Aria's POV
A few days after the gala, I was drowning in merger paperwork when my phone buzzed with a text from an unknown number.
"Thought you should know—your 'changed man' is at the Riverside Hotel. Room 1247. With a blonde, some things never change."
My blood turned cold. No, not again, he wouldn't. Another text, this time with a photo. Damien's car in the hotel parking lot, unmistakable with its custom plates.
My hands shook as I stared at the image of the Riverside Hotel.
It's a setup, my logical mind screamed. It's too obvious, too convenient.
But my heart—my shattered, barely-healed heart—whispered: What if it's real? What if you were stupid enough to trust him again?
I called Damien but it went straight to voicemail. Called again. Voicemail.
Texted: "Where are you?"
No response.
"No." I stood abruptly, grabbing my purse. "No, no, no."
"Ms. Monroe?" My assistant looked up, concerned. "Are you alright?"
