A/N: Hello kittens. Back with another update for those who are still hooked to this story. Thank you so much for the reviews, faves, and for reading! Enjoy!

Disclaimer: These characters are the creative property of LJ Smith and The CW. No copyright infringement is intended.

Upper East Side

February 9th 2014 11:18 a.m.

The day was cloudy and the sky looked moody which was fitting for Elena's frayed nerves. Nothing seemed to want to go right. Whenever she took a step forward, Damon and his mob of lawyers took a hundred steps forward leaving her in the dust. It wasn't fair and it wasn't right he was trying to stiff her like this. Her! The woman he proclaimed was his life. The woman he promised before God and half of New York City to love and cherish forever. Whatever happened to that man? Why had he been replaced with a stingy asshole?

Okay, so what she hadn't always taken his feelings about something into consideration. Elena had a tendency to live life according to her own drummer and instead of people complaining about her self-centeredness they refused to get with the program. She never held herself to some high standard those around her put on her shoulders. Elena was a creature of impulsivity and doing what made her happy, what made her feel good to the detriment of others' time and finances. And no, she may not have always shown her appreciation for the perks, the gifts, the fame, the good life she had been given, the fact of the matter was, she did appreciate it. That's why she was trying to fight for hers right now.

Now she was literally being stripped of everything. Damon expected her to waltz out of their five-year marriage with the clothes in her closet and the money currently dwindling in her bank account. Hell no! She had to put up with his notorious mood swings. Had to deal with him working late, ignoring her after claiming to be too tired to do anything. Had to go with him to endless doctor and hospital visits when he knew how much she detested hospitals. She had to smile in the face of his phony friends and pretend to be one of the guys. Elena walked away from her modeling career thinking they would soon start a family just for the bastard to up and have a heart attack on her, and after all that he wanted her to leave empty-handed?

Damon Salvatore was out of his fucking mind if he thought that shit was going to fly.

Elena marched back and forth across her litigator's office gnawing her thumbnail, mind working a hundred miles an hour trying to think of some way to slow down the divorce proceedings so she could try to find equal amount of dirt on her soon-to-be-ex-husband to sling in his face.

Caroline Forbes sat prim and proper behind her desk watching her client pace like a lion. It was deathly quiet in the Upper East Side office. The blond litigator sighed and picked up her Mont Blanc pen ready to end this meeting because she had other clients to see.

"This just isn't fair," Elena whined and stopped her pacing. She faced her lawyer whose large blue eyes stared at her unfazed or moved by her declaration. Hardly anything was fair where the law was concerned.

"The fact of the matter is," Caroline began, "you got caught. The proof is damning and certainly doesn't help your case, Elena. Settle."

"No! He promised me that I would get half if we ever broke up," Elena knew that was a bold faced lie. "I know he's worth $100 Million dollars but he wants me to believe otherwise."

Caroline shook her head. Damon's joint businesses might be worth that much. As far as his personal wealth went, might be more or less.

Regardless, on Caroline's desk was a copy of Damon and Elena's prenuptial agreement. A binding contract that couldn't be altered, overridden and certainly didn't leave much room for a loophole to be created. Damon's lawyers had been thorough when writing up this contract. There was no getting around specifics or omitting certain facts. Elena was screwed and she needed to go ahead and accept it.

"You and I both know that's not the truth. He's offering you $2.5 million. And after what I witnessed on that zip drive he's being more than generous."

"That wasn't me!" Elena screeched yet another lie. If she kept perjuring herself lightning was bound to strike her dead.

Caroline smiled tightly at her act.

"All right," Elena dropped her weight in the chair perched across from Caroline's desk. "If I can't get half…then I simply won't leave. You know what they say 'It's cheaper to keep her'. I'll refuse to sign the papers, refuse to take a measly two and a half million dollars, and just stay married to his ass," she sat back proud of her ingenuity which elicited snickers from her lawyer. Elena's face fell flat.

"Damon can sue you for that. He has grounds."

"Enough with the grounds!" Elena exploded remembering Stefan had said the exact same thing to her when he caught her snooping. "Damon can bring it. I'm not afraid of him or his stupid can't-get-laid-unless-they-flash-their Amex card lawyers."

"You do realize that trying to fight him would be like a paper plane going up against a 747, you being the paper plane. I'm not taking on that case. Besides, your check for my retainer fee bounced and I don't do pro bono work. Settle."

Inside her head Elena cursed. How could she be so sloppy and allow one drunken bachelorette party bring her down like this? Accepting scraps, mere scraps compared to the millions Damon wiped his butt with was unacceptable in the brunette's eyes.

