The moment I stepped into Damon's office, something in the air thickened, like walking straight into heat rising off pavement. My breath stuttered. My fingertips tingled. The door clicked shut behind me a little too softly, and that tiny sound made the hairs on my arms lift. He was standing by his desk, arms tense, shoulders squared, eyes locked on the screen like he was staring down an enemy.
I tried to swallow, but my throat refused. The scent of his cologne lingered in the room, warmer here, stronger, like it had seeped into the walls overnight. Or maybe I was just reacting to him again, the way my stupid body always did around him. I hated that. I hated that I felt everything too sharply.
"Come here," he said.
Not loud. Not harsh. But the way he said it made my stomach clench. I hesitated anyway, my feet glued to the floor. Damon turned his head slowly, his eyes dragging to mine, and something in his expression tightened. Something like frustration tangled with something hotter, something darker. He wasn't just irritated. He wasn't confused. He looked…knotted. Like he was holding himself still by force.
I stepped forward because I didn't know what else to do. Each step felt shaky, but I kept moving until I stood beside him. My pulse thudded painfully in my wrists. I could smell him from this close. Clean. Expensive. Sharp. Familiar in a way it shouldn't be.
He pointed at the screen. "Look."
I turned my head and everything inside me dropped.
The photo was clearer now. Not blurry like the quick glimpse I'd caught outside. This one was sharpened, enhanced, almost cruelly detailed. And there I was. Stepping out of the cab in front of the club. My hair messy from crying. My dress slightly twisted. My hands shaking as I held my bag. Vulnerable. Exposed.
Watched.
My throat tightened until it burned. My fingers curled against my palm. I didn't know where to look. The screen. His eyes. The floor. Everything felt unsafe.
"That's…that's from last night," I whispered.
"Yes," Damon said, voice low. Too low. "Timestamped at the exact minute you entered the club."
I felt dizzy for a second. The room felt too warm. My ribs tightened like someone had tied a rope around them and was slowly, slowly pulling.
"Who took it?" I asked, barely audible. "Why would anyone… why would someone be taking pictures of me?"
There was a pause. A long one. Damon inhaled through his nose, slow and deliberate, like he was trying not to say something too sharp.
"That's the question," he said. "And there's more."
His finger tapped the screen and the picture slid aside. Another appeared. My hands went cold.
This one was from a different angle. Across the street. Grainy but unmistakable. Me again. Leaving the club. My face pale in the dim light. My steps unsteady. And a black car parked a few feet away like it was waiting.
My breath snagged. "Is… is that car following me?"
His jaw flexed. "Tell me if you've seen it before."
"I don't know." My voice shook. "I wasn't exactly thinking clearly last night."
Damon turned fully toward me. Too close. Much too close. I felt the heat of him, the way he filled a room without trying. His sharp eyes were studying me in a way that made every inch of me feel exposed again.
"You didn't see anyone following you," he said. Not accusing. Just intensely focused.
"No," I whispered. "I was… I was drunk. And upset. I wasn't looking around."
His jaw clenched again. A muscle ticked near his brow. He didn't like that answer.
Something like anger flickered across his face before he caught it. Not anger at me. At the situation. At whoever took that photo. At whoever watched me without my permission. His gaze drifted back to the screen, and something protective slid into his expression, unsettling but strangely grounding.
"I don't like that someone was watching you," he said quietly.
My heart twisted. The words hit too directly. Too personally. Like he wasn't my CEO. Like we weren't supposed to pretend we never touched each other. Like last night wasn't a mistake we were supposed to bury under professionalism and silence.
"Why would anyone even care about me?" My voice cracked embarrassingly. "I'm not important. I'm nobody."
His eyes snapped to mine so fast my breath caught.
"You're not nobody."
The words came out rough. Immediate. Without hesitation. Like it wasn't even a thought. Just truth to him.
Something in my chest fluttered and I hated it. I looked away quickly, staring at the edge of his desk instead. My vision swam a little.
"You said earlier," he continued, softer, "that you didn't come here because of me."
"I didn't," I whispered.
He hesitated. His gaze moved over my face before he looked back at the photo again. "Good," he murmured. "Because this… this has nothing to do with us."
I didn't know if he was trying to convince me or himself.
He nodded slightly toward the second picture. "But this has everything to do with you. Someone knew exactly where you were. Someone got to the club before I did. Someone got that angle."
I stared harder at the car. The black windows. The stillness of it in the photo. A pressure built behind my eyes, sharp and cold.
"So what do we do?" I asked.
"We find out who took these," Damon said. "I have people already working on it. But until then…"
He paused.
And his entire posture changed.
Like he was about to cross a line he shouldn't.
Like something in him was shifting from CEO to something else entirely.
Until then what.
Until then what.
My chest tightened. I could hear each heartbeat pounding like footsteps.
Then he said it.
"Until then, you're not leaving this building alone."
I blinked. "What?"
He stepped closer. So close the warmth of his breath brushed my cheek. His voice dropped, almost a growl buried under restraint.
"Someone tracked you last night. Someone watched you walk into my club and watched you walk out. Someone followed you home."
My stomach twisted painfully. "You don't know that."
"I know enough." His eyes held mine, steady and terrifying. "You're not stepping outside without someone I trust watching you. Not today."
"But I'm fine," I whispered. "You don't have to—"
"Yes," he said sharply, cutting me off. "I do."
My breath caught.
He didn't blink.
Not once.
"It's not a request."
My heart thudded painfully. I felt both fragile and electrified, like a storm had carved itself into my ribs.
He turned away for a second, grabbing his phone.
But before he could dial, the office door buzzed. A sharp, urgent alert. Damon's head whipped toward it. His eyes narrowed.
Daniel's voice crackled through the intercom, terrified.
"Sir… you need to see this. Someone's downstairs asking for Aria."
Damon's entire body went still.
Not calm.
Dangerously still.
His hand tightened around his phone. His gaze snapped to me with an intensity that stole the breath from my throat.
"Who?" Damon demanded.
Daniel's voice trembled.
"He won't give a name."
Then a pause.
"He just… keeps saying he knows her."
The room spun. My pulse jumped painfully. Damon's expression darkened like a storm rolling in all at once.
"Aria," he said quietly, intensely, "is there anyone who should be looking for you right now."
My mouth opened. No sound came out.
Because I already knew who it might be.
And I wished I didn't.
Damon stepped forward, voice dropping to something lethal.
"Tell me. Right now."