They hadn't noticed at first. Too preoccupied with the subtle stabs and buried tensions of their own game.
But there he was.
Damien Elford.
And beside him, as radiant and poised as ever—Vivienne.
The pair moved along the Promenade with quiet precision, not quite hurried, but not meandering either. Every boutique they passed seemed to slow for them, store attendants bowing just slightly deeper, glances drifting from other shoppers and fixating like moths to flame.
Damien didn't walk like the boy they remembered. Gone was the soft shuffle, the unsure weight, the habit of lowering his gaze when someone met his eyes too directly.
Now, his stride was smooth, steady. Self-assured. Tailored black suit cutting across his broad frame, hair tousled like some wind-kissed aristocrat out of a fashion editorial. His presence had weight—not just because of his name, but because of how he moved through the world now. Intentional. Unapologetic. Eyes like still water, reflecting nothing.