With all these events coming at her at once, Elena burned with desperation to find out why no one was willing to take up the mantle for her? She had been a naïve, big-eyed girl moving from the rural south and got taken in, awed, and duped by the shiny Big Apple. Damon had been an integral part of her reeducation and Elena wouldn't say she had fallen for him on sight. It had been a gradual thing.

Back when she listened to her conscious she didn't want to be looked upon as receiving preferential treatment simply because the boss had been interested in her. But there was only so many times she could say no to fancy dinners, trips around the world in private planes before she began to question why the hell she shouldn't go for it. If anyone else had been in her shoes they wouldn't have wasted the time.

So Elena bit into the life of the rich and famous poisoned apple and never looked back. She was essentially being punished for taking a swindler up on his offer and it wasn't right.

"I'm not settling. Not yet at least," Elena vowed. "Damon can use that stupid sex tape against me. I know one of his secrets too and unlike him I was willing to keep quiet about it, but now he's forced my hand."

Caroline sat up straighter and leaned to the edge of her seat, her interest renewed and piqued. "Cared to fill in your lawyer on what you know?"

"In due time," the brunette smirked, and did her best not to worry.

Manhattan, NY

February 21st 2014 6:49 p.m.

Just walk through the door, Bonnie. That's all you have to do. Grip the handle, pull it toward you, and walk in. Pretend as if you have no idea what's going on. Smile at the host or hostess, give the person your name, and wait for him or her to take you upstairs to the private dining room where you know your friends from work and your former in-laws are waiting to wish you a happy twenty-eighth birthday. All you have to do is grin and bear it for two hours, go home, and cry your eyes out.

Those were the words Bonnie's inner consciousness directed at her as she stood like a statue in front of Treme, the restaurant owned by the Mikaelson's but operated by Elijah.

Elijah had been the one to set this ball in motion yet Bonnie had the sneaky suspicion he had help. Her friend Lacey Porter had bounced into her office early this morning, extra chipper and "causally" asked Bonnie if she had any plans to celebrate her birthday.

Yes, she had plans. To buy a fresh batch of flowers, pick up some takeout, go home and flip through photo albums chronicling her life with Henrik since she couldn't exactly take a trip to his gravesite being it was in New Orleans.

Yet Bonnie edited her response so she wouldn't come off as a sad little loser because she wanted to spend her birthday alone rather than convene at a restaurant or club, eat until her belly exploded or drink until her liver gave out.

"No major plans," Bonnie replied to the inquiry doing her level best to evoke some emotion in her tone other than despondency.

"Well, why don't we go out to dinner? Just the two of us? Keep things quiet and low key. No one should have to spend their birthday alone."

Inwardly, Bonnie groaned yet presented her best smile. "Sure, sounds like a plan."

"Great," Lacey clapped her hands together. "I'll set everything up. Be ready to head out at six."

"All right," Bonnie deadpanned.

Alone, Bonnie went back to flipping through the newspaper, merely skimming over the articles until she came across one that piqued her interest.

According to The Associated Press, Columbia University Medical Center just completed yet another successful heart transplant using a less evasive surgery to cut down on recovery time. The patient, whose name was not listed, was reported as showing exceptional signs of improvement within days of surgery, and didn't seem to show any signs of heart allograft rejection though it was still too early to tell if the body would take to its new heart or not.

Idly, Bonnie wondered if that heart might have been Henrik's, but she doubted it. Despite the sadness that wanted to overcome her, Bonnie was happy for the transplant patient and hoped he or she wouldn't throw away their second chance at living a life with no regrets.

And speaking of no regrets, something else had been weighing on Bonnie's conscience.

With so few people to turn to, Bonnie knew it had been foolish and also a bit selfish to kick Elijah out of her life when he was just trying to be there for her. The minute she made it home after having her 'celebratory' drink, their conversation played on an endless loop that kept her up for far longer than she liked. He wanted to be there for her and she could use what support she could find because she learned, people liked to keep the company of other happy people, and she hadn't been happy for a while.

It was officially time to change. The change beginning with her birthday.

Sucking in a breath, Bonnie entered the restaurant. She recognized the hostess from the handful of times she and Henrik came to eat a free meal. Davina, Bonnie recalled her name, offered her a smile that was far too bright. She was in on it, too. Lacey had conveniently ditched Bonnie half an hour before they were set to head out saying she had to help a friend with something and would meet her at the restaurant.

"Hi, welcome to Treme. Party of one?"

"No, I'm meeting a friend here. Lacey Porter."

Davina pretended to look through the reservation book. "Right. She's already here. I'll show you to your table."

