Damien's words from the night before still reverberated in Aria's chest: "We fight back. Together."
She had clung to them through a restless night, one ear attuned to Noah's soft breathing down the hall, the other to the steady cadence of Damien's footsteps pacing their bedroom long after midnight. He had barely slept, and neither had she. But where her wakefulness had been threaded with dread, his had been fueled by something sharper—resolve, edged with fury.
By morning, the Blackwood estate was no longer the refuge it had once been. Though the heavy gates kept the paparazzi at bay, Aria could sense their presence like wolves at the door. The faint hum of drones, the shouted questions carried faintly through the windows—it was all there, clawing at the edges of their lives.
Damien was already dressed when Aria entered the kitchen with Noah in tow. He wore a charcoal suit, his tie knotted with precision, his dark eyes alert. He stood at the island, phone in hand, speaking low into the receiver.
"Yes. File the injunction immediately. I don't care how fast they think they can push it through—we'll bury them in paperwork if we have to." His gaze flicked briefly to Aria and Noah before hardening again. "And tighten our surveillance on Hayes. I want every move he makes documented. No surprises."
He ended the call with a clipped goodbye, sliding the phone onto the counter.
"Good morning," Aria murmured softly, settling Noah into his booster seat. She brushed his curls back from his forehead, grateful for the child's oblivious cheer. Noah was humming to himself, content with his bowl of cereal.
"Morning," Damien returned. His voice was calm, but the undercurrent of tension was unmistakable. He poured Aria a cup of tea and set it before her, his hand lingering for a second longer than necessary. A small gesture, but one that said: I see you. I've got you.
She wrapped her fingers around the mug, drawing strength from its warmth. "What did they say?"
"The injunction should slow the tabloids," Damien replied. He kept his tone matter-of-fact for Noah's sake. "But Hayes has already seeded enough rumors to keep the press feeding for weeks."
Aria's stomach twisted. "About me?"
"About you. About your family." His jaw clenched. "Hayes got hold of financial records from the Lancaster collapse. He's painting it as if you were complicit."
Aria's breath caught. "That's a lie. I had nothing to do with—"
"I know," Damien interrupted firmly, his eyes locking on hers. "And anyone with half a brain will see it. But public opinion isn't about truth—it's about headlines."
She swallowed hard. She had feared this moment since the first time she saw Victor Hayes on that crowded sidewalk. Still, hearing it spoken aloud, hearing how thoroughly Hayes had dug his claws into her past, made her feel raw and exposed.
Across the counter, Damien's hand brushed over hers. "He wants you cornered. He won't get it."
Her throat tightened. "What if he turns his attention to Noah?"
At that, Damien's expression darkened like storm clouds rolling over the sea. "Then he'll regret it." The quiet ferocity in his voice sent a shiver down her spine—not of fear, but of certainty. Damien would protect their son with everything he had.
"Daddy," Noah piped up suddenly, little spoon clattering against his bowl. "Can we build a fort again after school?"
The tension in the room cracked, just slightly. Damien's gaze softened as he turned toward his son. "Of course, champ. Tonight, we'll build the biggest fort yet."
Noah grinned, milk moustache curling over his lip. "With dragons?"
"With dragons," Damien confirmed, reaching over to ruffle his son's hair.
Aria watched them, her heart swelling with both love and fear. These small, ordinary moments—they were the most fragile, the most worth protecting.
By midmorning, Damien had gathered his inner circle in the estate's study. Aria hovered near the doorway, listening as his head of PR, a sharp-eyed woman named Elise, unfurled a stack of reports across the polished oak table.
"The good news: the injunction forced two outlets to pull their articles," Elise said briskly, flipping through documents. "The bad news: others have simply rephrased the claims. Hayes has allies in media—he's feeding them piece by piece."
Damien leaned back in his chair, steepling his fingers. "What's his angle? Money? Influence?"
"Both," Elise replied. "But more than that—Hayes wants access. He's angling to make himself indispensable. He can't topple you directly, but he can tarnish your wife, your family. That weakens your shield."
Aria's stomach churned. She had never asked for this life of power and scrutiny, yet here she was, the weak point in Damien's armor.
Damien's gaze slid to her, as if reading her thoughts. "He underestimates us," he said, voice steel. "He thinks Aria's past is a liability. He's wrong. It's what makes her stronger."
Heat bloomed in her chest at his words. He didn't see her as broken, as tainted by scandal. He saw her as resilient.
Elise tapped the stack of reports. "We need a counter-narrative. The longer you stay silent, the more Hayes controls the story."
