The tension at the table was suffocating. Damon's mind raced as he finally pieced it all together—the woman he'd bumped into at the mall, the old lady in the theater, and now this: a tall, curly-haired brunette with sharp green eyes staring back at him with a knowing smirk. Esther.
She was beautiful, in an eerie, otherworldly way, but that wasn't what freaked him the most. It was the way she had slipped into his life, basically stalking him, wearing different faces, playing different roles. And now, sitting across from him and Isabella, she had the audacity to smirk like this was all some grand joke.
Isabella, with her head low and arms constantly at the sides, already on edge, stiffened further when Esther casually dropped her full name—no pretending now. Before neither of them could react, Esther stood, leaned in, and kissed Damon square on the lips. It was quick, deliberate, and utterly disorienting.
Then she walked away.
Isabella sat frozen, wide-eyed, before her shock twisted into anger. She shot up from the table and stormed after Esther without a word. Damon, completely frozen for seconds, still reeling, scrambled after them both.
Outside the restaurant, Isabella moved swiftly, not looking back. Damon caught up, stepping in front of her to block her path.
"If you had a girlfriend," Isabella snapped, her voice trembling with fury, "why the hell did you even bother asking me out?"
Damon opened his mouth—She's not my girlfriend—but stopped. That excuse wouldn't hold. None of this made sense. He needed a lie, something to salvage this disaster.
"She's my ex," he said quickly. "We broke up a while ago, I swear. She's just… obsessive."
Isabella let out a sharp, disbelieving laugh and slapped her forehead. "Look, I'm not looking for anything messy. If there's still something going on with her, then deal with it. I'm not in the business of fighting over a guy, okay?" She stepped around him, her voice final. "Just take care of yourself."
And then she was gone.
Damon stood rooted to the spot, his chest hollow. It had all unraveled in seconds. The mall around him was nearly empty, the silence amplifying his frustration. Then—movement.
His gaze snapped upward.
A little girl stood on the upper level, watching him. Those same piercing green eyes. Esther.
Rage flared in his chest. He took off, sprinting up the escalator, his shoes slapping against the tile. The girl darted away, weaving through the sparse crowd before ducking into a corner. Damon rounded it—
And froze.
The old woman from the theater stood there, hunched and grinning. But when she spoke, it was in a child's voice.
"How was the kiss, sweetheart?"
Damon recoiled, disgust twisting his features. The illusion melted away, revealing Esther in her usual form—the teenage girl, smirking at his revulsion.
"Who the hell are you?" Damon demanded, his voice low and rough. "What do you want from me?"
Esther tilted her head, her smile widening.
"I'm Esther."
"I am neither death nor life," Esther murmured, her voice a whisper of shadows. "Neither angel nor demon. Not the present, nor the future. No power, no last name, no legacy. I exist in the unseen, in the cracks of what you think is real."
She stepped closer, her green eyes locking onto Damon's. "I'm Esther. Your demon watcher."
Damon's breath hitched.
"I'm guessing you've met the man in the tuxedo," she continued, tilting her head. "Whatever deal you made with him—past, present, or future—I'm the physical manifestation of it. My job? To watch you. To make sure you abide by the rules." A smirk curled her lips. "And no, before you ask, I can't tell you what those rules are."
She leaned in, her voice dropping to a taunting purr. "So just call me your best friend, Damon. Because I'm never leaving your side. Not even in death."
Damon stood rigid, his pulse hammering. For a second, the world narrowed to her words, to the suffocating weight of them. Then, like a dam breaking, he exploded.
"What the fuck did I do in my previous life to deserve this shit right now?!" he roared, his voice echoing in the empty mall.
Esther didn't flinch. Instead, she stepped forward, forcing him back until his shoulders hit the wall. Her face hovered inches from his, her breath cold against his skin.
"Yeah," she whispered. "You did. Can't tell you how. Can't tell you why. But oh, Damon…" Her grin widened, sharp and merciless. "It was gorgeous."
His stomach twisted. He grabbed her wrist, desperation clawing at his throat. "Please. If you tell me what I did, I swear I won't—"
"That's part of it," she cut in, laughing softly. "We want you to do it again. It was such a beautiful disaster."
Damon's mouth went dry. He had no words left—just a hollow, gnawing terror.
Esther sighed, as if pitying him, then draped an arm over his shoulder like an old friend. "I might not be able to tell you how you fucked up…" She leaned in, her lips brushing his ear as she whispered:
"But I can tell you who else was involved."
Damon's eyes flew wide.
"Who?" Damon demanded, his voice cracking. "Who else is involved?"
Esther took a step back, hands clasped behind her back like a child reciting a lesson. "Well," she mused, tilting her head. "There's you—the first and the prince. Then there's your best friend, Caleb Monrrow. Your beautiful girlfriend—well, ex-girlfriend now, thanks to me—Isabella Harper. Her bestie, Lucy Norman. And, of course, Patrick Gilbert."
A cold smirk played on her lips. "And from what I've heard, you and Caleb have already met your first manifestations. Those lovely creatures that appear from nowhere… and vanish, leaving nothing, not even the carnage they left behind."
Damon's jaw clenched. "Who's next?" he interrupted, his voice low and urgent.
Esther stopped, her grin widening. "He might not make it," she said lightly. "The more of you that survive, the harder the next one gets."
"Who's next?" Damon roared, his patience snapping.
In a flash, she closed the distance between them, her breath hot against his ear as she whispered:
"The star quarterback, your best friend's boyfriend. Hope you can save him in time, sweetheart."