Bonnie followed behind the hostess who wasn't much bigger than herself. The crowd was minimal. Most people were just now leaving work and were slowly making their way to downtown restaurants or fighting traffic to get home.

Davina led Bonnie through the cluster of tables and up a tight staircase to the upstairs portion of the establishment. Pictures of Louisiana's artists graced the brick walls, and Bonnie admired them as they passed.

Just as they reached the landing, streamers hanging from balloons caught Bonnie's eye and she willfully ignored the mob of people congregated in the area waiting for the right time to yell:

"SURPRISE, HAPPY BIRTHDAY!"

Pretending to be shocked would have taken too much energy, so she didn't even bother. Bonnie smiled and moved like a puppet on strings over to the first face she recognized and hugged that person tight. She was glad her dad could make it.

:::::

The noise from up above drew the attention of almost everyone in the restaurant. People stopped talking in mid-sentences, the bartenders paused in pouring drinks, even the background ambience music seemed to miss a beat. Lorenzo "Enzo" Riodan halted in taking a swig of his Australian made lager, twisted on the bar stool and looked toward the source of the disturbance.

He was elbowed in the ribs by his drinking companion Mason Lockwood who hitched his chin in the direction of the retreating hostess. Enzo shrugged his shoulder and helped himself to a mouthful of beer and lowered the bottle back to the napkin. The two of them, since they were in college had established their own language where they didn't have to actually use words to convey their point.

"She looks a little young, mate," Enzo cautioned the sports analyst.

"She's gotta be at least eighteen to work here. Plus you know I have a weakness for brunettes."

Enzo nodded, taking into account that was very true. He on the other hand considered himself an equal opportunity bloke. Many things attracted him to a woman. It didn't matter to him what color her hair was, or skin for that matter. If the vibes between him and a woman who drew his fancy were good, Enzo took the time necessary to get to know her.

Like the petite mocha beauty currently hurrying to the restroom. He had seen her enter the restaurant behind the hostess appearing more as if she were being led to a firing squad rather than her own birthday party.

"When is Damon going to show his ass?" Mason asked with a note of impatience twinging his words.

"He'll get here when he gets here. What do you have to do that's so damn important, anyways? I know you don't have a date, and we haven't seen Damon in months. Do as you Americans say and chill."

"Don't make me call immigration. You know you have warrants," Mason jibed while Enzo placed his index finger on his puckered lips. "I'm just…a little on edge 'cause this is our first time seeing him…since the surgery. Stefan says he's doing all right but he could have been saying that just to say it."

"Ah," Enzo clapped his friend on the back, "you're worried Damon's lost his good looks."

"Piss off as you Brits like to say. Damon can afford to hit a few branches on the ugly tree and he'd still get panties and bras thrown at him. What he went through I can't even imagine going through something like that and he's not even thirty years old."

Enzo nodded in sympathy. It had taken him by surprise when he got a phone call from Mason who had been contacted by Stefan saying Damon had suffered a massive heart attack after leaving the gym. The damage had been so bad caused by an untreated disorder that Damon needed a new heart in order to make it to twenty-nine. Enzo had been struck speechless, and did his best to hop the pond from England to the US to see his friend. But time and work constraints made it impossible until now.

Damon went through his heart transplant surgery with flying colors, and was warned to take it easy, and not jump back into life as he knew it. But the wanker had grown tired of his ho-hum existence. Fighting with soon-to-be ex-wives over money would suck the life out of anyone, Enzo mused. Mason who was always down to get shitfaced hadn't help Enzo in his argument that they should just meet up at Damon's new condo, stay in, and watch whatever sports game was on the tube.

Just as he readied himself to respond, the lady from earlier sidled up to the bar. Enzo rotated a bit on his stool and noticed she looked even more stunning up close. Toffee complexioned, with an aristocratic nose, puckered kissable lips, thick raven hair that fell in loose waves to her shoulders, combined with a body to die for…he may have just found Mrs. Riodan.

"Pardon the interruption," Enzo brazenly interrupted the woman from ordering a shot of vodka. She hesitantly looked his way, and gotdamn the transplant from London thought. Had he ever seen a more gorgeous face, Enzo didn't think so. "But is today your birthday?"

For one second, Bonnie's breath lost its damn way out of her lungs and got stuck in the back of her throat. The man perched to her immediate left was not an exact copy of Henrik but they shared similar features. Tanned skin, dark eyes and hair, but this guy was more compact where Henrik had been lean. Throw in the accent and the wires in her brain flirted with malfunctioning.

Realizing she was staring like a weirdo, Bonnie blushed faintly and nodded. "It is. Happy Birthday to me," she faux cheered.

