The moment Damon opened the door, I knew the mask was back on.
Cold. Professional. Untouchable.
The guard standing outside didn't question why I looked breathless, or why my hair was slightly mussed. He simply bowed his head and said, "Your father requests your presence in the east wing, Miss Kingsley."
Father requests.
Not Father asks.
Never asks.
I smoothed the front of my dress, praying he couldn't see the evidence of Damon's hands on me, or the way my lips still trembled from his kiss. Damon fell into step behind me, silent as always, but I could feel his eyes burning holes into the back of my neck.
We walked down the long gilded corridor, our footsteps echoing, the air thick with everything unspoken. When we reached Father's study, the guard bowed again and left. Damon opened the door for me.
I stepped inside.
Father wasn't alone.
He stood near the fireplace, whiskey in hand, his suit jacket draped carelessly over the arm of a chair. Across from him, standing awkwardly with a tray in her hands, was Lina.
Our maid. Barely twenty. Shy. Too gentle for this house.
Her eyes darted nervously to me, then back down to the tray, as though she'd been caught somewhere she shouldn't be.
Father's voice was low, smooth, laced with something I didn't like. "That will be all, Lina."
She nodded quickly, set the tray on the table, and fled past me, her cheeks burning red.
But I wasn't stupid. I'd seen the way Father's eyes followed her as she left.
Lingering. Possessive. Wrong.
My stomach turned.
"Aria," Father said, finally turning toward me. His smile was polished, rehearsed. The kind he used for the boardroom and the press. "Tomorrow, you'll attend the Harrington luncheon. Wear the blue gown I had delivered. You'll be seated next to Charles Harrington's son. A fine young man. We'll discuss an engagement soon."
The words dropped like chains around my neck.
Engagement. Harrington.
Another cage, another deal, another life chosen for me.
I forced a smile, the way I always did. "Of course, Father."
But inside, my blood boiled.
Damon didn't move a muscle. He stood by the door, the perfect shadow, but his jaw clenched tight enough to crack. He'd heard it all.
When Father dismissed me, I walked out, my pulse pounding. Damon followed, silent, but I couldn't take it anymore. The second the hall was empty, I spun on him.
"You heard that, didn't you?" My voice shook with anger. "He's already selling me off like I'm one of his mergers. And did you see the way he looked at Lina?!"
Damon's eyes darkened, though his expression stayed controlled. "It's not safe to speak about your father like this in the open."
"I don't care!" My chest heaved. "He's a hypocrite. Controlling my life, while—while—" The words caught in my throat, bile rising. "While preying on the staff like some disgusting—"
"Aria." Damon's voice was sharp, urgent, cutting me off. He stepped closer, his hand brushing my arm before he quickly pulled back, as though the touch had burned him. "Stop. Someone will hear you."
But his eyes told me everything. He agreed. He hated it too.
And that… that gave me power.
I leaned in, my voice dropping to a whisper meant only for him. "Then don't you see, Damon? The only thing in this house that isn't poisoned is you."
For the first time, his mask cracked. His breath hitched, his gaze flicked to my lips, and something dangerous flashed in his eyes.
He wanted me.
He hated himself for it.
And he couldn't stop.
We were too close. Too loud with our silence. Too fragile in the truth of it.
Then, suddenly, footsteps echoed down the hall. Damon shoved me back against the wall—not like before, not with heat, but with urgency. His mouth hovered by my ear, his whisper like ice.
"If you say another word, Aria, they'll kill me."
The footsteps grew louder. The corridor lights flickered.
And then—
A scream tore through the house. High-pitched. Female.
Lina.
Damon's eyes snapped to mine, hard and sharp. "Stay here."
Before I could answer, he was gone—charging toward the sound of the scream, leaving me pressed against the wall, trembling.
And for the first time, I realized my father's secrets weren't just ugly.
They were dangerous.