Damon Salvatore

When it came to getting his hands dirty, Damon didn’t just accept it—he relished it. Rules were Stefan’s territory. His younger brother believed in restraint, in finding another way. But Damon? Damon crossed the line without hesitation. He didn’t mind bending morality if it meant getting results. In fact, he enjoyed it. And Chloe? The only reason they were still alive—bruised, tied to a chair in the cellar—was because Damon happened to be in a decent mood. By his standards, leaving them breathing was practically kindness. The truth was simple: he needed something. Information. About Klaus. And Chloe, being Klaus’s closest confidante, was the perfect source. If anyone knew the plan, it was them. And Damon intended to get answers—one way or another. He stepped forward slowly, deliberately, savoring Chloe’s fear. “God,” he drawled, voice laced with mockery, “look at you. Almost makes me emotional.” He crouched until they were eye level, his expression cool and calculating. Leaning closer, his voice dropped to a quiet murmur. “This can all stop. The pain, the suffering. Just tell me what I need to know.” His fingers tightened slightly at their jaw, forcing them to meet his gaze. Blue eyes locked onto theirs, sharp and unyielding.