"Happy birthday, indeed. I would be honored if you allowed me to buy you a drink."

Free drink on her birthday, Bonnie knew it would be unwise to turn down the offer. But it was the unspoken law to make it clear a free drink was all he was going to get. "Sure, thank you…" she prompted waiting for him to tell her his name.

Enzo struck out a hand, "Lorenzo…Lorenzo Riodan, but all my friends call me Enzo."

"Sheila," Bonnie said at the last minute unsure of why she gave this perfect stranger her middle name. It was a habit of hers she established during her college days to avoid potential stalkers in bars.

"And I'm Mason," the burly guy sitting on the opposite side of her free drink benefactor interjected. Bonnie smiled and said it was nice to meet him.

Enzo flagged down the bartender. "Today is her birthday so you have to be especially nice, but on top of that on your game tonight. Give the lady whatever she wants," brown eyes simmered in her direction.

Warmth, something she hadn't felt in a long time began to spread. Bonnie dodged his look, using her hair as a shield from his gaze. Instead she concentrated on the plethora of bottles lined on the shelves behind the bar.

"On that note," Bonnie said, "I'll have a…Absolut Wet Spot. Thanks."

The bartender, Enzo, and Mason's eyes bulged.

"It's been a while since I've made one of those," the bartender, a twenty something year old man with russet skin, thick black curly hair, and light hazel eyes winked at Bonnie.

"Pray tell, what is that?" Enzo inquired and leaned just a little bit closer thinking he had pegged this woman all wrong.

This woman, this Sheila, gave off the vibe she was shy and perhaps uncomfortable with male attention. Her eyes, though a beautiful shade of green they were, looked haunted to him. Despite that he sensed there was some mischief inside of her, a seductress searching for the right person to bring her true self to the surface. He saw no ring on her finger, but to be fair there was a faint tan line of one having been there possibly months or even weeks ago. Maybe she was going through a divorce or maybe he was giving this too much thought and not springing into action.

Moistening her lips with her tongue, Bonnie faced Enzo head on. "Traditionally it's made with half an ounce of Bailey's Irish cream, half an ounce of DeKuyper liqueur, and half an ounce of Absolut vodka."

"That sounds…delicious."

"It is," Bonnie concurred.

"Is it a requirement at all your birthday celebrations?"

"No. I was just suddenly in the mood for one," she turned away from Enzo once more.

"I know it's in poor taste to ask a lady her age," he began. Bonnie peeked at him. "However old you are, you are stunning to behold."

Mason rolled his eyes—granted he couldn't disagree, chuckled a little, and went back to watching the game.

Bonnie's cheeks heated. "Thank you. It's…it's been a while since I heard something along those lines."

"That's a sin and a shame. Honestly, I don't know what's wrong with these American blokes. Have they lost their ability to truly appreciate beauty? Is it no longer considered manly to compliment a woman until the point she can hardly breathe?"

"I really wouldn't know," Bonnie shook her head and then smiled as her shot was placed in front of her. "Thank you," she said to the bartender. "I've been…out of the dating loop for a while."

"So what's a while? A week?" Enzo smiled charmingly.

Clearing her throat and fighting a smile, Bonnie threw the shot back. She moaned lightly. All three men's gazes were raptured on her.

"There you are," a foreign voice entered the picture.

Bonnie shifted on her feet and her shoulders slumped slightly. Right. It was time to get back to her party. "I have to go. Thank you for the drink, Enzo."

He held out his hand, and when Bonnie placed hers in his grasp, he kissed her knuckles. "The pleasure, I assure you, was all mine."

Smiling, Bonnie gently pulled her hand out of his and followed Rebekah back upstairs.

Enzo watched her stroll away noticing her walk had changed from earlier. Her hips swayed as if she were conducting an orchestra with her movement. Gads, it had completely slipped his mind he hadn't asked for her number and he hadn't given her his. How could he have overlooked that? True, his trip to the States was only for a week but…

"Stop being a perv," Mason ended Enzo's gawking. "Just got a text from Damon. Change of plans. He wants us to meet him at his place instead."

The two men paid their tab and quickly vacated the eatery.

:::::

Hour one she posed for pictures, blew out the candles on her birthday cake, and had to endure her father telling horrifying childhood stories about her skin condition during her pre-teen years, and the fact she was called Yuck-Mouth because of her braces. Hour two, the liquor she had consumed mixed and mingled with her cells and Bonnie was beginning to crack out of her cocoon, and spread her wings like an inebriated butterfly flirting—or at the very least trying to flirt with anything that moved. Even the ice cubes that floated in her drink were not exempt. By hour three she was a lush, laughed at everything regardless if it were funny or not. She noticed some of her constituents traded looks wondering if the birthday girl bit off more than she could chew, and wondered how long it would take for the water works to begin. If she didn't dance on the table top first.

