The door handle twisted again. My lungs seized.
Damon leaned in close, his breath ghosting my ear, his voice a whisper sharp as steel. "Don't speak."
The lock rattled. My chest tightened until I thought I'd faint. I opened my mouth, but Damon pressed two fingers against my lips. His eyes bore into mine, promising me he had this.
"Aria," Father said again, voice calmer now, but with that weight that always made me feel like a child trembling before judgment. "Open the door."
Damon moved before I could stop him. With one smooth motion, he unlocked it, sliding it open just a crack—just enough to step into Father's line of sight but shield me behind his body.
"Sir," Damon said, voice clipped, professional. "I brought her here to rest. She wasn't feeling well."
Father's gaze cut like glass, moving from Damon's broad shoulders to the flicker of me behind him. His eyes narrowed. "Rest. In a locked room?"
Damon didn't blink. "I thought it best no one disturbed her."
The silence that followed could have shattered bones. Then, Father's lips curved into something that wasn't a smile but pretended to be. "Always so protective." He stepped closer, his shoes echoing on the marble floor, each click pounding in my skull. "Tell me, Damon… is my daughter safe with you?"
My throat closed. My heart begged me to scream no, to tell him what Damon really was to me, but Damon answered with the precision of a blade.
"Always."
For a moment, Father studied him. The kind of look that stripped men bare. Damon didn't flinch. He stood like stone, his hand still subtly brushing my hip as if to reassure me even under Father's stare.
Finally, Father's attention slid to me. "Aria, darling. You look pale." His eyes lingered a beat too long. "Come. Walk with me. I want to discuss your wedding arrangements."
The word wedding scraped across my nerves. Damon's jaw tightened.
I nodded weakly, forcing a smile. "Of course, Father."
But as he turned, Damon's hand gave my hip one last, deliberate squeeze. A warning. A promise. Both.
⸻
The walk down the corridor felt like moving through fire. Father spoke in measured tones about menus, guest lists, jewels — details that blurred together until all I could hear was my own heartbeat. Lina trailed behind, head bowed, silent as a ghost. Damon walked at my other side, his presence a fortress.
I couldn't focus. All I could see was the ghost of my mother, not buried in a grave but hidden away, erased. All I could feel was Damon's kiss in the library, the way he promised to burn the world down for me.
When Father finally dismissed me to "rest," Damon followed me to my rooms. The moment the door closed, I collapsed against it, my chest heaving.
"Damon," I whispered, my voice breaking. "He knows."
"He suspects," Damon corrected, his hands already cupping my face, his eyes wild. "But he doesn't know the truth. Not yet. And we'll make sure he never does."
I clung to him, my nails digging into his arms. "I can't keep pretending. I can't—"
His mouth was on mine before I could finish. Hard, desperate, claiming. The kiss was fire, burning away fear, replacing it with hunger. His hands slid into my hair, tugging, angling my head so he could taste every inch of me.
"Damon—" I gasped as his lips trailed down my jaw, to my throat, sucking until heat pulsed between my thighs. "We can't—"
"We already did," he growled against my skin. His hand slid under my blouse, rough fingers grazing the swell of my breast. I shivered, arching into his touch, shame and need colliding.
The warmth of his palm covered me, thumb brushing over the thin fabric of my bra, circling until I whimpered. My body betrayed me, craving him even as my mind screamed that Father was steps away.
"You're mine, Aria," Damon said against my ear, low and dangerous. "No wedding, no husband, no father can change that."
His other hand slid down my waist, gripping my hip, pulling me tight against the hard length straining in his trousers. I gasped, my breath ragged.
"I shouldn't—"
"But you will." His lips crashed against mine again, swallowing my protest, replacing it with heat and surrender.
I melted into him, lost in his touch, his taste, his unrelenting dominance. Each kiss branded me, each caress pulling me deeper into the darkness we'd created together.
⸻
A sharp knock shattered the moment.
I froze. Damon stilled, his chest pressed to mine, his hand still clutching my breast possessively.
"Miss Kingsley?" Lina's voice, thin and trembling. "Your father… he wishes to see Damon."
The air drained from the room. Damon's eyes met mine, dark and unflinching.
"Go," I whispered, my voice shaking.
But he didn't move. His thumb stroked my cheek, his jaw tight. "If he knows…"
"Then we're already dead," I whispered back.
The knock came again, harder this time.
Damon exhaled slowly, pulling away piece by piece, as if tearing himself from me cost him blood. He straightened his jacket, smoothed his shirt, but his eyes never left mine.
"I'll come back," he promised, voice low enough only I could hear. "No matter what."
And then he was gone, the door clicking shut behind him.
I pressed my forehead against the wood, my entire body trembling.
In the silence that followed, my mother's ghost seemed to whisper from the shadows: Be careful, Aria. Lies only grow teeth.
And outside, I could hear Father's voice. Cold. Waiting.