The sound of shattering crystal still rang in Ariana's ears.
Somewhere behind her, murmurs rippled through the gala hall. A waiter appeared at the edge of her vision, ready to clean the mess, but she didn't move. She couldn't.
Her father.
Her father was dead. She had been there. She had seen the coffin lowered into the ground. She had cried until there was nothing left inside her. And now—now he was staring back at her from the screen of her phone, alive in a grainy photo with a timestamp from three days ago.
Her pulse thundered in her ears.
"Ariana." Damien's voice cut through the haze, low and controlled, but with a warning edge. "What is it?"
She closed her fist around the phone, shoving it into her clutch before anyone could see. "Nothing."
His gaze sharpened. "That didn't look like nothing."
"I said it's nothing," she repeated, her tone clipped. She turned away, forcing her feet toward the balcony doors before she drowned in the weight of his stare. She needed air. She needed space. She needed to think.
The night was cooler outside, the wind carrying the faint scent of rain and exhaust. The city pulsed below like a living thing. She gripped the balcony railing, the metal biting into her palms.
Her father was alive.
Why had no one told her? Why send her this photo now, on tonight of all nights?
The click of polished shoes against marble broke her thoughts. Damien stepped onto the balcony, closing the door behind him. They were alone.
"You're hiding something," he said simply.
"And you're imagining things," she shot back.
His jaw tightened, but he didn't press. Instead, he leaned against the railing beside her, his eyes on the skyline. "Do you know why I married you?"
The question caught her off guard. She turned to him, brows furrowing. "Because it looked good on the front page?"
He smirked faintly. "Partly. But mostly because it was the only way to keep you close."
A chill slid down her spine, though she didn't let it show. "Keep your enemies closer, is that it?"
His eyes found hers, unflinching. "Exactly. You've been plotting against me since the day we met. I respect that. But there's something bigger at play now."
She arched a brow. "And you're about to enlighten me?"
He stepped closer, and the air between them seemed to tighten. "I want to make you an offer."
A humorless laugh slipped from her lips. "You think I'd take anything from you?"
"This isn't about me," he said. "It's about survival. Yours. Mine. Both of ours."
She turned back toward the city, more to hide her rattled expression than to admire the view. "I'm listening."
"There's a power shift coming," Damien said, his voice dropping lower. "The Blackwood empire isn't as untouchable as it looks. Enemies are moving in—old ones, and new. If they take me down, they'll take you with me, whether you like it or not."
She gave him a sideways glance. "And this is where the 'offer' comes in?"
His lips curved, but it wasn't a smile. "We work together. You stop playing your petty revenge games, and I stop looking for ways to crush you. We pool our resources, our contacts, our influence. We become an unbreakable front."
Ariana laughed again, softer this time, but with genuine amusement. "You're asking for a truce?"
"I'm proposing an alliance," he corrected. "One with… benefits."
Her eyes narrowed. "What kind of benefits?"
His gaze dropped briefly to her mouth, then back to her eyes. "The kind that make enemies think twice before coming for either of us."
Ariana took a slow step toward him, closing the space between them until the faintest brush of her gown touched his suit. "Let me get this straight," she murmured. "You destroy my family, humiliate me, marry me like it's some trophy win—and now you want me to play queen to your king?"
Damien didn't flinch. "I want you to survive."
For a long moment, they stood there, neither breaking eye contact. The city roared below, a thousand lives moving on without them, but up here it felt like the world had narrowed to just two people and a dangerous proposition.
Ariana finally stepped back, her expression unreadable. "I'll think about it."
"You don't have much time," he said. "And trust me, if I wanted you gone, you'd be gone already."
Before she could reply, the balcony door swung open. A man in a dark suit stepped out, bowing slightly. "Mr. Blackwood, they're waiting for you in the boardroom."
Damien's hand brushed Ariana's arm as he passed her, a ghost of a touch that lingered far longer than it should have. "Think fast, Ariana."
When he was gone, she pulled out her phone again. The message was still there, the photo still burning into her brain. Beneath it, a new text had appeared:
If you want the truth, meet me at Pier 17. Midnight. Come alone.
Her heart pounded.
This was no coincidence. Whoever sent this knew exactly what they were doing—dangling her father's face in front of her like bait. And she was going to bite.
She slipped back into the gala, weaving through the crowd until she found Rhea again. The woman was laughing with a group of men in tailored suits, her champagne flute tilted just so.
"Enjoying yourself?" Ariana asked smoothly.
Rhea turned, her eyes glinting. "More than you, apparently."
Ariana smiled. "Careful, Rhea. You're starting to look like you're in over your head."
The woman's smile faltered just slightly, enough for Ariana to know she'd struck a nerve. Good. Let her wonder.
By the time midnight neared, Ariana had excused herself from the gala and traded the crimson gown for a sleek black coat and boots. She drove herself to the pier, the city's glitter fading to shadows as she neared the water.
Pier 17 was deserted, the wooden planks groaning under her steps. The wind off the river was sharp, carrying the tang of salt and gasoline.
A figure emerged from the shadows. A man, tall, with a face weathered by time and danger.
Her breath caught.
"Papa?" she whispered.
He didn't smile. "We don't have much time."
Her knees nearly gave out, but she forced herself forward. "You're alive. All this time—"
"I had to disappear," he said quickly. "For your safety. For mine. But now…" His eyes flicked past her, scanning the darkness. "…they've found me again."
"Who?" she demanded.
Before he could answer, a gunshot split the night.
Her father staggered, a crimson bloom spreading across his chest.
"Run!" he gasped.
And Ariana did—straight into the unknown.