Bonnie could hardly keep her lids open. Alcohol always made her sleepy. Her body seemed weighted down with cement whenever she tried to stand on her legs which wobbled uncontrollably.

She stood with the intent of making her way around the room to thank people she hadn't exactly kept in contact with in the last few months, for coming to her little shindig. However, the floor seemingly disappeared out from beneath her.

Elijah had been there to prevent her from chin diving to the ground. Giggles, snorts, and wheezes greeted him as Bonnie pawned at his chest to find some purchase because the world became a cyclone and she had been ejected out of a rollercoaster.

"It's time to get you home," Elijah brushed her hair out of her eyes. Eyes overwrought with spindles of red veins.

"Yes," she breathed her alcohol laced breath into his face. Elijah didn't turn his head away from the pungent odor. "Home is a good place to be," she singsong.

"Do you need help seeing her home?" Finn offered. For most of the night he kept to his corner, conversing here and there, but otherwise he observed the festivities around him. He was painfully inept when it came to socializing with those beyond his family, and even with them he took on the role of outcast.

"No, I have her," Elijah wrapped one arm around Bonnie's waist, the other curling under her knees and he lifted her clean off her feet.

Bonnie's head rolled to the side, her cheek made contact with his chest, and her eyes fluttered. Yes, finally she could sleep.

Lacey approached. She had grabbed all of Bonnie's belongings. "Her gifts are in a taxi waiting downstairs. I have everything she brought with her. We need to get her coat on."

"Just throw it over her," Elijah advised.

The second she was covered he began the daunting trek of maneuvering down the narrow stairway and out the front door of the restaurant. No one looked overly concerned with him carrying an unconscious woman in his arms. But this was New York after all. Shit was normal.

The yellow cab was double parked. Exhaust rose from the tailpipe, the back passenger door was already open. As carefully as he could, Elijah draped Bonnie over the black leather seat and propped her up. Lacey climbed in beside her. She expected Elijah to close the door, but went he got in the cab she gawked at him with a semi-open mouth.

"Where are you going?" he asked Lacey.

It took a few seconds for his question to compute. She rattled off her address.

"That's where we'll go first," Elijah directed at the cab driver who pulled away and in due time. One of New York's finest turned down their street, and were not kind to double parkers.

The ride was silent. Lacey spent most of her time fiddling with her smart phone debating if she should volunteer to stay with Bonnie. They were close and spent a couple of overnighters with one another so it wouldn't be a big deal. Yet she reminded herself that the debonair looking man was her family and Bonnie would be safe with him. However, doubt knocked on her door telling her in some situations it wasn't wise to give someone the benefit of the doubt.

The cab pulled in front of her apartment complex sooner than expected. "Thanks for tonight," Lacey began a bit awkwardly. "I'm glad Bonnie had a good time."

"I'm glad, too and thank you for your help tonight and getting her to agree to come. I'll see you later, Lacey."

"All right, Elijah. Tell Bonnie I'll see her at work," she measured Bonnie's partially slouched position tucked under Elijah's arm. "On second thought maybe not. Tell her I'll call her."

It took some doing but Elijah suppressed his smile. "Will do." He told the cab driver not to pull off until Lacey was behind the locked door of her apartment. Afterwards, he rattled off Bonnie's address and then hunted through her purse for her house keys.

Thirty minutes later the cab pulled outside of Bonnie's brownstone. Fifteen minutes later Elijah had unloaded the last of Bonnie's presents inside the foyer, and then finally pulled the woman in question out of the cab and carried her inside.

Bonnie gave a grunt of complaint and wondered although vaguely why she was being jostled around so much. With great effort she peeled open an eye and could barely recognize her own living room.

She heard feet moving around and sat up straighter on the couch. "Hen…"

Elijah appeared before she could finish getting her deceased husband's name out. Bonnie swallowed the cotton ball in her mouth.

"It's all right. You're home."

Looking around for verification Bonnie relaxed yet only infinitesimally. "I should…I should get to bed."

"Okay. I'll call you later to check up on you," Elijah offered.

Bonnie rose from the couch and willfully ignored the tension sprouting between them. With his presence here the living room began to shrink in size. Maybe it was all a trick of the alcohol affecting her brain. Her head was pounding, her mouth was dryer than unbuttered toast, and her gag reflex refused to settle down. Bonnie wanted to be alone, but at the same time she didn't want to be a bad hostess. The least she could do was offer Elijah a cup of coffee.

