The applause from the ballroom still rang in Aria's ears as the last guests trickled out of the Blackwood estate. Midnight had long passed, yet the house remained restless, buzzing with the residual energy of hundreds of footsteps, laughter, and whispered alliances sealed over champagne.
Aria stood at the base of the grand staircase, her hand lightly brushing the polished banister. The sapphire gown weighed on her shoulders like chainmail, her body aching from hours of holding a perfect posture, a flawless smile. Her cheeks still burned from the effort of pretending.
Across the hall, Damien exchanged a firm handshake with a departing board member, his voice even, his composure unshaken. He looked like a man in complete control, the master of the evening. Only Aria knew the tension running beneath his calm exterior — the way his eyes had hardened after spotting Victor, the way his hand had clenched just slightly too tight on hers during their dance.
The staff began clearing champagne flutes and half-empty plates, the glittering ballroom quickly stripped of its illusions. As the last valet closed the great doors behind the final guest, silence descended.
For the first time all night, Aria exhaled.
Damien crossed the marble floor toward her. He'd loosened his tie, the first visible crack in his armor of precision. "You did well tonight," he said.
She huffed a quiet laugh. "I felt like a mannequin someone propped up beside you."
His gaze lingered on her. "You were more than that. You carried yourself with grace. No one would have guessed…"
His words trailed off, heavy with the unspoken. No one would have guessed you were terrified. No one would have guessed the man stalking you was standing a few feet away.
Aria folded her arms. "Do you think they noticed him?"
"Not unless they were looking closely," Damien said. His jaw tightened. "But I was. And I don't like what I saw."
She nodded, her throat tight. "I knew he'd come. He told me he would."
Damien's eyes sharpened. "You're still not telling me everything."
Before she could respond, Marianne appeared at the far end of the hall. "Mr. Blackwood, Mrs. Blackwood. The car from the security detail just reported that a man was spotted loitering near the side gate. He drove off when approached, but—"
Damien's head snapped toward her. "Did they get a plate number?"
"Yes, sir. It's being traced now."
"Good. Double the watch until morning."
"Yes, sir." Marianne inclined her head and disappeared.
Aria's skin prickled. She didn't need a plate number to know who it had been.
Victor was circling closer.
Later, when Noah was tucked safely in bed and the staff dismissed for the night, Aria peeled off the sapphire gown and let it pool at her feet. In the mirror, she looked pale, her collarbones sharp above the slip she now wore. The diamonds Damien had given her glimmered coldly on the vanity table, abandoned.
She ran her fingers across the drawer where she'd hidden the photograph Victor left, resisting the urge to check if it was still there. Of course it was. He wanted her to know he could get close whenever he pleased.
The sound of footsteps behind her made her flinch.
"Aria."
Damien stood in the doorway of her dressing room, his tie gone, his shirt sleeves rolled to his elbows. He looked less like the polished mogul and more like the man she glimpsed only in rare, unguarded moments — stripped of the shield the world demanded he wear.
He leaned against the frame, watching her. "You're shaking."
She hadn't realized she was. "It's just… everything tonight. I can't get him out of my head."
Damien crossed the room in three strides, his hand closing gently but firmly around hers. "Then let me in. Tell me what he has on you. Tell me what he's using to keep you afraid."
Aria's lips parted. The confession swelled inside her, desperate to be released — the past she had buried, the choices she had made when she had been too young, too desperate, too naive.
But fear sealed her throat.
"I can't," she whispered.
Something flickered across Damien's face — frustration, yes, but beneath it, hurt. He released her hand slowly, as if letting go of a rope. "Then I'll find out myself."
Her breath hitched. "Damien—"
"You don't understand," he said, his voice low, roughened by something raw. "When I saw him watching you tonight, when I saw him look at you like you were his— I nearly walked across that ballroom and broke his jaw."
Aria's pulse jumped.
"You think I don't know what it's like to have someone use your past against you?" Damien continued, his eyes burning into hers. "But I won't let him win. Not over me. Not over you. Not over Noah."
Her chest ached. "And if stopping him means becoming the kind of man Noah fears?"
His silence was answer enough.
The house was quiet when Aria slipped downstairs for water sometime past two a.m. The moonlight spilled through tall windows, silvering the marble floor.
She padded barefoot into the kitchen, poured herself a glass — and froze.
The French doors that opened onto the garden stood slightly ajar.
Her breath lodged in her throat. Slowly, carefully, she set the glass down.
"Good evening, Aria."
The voice slithered out of the shadows, familiar and poisonous.
She spun, her heart lurching.
Victor stepped forward from the darkened terrace, his charcoal suit immaculate despite the late hour. He looked maddeningly calm, as though he were an invited guest instead of a trespasser in the heart of the Blackwood estate.
Her skin went cold. "How did you get in here?"
He smiled, tilting his head. "Do you really think locks and guards can keep me out? You should know better than that."
Her pulse pounded in her ears. "You need to leave. Now."
"Leave?" He chuckled softly, advancing another step. "After I came all this way to see you? No, Aria. I told you — I wanted tonight to be special."
She backed toward the counter, her hand groping blindly for the phone she'd left behind. Of course it wasn't there.
"What do you want, Victor?" she demanded, her voice trembling despite her effort to steady it.
His smile widened. "What I've always wanted. Access. Leverage. A seat at Damien Blackwood's table. And you—" His gaze slid over her, slow and deliberate. "You're the key."
Her stomach churned. "I'm not giving you anything."
"Not even to keep Noah safe?" His voice was velvet and venom all at once.
Her blood froze.
Victor leaned closer, his smile sharp as glass. "Damien can't protect him forever. But I can. If you cooperate."
The fury rose in her throat before she could choke it down. "You stay away from my son."
Victor only smiled, savoring her rage like wine. "Then convince me, Aria. Convince me to play nice."
A sound split the air — sharp, metallic.
The distinct click of a safety being released.
"Step away from her."
Damien's voice was ice.
Aria turned. He stood in the doorway, gun in hand, aimed steadily at Victor. His expression was carved from stone, his fury restrained only by sheer will.
Victor's smirk didn't falter. Slowly, he raised his hands in mock surrender. "Ah. The husband arrives."
"Get out of my house," Damien growled.
Victor tilted his head. "Of course. I didn't mean to overstay my welcome. But don't think this is over. You can't keep her under glass forever."
He glanced at Aria one last time, his eyes gleaming. "We'll talk soon."
And with infuriating calm, he turned and slipped back through the terrace doors, vanishing into the night.
Damien lowered the gun only after the door clicked shut.
Aria's knees buckled. He caught her before she hit the floor, his arms hard and unyielding around her.
She buried her face against his chest, trembling. "He was here. In this house."
"I know," Damien said, his voice low, dangerous. His hand pressed against the back of her head, holding her close. "And I swear to you, Aria — it's the last time."