Damien nodded slowly. "Then we speak. But on our terms." His eyes flicked to Aria. "Together."
Her breath hitched. "You mean… an interview?"
"Yes. A controlled setting. One reporter we can trust. We tell the truth—not every sordid detail Hayes wants—but enough to take back the narrative."
The thought of facing cameras, of laying bare the very past she had run from, made Aria's pulse race. Yet as Damien's hand covered hers, steady and grounding, she realized she couldn't run forever.
"I'll do it," she whispered, voice trembling but certain. "With you."
Damien's jaw eased, pride flickering in his eyes. "Good."
The following afternoon, preparations were underway. The estate bustled with quiet urgency—stylists, lighting crews, security detail. Elise coordinated every move with military precision.
Aria sat before her vanity as a makeup artist brushed a light foundation across her cheeks. Her reflection stared back at her: composed, polished, but with a shadow of fear in her eyes.
Damien appeared in the doorway, already in his suit, his presence filling the room. "Ready?"
She drew a shaky breath. "As I'll ever be."
He crossed to her, dismissing the stylist with a nod. When they were alone, he crouched beside her chair, his dark eyes locking onto hers in the mirror.
"You don't have to be perfect," he said quietly. "You just have to be you. That's what will silence Hayes more than anything—showing them the woman I know."
Her throat tightened. "And who's that?"
"The woman who rebuilt her life from ashes. The mother who loves fiercely. The wife who makes me want to be a better man." His words were unflinching, reverent.
Tears pricked her eyes, threatening the careful work of the stylist. "Damien…"
He pressed a hand to hers, squeezing gently. "We'll face them together. Every question, every doubt. Together."
Aria nodded, steadying herself. With him by her side, she could face anything—even the ghosts of her past.
The interview was held in the sunlit drawing room, a single camera crew present. The reporter, a seasoned woman known for her fairness, began with gentle questions—about Aria's role in the Blackwood Foundation, her life as a mother. Aria answered carefully, her hands folded in her lap, Damien's steady presence beside her.
Then came the inevitable.
"Mrs. Blackwood," the reporter said softly, "recent stories suggest you were once Aria Lancaster, daughter of Charles Lancaster. Is that true?"
Silence pressed in. Aria felt the weight of every eye, every lens. She drew a breath, her pulse a drumbeat in her ears.
"Yes," she said at last, voice steady. "I was born Aria Lancaster." She lifted her chin, refusing to cower. "But I left that name behind a long time ago. Not because I was ashamed of who I am, but because I wanted to build a life defined by my choices—not my father's mistakes."
The reporter nodded, encouraging her to go on.
"My father's business collapsed due to his decisions, not mine," Aria continued. "I was young, and I paid the price for his sins. I disappeared because I wanted freedom—from expectations, from scandal. I found it. I raised my son with what little I had. And now…" Her gaze flicked to Damien, who squeezed her hand. "Now I've built a family worth protecting."
The room was silent for a beat before the reporter spoke again. "And Victor Hayes's claims?"
Aria's lips pressed into a firm line. "Victor Hayes is using half-truths and lies to manipulate the past for his gain. I will not allow him to rewrite my story."
Damien's voice cut in, smooth and commanding. "And I will not allow him to threaten my family. Anyone who tries will face me directly."
The interview concluded on that note—firm, united, unshakable.
By the time the crew packed up and left, Aria felt drained but lighter, as if she had shed a skin she no longer needed. Damien poured her a glass of water and pressed it into her hands.
"You were extraordinary," he murmured.
She shook her head. "I was terrified."
"And still, you spoke with more strength than Hayes will ever know."
Before she could respond, Elise burst into the room, phone in hand. "It's already trending," she announced. "Clips from the interview are everywhere. Public sentiment is shifting. People are calling you brave, Aria. The Lancaster name isn't the headline anymore—you are."
Aria's eyes widened, hope flickering in her chest. For the first time in weeks, she felt the tide turning.
But Damien's expression remained guarded. "It's a victory," he acknowledged. "But Hayes won't retreat. He'll strike back harder."
As if summoned, Aria's phone buzzed on the table. She glanced at the screen—and froze.
A new message. From an unknown number.
Nice speech. Shame it won't matter once I show them what you're really hiding.
Aria's blood ran cold. Her grip on the phone tightened until her knuckles whitened.
Damien took the device from her hand, his jaw hardening as he read the message. He looked at her, his eyes dark with fury but also with something fiercer—determination.
"This ends," he said quietly, dangerously. "Hayes wants war? He'll get it."
And for the first time, Aria believed him.