"Would you…would you like something to drink before you leave?"

Elijah's brow furrowed. Some nebulous part of him was bothered by the fact she wanted him gone so soon. Yet that was overshadowed with common sense. Why would she expect or want him to hang around? More importantly, why did he want to?

"No, I'm fine. Are you going to be all right by yourself? You've had a bit to drink."

Bonnie snorted ungraciously. "I'm okay, Elijah. I won't exactly break apart if you aren't watching my every move. It's late. I'm drunk, lonely and horny, and you should probably leave before I forget you're my dead husband's brother."

Two sets of eyebrows lifted. Bonnie turned green in mortification as she slapped both hands over her mouth. Elijah became cryogenically frozen. He threatened the blood in his body not, under any circumstances, to head south.

"I…I shouldn't have said that. I'm sorry," the intoxicated birthday girl stammered. "Please forget that I said that."

Elijah smirked, picked up his feet and ambled over to the front door. "I'll take that as my cue to leave. I'm glad you enjoyed yourself tonight."

Bonnie remained parked where she was, not trusting herself to get any closer. "I did. I had a far better time than I expected to have. Thank you for putting my party together."

Inclining his head, Elijah stepped through the door and closed it gently after his exit.

When Bonnie felt it safe to move, she did so crossing over the living room and setting all the locks into place.

Standing at the door for a minute, she ran her fingers over her arms and then went off to the kitchen and poured herself a glass of water. Gulping it down, Bonnie freed her toes from her shoes and began to disrobe, pulling off one article of clothing at a time as she wove her way through the house and entered her bedroom.

Turning on the light, she was no longer tired but wide awake. Despite what she said and how she said it, Bonnie had spoken the absolute truth. She was lonely and she was horny. Her birthday wasn't just special in the usual sense but also…Henrik made it his duty to give her as many orgasms in correlation to her years on earth. If he could.

Nibbling on a corner of her lip, Bonnie slipped her fingers under the waistband of her panties, pulled them off. Unhooked her bra and it took flight. She jumped into bed, reached in her bedside table, and unearthed her vibrator and KY Jelly.

She bought the stupid but useful tool about a month after Henrik's funeral. She felt wrong and dirty for having to stoop to this level to get her rocks off, but before becoming a widow she had the libido of a college frat boy.

Turning out the light, Bonnie closed her eyes and switched her friend on.

She didn't want to think about anything else but Henrik. His smell, the sound of his husky voice whenever he was hard; his hot grabby hands sliding over her, greedy to touch her eagerly receptive body in places that would make her feel as if she jumped over the moon.

Spreading her legs, Bonnie initiated foreplay by running the vibrator along the inside of her thighs. Her nipples puckered due to the chilly temperature of the room and from anticipation. Bonnie merely grazed her clit and her breath hitched from that minute contact. She circled her opening and may have pushed only an inch or so of the vibrator inside before withdrawing. It had been so long her end already seemed imminent.

"Henrik, I miss you." And Bonnie proceeded to screw herself until she came screaming.

But the euphoria had been fleeting and lasted no longer than the time it took for her heart to regulate its beating. Her skin pebbled and so did tears as they clung to her lashes, clumping them together before leaving tracks on her cheeks. She was hollow, as dead as Henrik was on the inside. Tonight had been fun but she merely played a part. Everyone expected Bonnie Mikaelson—correction—Bennett to be happy at her own birthday party so that's exactly what she delivered.

Yet anytime she looked at any one member of the Mikaelson dynasty, there had been a gaping hole next to the person. A hole only Henrik's presence could have filled.

A strangled scream escaped Bonnie's grimacing mouth and she stifled the sound by clamping her hands over her lips.

Why did he have to die? Why did she have to be alone?

She rolled over and tucked herself into the fetal position and spent the next twenty minutes sobbing uncontrollably.

"You're not alone, Bonnie. I promised you that I would never leave you. And I haven't. I'm a lot closer to you than you think. You won't always feel this way. You won't always feel the emptiness of my absence. You will be happy again, love. You'll see. Don't I always keep my word to you?"

"You said you'd never hurt me, but you lied," Bonnie complained aloud despite the fact the only one to hear her words were herself.

"If it had been in my power, of course I never would have died and left you all alone. Like I said, I'm a lot closer to you than you think. You'll feel my love again, Bonnie. Now close your eyes. Close them, go to sleep and know I'm waiting for you. And I always will be."

Sleepiness rolled into Bonnie's train station. Her eyes drooped and she did her best to fight it, but finally succumbed to unconsciousness where she met Henrik in her dreams.

