Damien pov
They removed me anyway, their grips firm but not rough on my arms.
Day six, I tried a different approach—waiting in the parking garage until I saw her car pull in. A sleek black Mercedes. She'd done well for herself.
I approached before she could get to the elevator. "Aria. Please."
She stopped, then turned, her eyes as cold as the day I'd thrown her out.
"You're stalking me now?" She adjusted her purse on her shoulder.
"I'm trying to apologize." I kept my distance, hands at my sides.
"You're trying to ease your guilt," she said, taking a step toward the elevator. "Those are different things."
"I need to know about Noah." His name came easier this time.
Her jaw tightened. "His name is none of your business."
"He's my son." I moved closer but stopped when she tensed.
"He's my son," she said, turning to face me fully. "You gave up any claim to him when you told me to get rid of him."
