The house was silent, but the silence wasn't peace. It was heavy, suffocating — a silence that hummed with everything left unsaid.
Aria sat on the edge of her bed, her robe drawn tight around her, though she still shivered. She had showered after Victor's intrusion, scrubbing her skin until it was raw, as if she could wash his presence away. But no matter how hard she tried, she still felt him there — the weight of his gaze, the echo of his voice whispering threats into the night.
Her eyes flicked to the door. Damien had left her only minutes ago, muttering something about "making calls." She had not asked whom. She wasn't sure she wanted to know.
The image of him standing in the doorway earlier, gun in hand, refused to leave her mind. His precision. His fury. He hadn't looked surprised to see Victor. He had looked ready to kill him.
And maybe that was the part that terrified her most of all.
Downstairs, Damien's study glowed with the muted light of a single desk lamp. He stood by the window, his phone pressed to his ear, his free hand clenched into a fist.
"Find him," Damien said, his voice cold steel. "I don't care how long it takes. I don't care what it costs. I want Victor Hale watched, cornered, and crushed. No more chances."
The man on the other end — his head of private security — responded with crisp efficiency, but Damien's mind was already racing ahead. Plans, contingencies, the inevitable collision that was coming.
When the call ended, he set the phone down with deliberate care. His reflection in the darkened glass stared back at him — sharp suit loosened from the gala, eyes burning.
He had sworn never to become his father. Never to let rage dictate his actions. But when Victor stood in his home, only feet from Aria, every promise had cracked.
Because this wasn't just about business or reputation anymore.
This was about her.
The next morning dawned gray and sullen, the sky heavy with unfallen rain.
Aria found herself in the kitchen, her hands trembling as she poured cereal into a bowl. Noah sat at the counter, swinging his legs, oblivious to the storm brewing in the adult world. He hummed quietly to himself, spoon clattering as he dug into his breakfast.
She envied his innocence.
Damien entered a few minutes later, dressed already in another immaculate suit, though his tie hung loose. He paused at the sight of them, his expression unreadable.
"Morning," Aria said softly.
"Morning." His voice was clipped. He crossed the kitchen, resting a hand briefly on Noah's head in greeting, before pouring himself coffee.
Aria watched him, her stomach twisting. "Did you sleep at all?"
"I don't have the luxury of sleep right now," Damien said, sipping the coffee. His eyes met hers, sharp. "Not until he's dealt with."
Her fingers tightened around her mug. "Damien—"
"No." He cut her off, his tone like a slammed door. "Don't tell me to wait. Don't tell me to calm down. He was here, Aria. In this house. In the same space where my son sleeps. Where you sleep." His jaw clenched. "That is a line I won't forgive him for crossing."
The words hung between them, heavy, unyielding.
Aria set her mug down, the ceramic clicking against the counter. "And what exactly do you plan to do? Put a bullet in him?"
Damien's silence was answer enough.
Her chest constricted. "That's not protecting us, Damien. That's dragging us into something even darker."
His eyes flashed. "You think sitting back and letting him control you is safer?"
She flinched. "I didn't—"
"You didn't tell me the moment he resurfaced," Damien said, his voice low, simmering. "You thought hiding it would shield me. Or shield Noah. But it didn't. It only gave him more time to dig his claws deeper. I won't make the same mistake."
Aria's throat burned. She wanted to shout at him, to defend herself, to demand he trust her judgment. But Noah's laughter — bright, oblivious — cut through the tension like a blade.
Neither of them spoke again until he finished his cereal and scampered upstairs to fetch his backpack.
Only then did Damien move closer, his voice lowering. "I won't let him near you again. That's not a threat. That's a promise."
Aria's heart twisted. "But promises like that come with blood."
His gaze didn't waver. "Then so be it."
The day unfolded in uneasy fragments.
Damien left for the office under heavy security escort, though Aria suspected he was less interested in board meetings and more in hunting Victor down.
Aria stayed behind, unable to shake the gnawing feeling of being watched. Every shadow in the garden, every car passing on the street outside felt like him. She kept Noah close, inventing excuses for why they couldn't go out, why today had to be a day indoors.
By late afternoon, her nerves were frayed raw.
That was when the envelope arrived.
It was Marianne who brought it — a thick manila packet delivered by courier with no return address. She placed it gently on the kitchen counter. "This came for you, Mrs. Blackwood."
Aria stared at it. Her hands felt numb. "Did anyone see who sent it?"
"No, ma'am. It was left at the gate."
Marianne withdrew.
For long minutes, Aria just stood there, staring. Then, with trembling fingers, she tore it open.
Photographs spilled onto the counter.
Her stomach dropped.
They were of her. Dozens of them. Some recent — in the garden with Noah, walking through the market, even standing by the window of her bedroom. Others were older, from years ago, when she had thought she had left that life behind.
And at the bottom, a single note.
Beautiful, isn't she? Too beautiful to be hidden behind Blackwood's walls. I wonder how long before the world sees the real Aria.
Her hands shook so violently she nearly dropped the paper.
"Aria?"
Damien's voice. She hadn't even heard him come in. He stood in the doorway, his expression hardening as his gaze fell to the photographs.
Slowly, he picked one up, his fingers tightening around the glossy print until it bent. His eyes lifted to hers, dark and stormy.
"This ends now."
That evening, Damien made the call.
Aria overheard from the hallway outside his study, his voice sharp, commanding.
"I don't want surveillance anymore. I want leverage. Dig into his accounts, his contacts, every dirty deal he's ever made. If he wants to play games, we'll bury him under his own sins."
Aria pressed her hand against the wall, her heart hammering. This was spinning further and further out of control.
When Damien finally emerged, she was waiting.
"Damien, please," she said, her voice cracking. "You're going too far."
His gaze softened — barely. He reached out, brushing a strand of hair from her face, his touch deceptively tender. "You don't understand. This is me holding back. If I had my way, he'd already be gone."
Tears stung her eyes. "And if you destroy yourself in the process? What then?"
His hand lingered against her cheek. "I won't. Because I have something he never will."
Her breath caught. "What?"
Damien's jaw tightened. "You."
The words stole her breath, tangled her heart. For one wild second, she almost believed they could anchor her, keep her safe.
But then she remembered the photographs spread across the kitchen counter.
And she knew this war was only beginning.