Barclay Towers—Manhattan, NY

March 3rd 2014 6:46 a.m.

Be extremely subtle, even to the point of formlessness. Be extremely mysterious, even to the point of soundlessness. Thereby, you can be the director of the opponent's fate—Sun Tzu

Damon took those words to heart, both figuratively and literally during his long, arduous recovery phase. Five months later and he was still adjusting to the medications he had to gag down in order to make sure the antibodies in his blood didn't attack his new heart mistaking it for a foreign invasion, a virus that had to be destroyed.

His morning routine had been altered from starting his day with a shot of Patron and clearing his vision with Visine eye drops to chase the redness away due to the long hours he worked, and the short hours he slept. Now Damon began his mornings doing forty-five minutes of cardio and lifting weights in the gym provided in the high-rise he now called home. After showering, he made himself a tasteless breakfast of egg whites, plain oatmeal, gluten-free wheat toast with grape jam, juice, and chased it with his immunosuppressant drugs, and blood pressure medicine. He also had to take magnesium, phosphorus, and calcium supplements.

Damon hated popping pills. He longed for the days where he shocked the cells in his body with a burst of caffeine, and ate as much bacon and red meat as he damn well pleased. He hated being careful in feeling as if he had to walk on eggshells within his own body as not to upset its balance.

Going through a nasty divorce gave him a couple of setbacks of course. Had to do a couple of overnighters in the hospital thanks in part to haggling with Elena and her she-devil of an attorney.

Just says after his surgery as he was about to have his first physical therapy session, Elena had come charging into his room demanding to know why he granted Stefan Power of Attorney over his estate. It was pretty obvious to him and to anyone else it was a strategic move to push Elena out of his life, and get the ball rolling on filing for a divorce.

He didn't expect her to leave quietly nor with a shred of dignity. Damon had spent the previous months before his surgery conferring with his lawyers and preparing himself for Elena and her claws because the fight was going to be dirty, mean, and maybe even life-threatening. They had signed a prenup and though Elena broke out all her charms and wiles to get him to renege on their pre-contract, Damon didn't budge.

And that infuriated Elena to no end and she went about challenging him on everything.

Hindsight being 20/20, Damon was glad he went through with his reversible vasectomy because he honest to God didn't want any kids with Elena or any more ties with her, period. She did what she could to get pregnant and he never actually told Elena he got snipped. A willing oversight on his end. Damon did it for insurance purposes and it paid off. She would walk away from their marriage with an undeserved million dollars and all the clothes, gifts, accessories, and her Benz his hard earn cash paid for. That was the extent of his generosity.

The house on Long Island—his. The summer home in the Hamptons—his. The Salvatore villa on the coast of Italy—his. Stocks, bonds, foreign exchanges, trust fund—his. Elena had no claim to any of it.

But she must have fallen and bumped her head as she tried to contest the divorce, and say she was entitled to half though they had barely been married for five years.

So Damon gleefully reminded his country bumpkin wife as he pointed out the fine print on their prenuptial agreement that she approved of the terms of the settlement should they divorce within a specific time frame, on top of agreeing to walk away with nothing if she committed any acts of infidelity. If Damon cheated, in addition to the million dollars he promised her, he would give Elena half a million dollars for each year they had been married, and was even willing to relinquish the house on Long Island to her, but that was it.

They had been engaged in a bitter battle of he said/she said despite the terms that had been written in the prenup, and incontrovertible proof that one of them couldn't keep their genitalia to themselves.

Elena wanted her just due. Damon just wanted her to be gone like a peasant. His lawyers were working on yet another settlement that would be appeasing to the gold digger, and Damon had to grind his teeth. But, he was so done with everything he was almost ready to give her ten million cash just to get her off his ass.

Almost but not quite.

Their marriage hadn't been all bad or all good. Damon constantly had to remind himself of why he married Elena in the first place. She seemed like a down to earth person having grown up in a small town in Virginia. She moved to New York to start her modeling career, and her portfolio came across his desk since he owned and operated one of the top billing modeling agencies on the east coast.

Elena had been one of those rare finds where she could do catalog, high fashion, or an editorial spread. She had been sweet but gullible, and something about her reminded him of his late mother, and before he knew it they were dating. And the next time he looked up they were married.

If only he had heeded Stefan's advice and really gotten to know Elena first. Yet Damon figured getting to know someone meant sharing your life with that person. It couldn't happen within a few months. Most models wanted to be an actress and Elena had put on an award-winning performance. She hid the qualities that initially drawn him to her under makeup, designer clothes, and an endless cash flow.

