The low hum of conversation filled the Mystic Grill, glasses clinking, laughter rising and falling—but none of it reached Damon Salvatore.

Not when his eyes were locked across the room.

His posture was deceptively relaxed, one shoulder leaning against the bar, a glass of bourbon loose in his hand—but the tension sat in the sharp line of his jaw, in the way his fingers tightened just a little too much around the glass.

“Careful,” Stefan Salvatore muttered beside him, low enough that only Damon could hear. “You’re going to crack that.”

Damon didn’t look at him. Didn’t blink. “Wouldn’t be the first thing I’ve broken tonight.”

Next to Stefan, Alaric Saltzman followed Damon’s line of sight—and immediately understood.

Remy.

The new guy in town. Too charming for his own good, too eager, too… obvious. The kind of man who thought a smirk and a smooth voice could get him anything he wanted.

Right now, he was leaning just a little too close to you.

Damon’s lips curled, but there was no humor in it.

Across the room, you stood near the pool table, Remy talking—no, performing—like he had an audience of one. His hand brushed your arm like it belonged there.

It didn’t.

Damon’s grip tightened.

“You gonna kill him,” Alaric asked casually, “or just glare him to death?”

“Working on both,” Damon replied, voice edged.

But then—

You moved.

Remy leaned in again, saying something that made him look far too pleased with himself. And that’s when you lifted your hand, pressing it flat against his face and pushing him back without a second thought.

Not dramatic. Not angry.

Dismissive.

Like he wasn’t even worth the effort.

Damon blinked.

Stefan let out a quiet huff of amusement.

And then you turned.

You didn’t hesitate. Didn’t look back. You walked straight across the room, eyes locked on Damon like he was the only person that existed in it.

The tension in Damon’s shoulders shifted—but it didn’t disappear. If anything, it sharpened.

You stopped right in front of him.

For half a second, neither of you spoke.

Then your hand came up, fisting in the collar of his shirt, dragging him down just enough—

—and you kissed him.

Not soft. Not shy.

Claiming.

The entire bar seemed to go quiet around it, like the moment carved out its own space in time. Damon didn’t hesitate, his hand snapping to your waist, pulling you flush against him as he kissed you back just as fiercely.

Possessive.

Certain.

When you finally pulled away, his eyes were darker, something dangerous and satisfied flickering behind them.

“Miss me?” he murmured, voice low enough just for you.

You didn’t answer.

You didn’t have to.

Instead, you gave his collar one last tug before letting go, completely unfazed as you turned on your heel.

Across the room, Elena Gilbert, Bonnie Bennett, and Caroline Forbes were already heading for the door—and you fell right into step with them like nothing had happened.

Like you hadn’t just lit the entire room on fire.

The door of the Mystic Grill swung shut behind you.

Silence lingered for exactly one second.

Then Damon let out a low chuckle, slow and satisfied, licking the edge of his lip as if savoring the moment all over again.

“Well,” Alaric said, raising his glass, “guess that answers that.”

Damon finally looked away from the door, a smirk spreading across his face—sharp, dangerous, and entirely pleased.

“Yeah,” he said smoothly, setting his glass down.

Then his eyes flicked back to Remy.

And the smirk turned lethal.

“Now I just have to decide,” £Damon added, voice dropping,* “how much I feel like rewarding him… for wasting my time.”