(Aria's POV)
The car ride from the border feels unreal — too smooth, too quiet, too deliberate. Damien Blackwood sits across from me like a storm disguised in a suit, scrolling through his phone as if he didn't just rescue his brother's rejected mate from exile.
I can't stop staring out the window. Forest turns into road. Road becomes small human buildings. Then everything explodes upward into tall towers and glittering glass.
"Are you always this… decisive?" I ask.
Damien doesn't look up. "I dislike wasted time."
Right. Of course he does.
The city grows around us — tall, sharp, intimidating. I swallow. The tallest building streaking the sky looks like it was built to house secrets. And men like him.
We descend into an underground parking level where the lighting is bright enough to hurt. No dirt. No oil stains. The kind of place where even shadows behave.
He steps out first. "Come."
I follow him to a private elevator that has no buttons. Just a glowing panel. He presses his thumb against it, and the doors slide shut, trapping us together in a silence that's somehow louder than wolf howls.
The elevator shoots upward.
My stomach drops. "How many floors?"
"The top."
Of course.
When the doors open, we step into a private landing — dark wood, soft lighting, one massive door. No neighbors. No noise. Just Blackwood territory in skyscraper form.
Damien unlocks the door with another thumbprint. When it opens, I forget how to breathe.
The penthouse is enormous, clean, impossibly elegant. Floor-to-ceiling windows stretch across the entire far wall, spilling sunlight onto pale stone floors. The city sprawls below like a glittering map. A huge grey sectional couch angles toward a modern fireplace. Plants in black pots soften the edges.
It's beautiful.
Cold.
And nothing like me.
"Shoes," a sharp voice snaps.
I jump. A woman in her forties stands near the kitchen entrance, hair in a tight bun, expression sharper than broken glass.
"Off," she says. "Now."
I yank my boots off immediately. She eyes my socks. There's a hole in one toe. Perfect.
Damien gestures toward her. "This is Marta. She manages the household."
Manages. Like a general manages an army.
Marta studies me like she's sizing up a new recruit. "So this is her."
Aria Hale: her.
My cheeks heat. "Aria. That's my name."
"Good." She nods. "We'll use it."
"What exactly did you tell her about me?" I murmur to Damien.
He ignores that. "Marta will show you the basics."
"Basics?" I repeat.
"Try not to break anything," Marta says. "Everything in here is worth more than you."
I blink. "I… don't know whether to be insulted or impressed."
"Both," she says.
She marches toward the kitchen. I follow because she radiates the kind of energy that makes wolves obey.
The kitchen is sleek: marble counters, steel appliances, perfect organization. She places a plate in front of me — toast, eggs, avocado slices.
My stomach growls so loud she raises an eyebrow.
"Eat," she orders. "You look like someone who's been living on bad decisions and air."
I shovel in food before dignity catches up.
When I finish, she hands me water. "Tour."
We move through the penthouse. Living room. Silent hallways. A study with glass walls and more screens than the Alpha's war room. A laundry room that looks like it was designed for NASA.
Finally, she stops at a door and pushes it open.
"Guest room," she says.
It's basically a small apartment: massive bed, soft carpet, a wall of windows, a walk-in closet.
Inside the closet are clothes.
Clothes in my size.
"How did—?"
"Eyes," Damien says from behind us, making me jump. "And tailors."
Marta gestures toward the bathroom. "Shower has instructions. Follow them unless you want to flood the room."
"Has that happened before?"
"Twice."
I decide not to ask who.
Damien steps forward. "Rest. Shower. Then we talk."
He leaves without waiting for a response.
I shower. The hot water feels sinful after years of freezing pack bathroom temperatures. Steam fills the room. For one brief moment, something inside me stirs. A flash of silver fur. Gold eyes. A low rumble.
My wolf.
The sealed door in my mind shakes, cracks, then stills.
Not ready yet.
When I finish, I slip into soft leggings and a clean T-shirt. The fabric hugs me like comfort itself — a reminder that I am not in the pack anymore. I am somewhere entirely different.
I find Damien in the living area, framed by the city beyond the windows. He has rolled up his sleeves and loosened his tie. He looks… less like an Alpha and more like a man who knows exactly how to command a boardroom and a battlefield.
"Sit," he says.
I sit.
He remains standing, hands in his pockets, studying me like I'm a puzzle piece that belongs somewhere specific.
"Let's establish the rules," he says.
My stomach tightens. "Rules?"
"Yes." He walks closer. "Rule one: You do not leave this building without my permission."
I stiffen. "Is that… a prison?"
"It's protection," he corrects. "You're vulnerable. The pack may regret their actions. Rogues may smell weakness. Humans are unpredictable." His eyes lock on mine. "You stay where I can keep you alive."
The bluntness makes my throat close.
"Fine," I say softly. "Next?"
"Rule two: No contact with Nightfall Pack. Especially Liam."
My jaw clenches. "I don't want to talk to him."
"Good," Damien says. "Let him drown in the consequences of his stupidity."
A sharp, involuntary shiver runs down my spine at the way he says it — cold, almost satisfied.
"Rule three," he continues. "You tell me immediately if anything unusual happens with your wolf."
My pulse jumps. "Why do you think something will happen?"
"Because you should have collapsed after that rejection." His voice is calm but certain. "Instead, you walked out of the forest, boarded my car, and ate a full meal."
"Maybe I'm numb."
"No." He sits across from me. "Your wolf is sealed. Hidden. But not gone. Last night cracked her cage."
Heat spreads through my chest — a mix of fear and relief and something like awakening.
"Rule four," he says, "you train with me. Properly. No more mockery from boys who don't know real strength."
I swallow. "What kind of training?"
"Mental first," he says. "Then physical. Control. Strength. Command."
"Command?" I echo.
His eyes narrow like he's seeing something in me I can't yet feel. "You have power, Aria. More than you know. And power without control is a threat — to you and everyone around you."
He stands. "Training starts tomorrow at six."
"Six in the morning?" I ask, horrified.
"Welcome to improvement."
I groan. He smirks — barely, but enough.
He steps toward the hallway. "Rest now. You'll need it."
Before he disappears into the study, he looks back.
"And Aria?"
"Yes?"
"You are not weak," he says quietly. "But if you insist on acting like you are, this city will eat you alive."
I feel the words settle deep — somewhere my wolf can hear.
When he leaves, I sit there for a long moment, staring at the skyline.
Everything I knew is behind me. Everything unknown is ahead.
And strangely?
For the first time since Liam's rejection shattered me, the future doesn't feel like a threat.
It feels like a challenge.
And I'm ready to rise to it.