Maybe marriage hadn't been the best option and now Damon was doing everything in his power to get out of it. He had another goal in mind he wanted to bring to fruition, and he certainly couldn't be tied down with a wife he hated.

Sliding on his Oxford shirt, Damon's eyes immediately went to the vertical scar that was four and a half inches long right in the center of his breastplate. He sucked in a deep breath before eyeing his reflection. He still wasn't comfortable walking around topless, self-consciousness and vanity kicking in. Damon never had any problems showing off his body; he was proud of it and once he hit puberty and started developing muscle he took every opportunity he could to show it off.

Now, he felt defective whenever he looked at his scar but was no less appreciative of the gift he was given.

His heart was doing fine. His prognosis was nothing less than supernatural, is what his team of cardio-thoracic physicians told him. Damon was positive he'd be doing much better if he didn't have to deal with Aileen Wuornos' mini-me.

Reaching for his David Yurman timepiece, he placed it on his wrist. He hosed himself down with cologne, picked up his cell phone and opened up his email to see if there had been any updates from the private investigator he hired to find Bonnie Bennett.

A general search on Facebook turned up nothing. Though there had been a faceless hit, Damon couldn't be sure it was her, and never left the person a message or requested to be friends, plus he felt kind of dumb so he hired a professional to do all the digging for him.

Many might view what Damon was doing as foolish. A waste of time. Years passed and here he was holding on to fleeting moments. He and Bonnie had never been friends. Their one connection being they attended the same college. Even he couldn't believe he became infatuated with her due to her own clumsiness.

What should have withered away to the doldrums of hookups unrealized, that encounter with Bonnie Bennett stayed with Damon for some inexplicable reason.

Life got in the way on top of other pursuits, but every blue moon or so Damon would think back to his college days, to the night he saved Bonnie from mortal embarrassment, to the fact she hugged a perfect stranger as if he were her friend. In the back of his mind he knew all of her actions were a product of her being nice, and maybe he only wanted it to mean more because his associations succeeding after that never exactly measured up in their sincerity. Whatever the case or explanation, something innate in him just wouldn't let this go.

And now with a new heart beating behind his ribs, Damon felt uncannily closer to Bonnie.

Maybe this was pointing to something huge, or maybe he just needed to get laid. He hadn't had sex since his surgery fearing what the exertion might do to his heart. Not to say he didn't succumb to morning wood, but he was exercising restraint.

His cell phone rang startling him out of his stupor. Seeing it was his PI, he immediately answered.

"Hey, Galen what you got for me?"

"I found her," he reported in his heavy Scottish accent Damon needed subtitles to understand a third of what he was saying.

"You did?" already the beat of his heart quickened, blood rushed to his head and Damon was struck with a nauseating case of vertigo. He leaned his hip against his dresser to steady himself.

"I can fax over the official…"

"No, no, no tell me now. Where is she?"

"Right under your nose, mate. She's in Manhattan."

Damon wanted to shout but reframed from doing so. "Married, single, divorced?"

"Widow."

Hmm, he thought some of his excitement leaking out of him. "Go ahead and fax me the info. Thanks, Galen."

"No problem."

The two men hung up simultaneously. Damon tapped his chin with his phone—contemplating.

Nice and slow, or fast and easy?

He never did like waiting.

Two weeks later…

She wormed her way through the gyrating crowd and came to a semi-abrupt stop the minute she spied a man with dark hair, Roman features and the most striking and smoldering pair of azure eyes she had ever seen. And those orbs were fixed on her in particular. Why could she hear the echo of her pounding heart in her ears?

He stood unmoving like a sentinel amidst the buoyant club goers too caught up in their ecstasy to take much notice of the fact a literal Adonis stood among their ranks. She was sure the artist in Klaus would have fallen in love at first sight.

Making eye contact with him made her nervous. Not the bad kind like she was in danger, but the kind that meant she might forget all the rules of engagement and skip to the end where clothes lost their importance, and two bodies came together to fuck. Ravenously hard and all night. She flushed to her manicured toes because she never had that kind of overt response to any guy. Had never been hit hard so hard with attraction that it nearly knocked her off her feet. She had been attracted to her late husband instantaneously, but not…not like this!

Who was he?

TBC

A/N: I'm playing around with the 6-degrees of separation theory where certain people are a lot closer than they think. I will be going slightly back into the past to show Damon's reunion with his friends, and maybe a DE flashback. So Mrs. Gilbert-Salvatore was recorded getting down and dirty at a friend's bachelorette party, hmm, but that's not all. And of course D-Money would hire a PI to find Bonnie. Bamon interaction coming soon. Thank you for reading!