I didn't see Damon for two days.
Not really, anyway. He was there, always there—silent, shadowing me like the perfect soldier—but he didn't look at me. Not once. His eyes, which had burned with fury and possession when he ripped Ethan off me, were now ice.
It was torture.
And I knew it was deliberate.
This was his punishment.
⸻
The morning after the gala, I tested him. I wore the same silk robe I'd worn the night of his warning. I lingered in the hallway, walking slower than necessary, brushing past him close enough that my perfume clung to his suit.
Nothing.
At breakfast, I crossed my legs under the table, letting my dress slip high enough to make even the butler choke on his water. Damon didn't flinch. Didn't glance. Didn't breathe.
It drove me insane.
Because I'd tasted the truth in him already. I'd seen him snap. I'd felt his hands on me, rough and hungry, in that car. I'd heard the crack in his voice when he slammed me against that wall.
And now he expected me to believe it meant nothing?
No. Damon Cross wasn't ice. He was fire pretending to be frozen.
And I was going to melt him.
⸻
That evening, my father announced a dinner with his business partners. Another boring, gilded cage for me to sit quietly in while men discussed money.
But I didn't hear him. My eyes were on Damon.
He stood behind my father's chair, silent, arms crossed, his sharp jaw angled away from me.
And then it happened.
For the first time in two days, his gaze flicked to mine. Just for a second.
But it was enough.
Enough to see the storm still raging beneath the ice.
I smiled. Victory.
⸻
After dinner, I waited in the library. I knew Damon would come. He always swept the rooms before locking up for the night.
And right on time, the door opened. His tall frame filled the doorway, his steps silent against the Persian rug.
"Damon." My voice was soft, laced with challenge.
He froze, eyes hard, jaw set. "You should be in your room."
I tilted my head, stepping closer, the silk of my dress whispering against my thighs. "You've been avoiding me."
His expression didn't change. "I've been doing my job."
"No," I whispered, stopping inches from him. "Your job is to protect me. Not punish me."
His eyes flicked down—just once—to my lips. Then back to mine. His fists clenched.
"Go to your room, Aria." His voice was low, strained, dangerous.
I smirked, leaning closer, letting my breath brush his jaw. "What if I don't?"
⸻
The next second, I was against the wall.
His hand gripped my wrist, pinning it above my head, his body towering over mine. His breath was hot, ragged, his control slipping.
"You think this is a game?" His voice was a growl, his eyes wild. "You think I don't know exactly what you're doing?"
My pulse thundered. "Maybe I want you to know."
His jaw tightened. His lips hovered inches from mine, the heat of him wrapping around me like a cage. "You're going to get hurt, Aria. And it won't be by my hand."
I swallowed, my heart slamming against my ribs. "Then whose?"
His gaze darkened, something dangerous flickering in his eyes. "Your father's."
The words hit harder than his grip.
"What?" My voice cracked.
Damon's jaw flexed, his grip loosening just slightly, though his body stayed pressed against mine. "Do you really think Kingsley doesn't notice? You think he didn't see me drag you out of that ballroom? He doesn't tolerate disobedience, Aria. Not from his daughter. And not from his bodyguard."
Ice filled my veins. "You mean—he knows?"
Damon's silence was answer enough.
⸻
He let go suddenly, stepping back like my touch had burned him. His control slammed back into place, his walls higher than ever.
"You're not safe," he said, voice sharp, final. "Not from him. Not from me. Stay away, Aria."
And then he turned, leaving me trembling against the wall, my mind spinning with his warning.
Not safe from my father.
Not safe from Damon.
The two men who controlled my life in different ways—and one of them had just admitted he was about to break.
⸻
That night, I lay awake in bed, replaying his words, his touch, the storm in his eyes.
Stay away, Aria.
But I couldn't.
Because the truth was, Damon Cross wasn't just my bodyguard.
He was the only man who'd ever looked at me like I was real.
And I knew—sooner or later—he was going to break his own rules.
I just didn't know if it would destroy us both when he did.