the crystal chandeliers, scattering little sparkles across the ceiling.
Expensive paintings adorned the walls, with the portraits of long-gone Lockwood ancestors looking down, their expressions hinting at disappointment that seemed to run through the family just as surely as their wealth had.
Each painted mouth was set in a thin, unimpressed line, as if they had all posed for the same disapproving portrait over the centuries.
Even the air smelled exactly like he remembered, furniture polish, and a kind of sterile cleanliness that never felt like home, more like a museum than a place where anyone actually lived.
Dianne halted outside a pair of intricately carved double doors, her hand hovering near the handle but not quite touching it yet.
"They’re waiting."
"I figured as much." he replied.
She reached for the handle but shot him a sideways glance, something unreadable flitting behind her eyes.
"You’ve managed to upset Mother more than usual." she said, "you’ve out done yourself, little brother."
Damien returned her gaze. "I didn’t know making her happy was ever my job."
The corner of Dianne’s mouth flickered, though it didn’t quite turn into a smile.
"No," she murmured. "But disappointing her is definitely your expertise."
She pushed the door open.
The private sitting room looked just the same as it had three years ago. Dark walnut bookshelves towered from floor to ceiling, with the spines arranged by height and color rather than any actual reading order.
A marble fireplace crackled softly, more for show than warmth. Every chair was positioned with mathematical precision around an antique coffee table, the whole room looking staged for a magazine photo shoot that was never going to happen.
Mrs. Evelyn Lockwood sat perfectly upright on one of the sofas, legs crossed and hands neatly folded in her lap, her posture so poised it seemed almost architectural.
Across the room, Mr. William Lockwood stood beside the fireplace, one hand behind his back, gazing out the window until the door clicked shut.
Only then did he turn around.
"So," William said, voice steady. "The prodigal son remembers where he lives."
Wow, so much for ’Hey welcome home, son! How have you been?!’
Damien closed the door behind him, the latch clicking softly but firmly. "I remember the address."
His mother studied him for several long moments, her gaze sweeping over him with the same clinical scrutiny that Dianne had used on Oliver just days before...apparently, this method of assessing people was a family trait.
Perhaps he had that too, if so...then no wonder Oliver hated his ass before. That was not a kind look to give to anybody.
"You’ve ignored twenty-three phone calls." his mother began.
Damien sighed, "I know."
"Twelve emails, and every message your sister has sent, it took her going all the way to your school to get you to come back."
The silence that followed was painfully stiff, stretching long enough to get its point across before Mrs. Lockwood spoke again.
She tilted her head. "Had you planned on responding to any of them?"
"No." Damien said, tiredly.
He’d had a long day and this couldn’t even wait till morning.
William let out a humorless, sharp laugh. "At least he’s honest."
"I didn’t think lying would help the conversation."
His father’s jaw tightened, a muscle twitching along its length in a way that made Damien uncomfortably aware of his own reflection. "Watch your tone."
"My tone seems fitting, father."
Dianne moved quietly to stand by one of the windows, arms folded loosely as she observed the exchange like a spectator who already knew the outcome.
Mrs. Lockwood tightened her grip on her hands. "You vanished for three years."
"Yes."
"You turned down every invitation to come home and you ignored your family’s attempts to reach you."
"Yes."
"And yet..." She scrutinized him carefully, almost like she was examining an unfamiliar signature on a contract. "Here you are."
Damien’s expression remained unchanged. "I told Dianne I came because someone important asked me to."
William scoffed. "So the family that raised you means less than some college kid you’ve known for a few months?"
Damien met his father’s gaze, holding it without flinching. Wasn’t it funny how they immediately assumed it was Oliver who asked him and not a random friend?
Anyways they were spot on on their guesses, kudos to them.
Damien responded, "Yes."
The word fell like shattered glass, and for a moment, everyone in the room froze.
Mrs. Lockwood inhaled slowly, the sound controlled even in her irritation. "I see."
She reached beside her chair and picked up a large cream-colored envelope, its edges crisp, clearly handled with care despite whatever unpleasant contents it held.
In one swift motion, she tossed it across the table. The photographs slid over the polished wood, spilling onto the carpet at Damien’s feet, glossy prints scattering like an unwanted hand of cards.
He looked down, they were even more pictures than before.
Oliver laughing beside him outside the psychology building. Oliver stealing fries from his plate at the diner. His hand resting on Oliver’s waist as they crossed the street. A picture of them sharing a kiss beneath the orange glow of the sunset.
Looks like they had a stalker.
Whoever they were...they were very dedicated to their craft. Even going as far as to manage to get through campus strict security.
His thumb brushed over the last photograph unconsciously before he looked back up, something protective settling into his expression, though the rest of him remained perfectly still.
Unless...they had every access to the school, a student perhaps...? Or a professor even?
"So?"
William blinked. "So?"
"So." Mrs. Lockwood’s composure cracked for the first time that evening, her smooth veneer slipping just enough to reveal her simmering temper.
"For the past month," she said through clenched teeth, "someone has been extorting this family."
She stood suddenly, the movement quick. "They demanded six million dollars to keep these photographs private."
Another photo landed on the table. "Then another six million."
Another. "And another."
Her voice sharpened with each repetition, climbing toward something close to a shout before she managed to rein it in.
"They’ve threatened to release every single image to the media."
Damien glanced at the photographs again, unaffected by the figures being thrown at him as if they should mean more than the images themselves.
"They should."
The room fell silent, his mother stared at him. "...Excuse me?!"
"They should release them." He shrugged lightly, the motion almost casual against the heavy atmosphere surrounding them. "If someone is blackmailing you with these, you should just let them go public. It would save everyone the trouble of pretending."
William laughed, but it wasn’t genuine amusement; it was disbelief, more of a bark than laughter.
"Have you completely lost your mind?!"
"If the truth is going to come out, we might as well skip the expensive part."
Mrs. Lockwood slammed her hand on the table, the sharp crack echoing off the walnut shelves.
"Do you even understand what a scandal like this would do to our family?!"