The first thing Aria felt was pain.
A dull, deep ache along her hips where Damian’s fingers had dug into her the night before—punishment disguised as restraint, restraint disguised as something she couldn’t even name. She winced when she sat up on the narrow mattress, the collar warming at her movement as if it could feel her waking.
The second thing she felt was exhaustion. Heavy, bone-deep exhaustion that clung to her skin like cold sweat. Her legs trembled when she stood, her body still remembering the club, the shouting, the chain choking her breath, and Damian’s fury wrapping around her like a fist.
The door slammed open before she could gather herself.
Rina Maddox stood there in a crisp white blouse and knife-sharp skirt, holding a clipboard like a weapon. “Up,” she snapped. “You’re already late.”
Aria opened her mouth to ask for a minute, but the collar buzzed sharply, warning her. She bit her tongue and followed, barefoot again, each step stinging.
Rina didn’t look back as she led Aria through the executive floors with a pace meant to punish. “Your schedule is full,” she said, handing Aria two stacks of documents so heavy her arms trembled under the weight. “Consider it an introduction to your role. Coffee runs on rotation. Physical files sorted by alphabetical, then chronological order. Three contract rooms to scan. Wolfe wants everything by end of day.”
Aria blinked. “All of this… today?”
“Yes.” Rina’s smile was ice. “This is Wolfe Tower. We do not care if you faint, cry, bleed, or die. We only care that the work is done.”
The collar pulsed again when Aria hesitated.
So she moved.
And people watched.
Executives turned their heads when she walked by, their gazes falling instantly to the collar at her throat. Some whispered behind folders. Others didn’t even bother to lower their voices.
“That’s her… Navarro’s daughter.”
“Wolfe claiming her? He never keeps anyone.”
“She must be worth something.”
“Or she’s bait.”
Aria tried to ignore it, but their words scraped against her skin like broken glass. Her hands shook when she poured coffee for the board, her wrists burning from strain. Rina corrected her posture every time she faltered, tapping the collar to make it buzz when she slowed down.
Hours bled into more hours.
By midafternoon, Aria overheard two guards speaking while she reorganized a filing cabinet.
“Wolfe didn’t sleep last night,” one muttered. “He paced the penthouse until sunrise.”
“He’s on edge,” the other said. “Ever since the girl.”
“Think she reminds him of—”
A sharp gesture from a passing supervisor silenced them, but the words sank under Aria’s skin like a needle.
Damian hadn’t slept. Because of her?
She didn’t understand it, but the thought made something heavy twist in her stomach.
By evening, her arms were shaking so badly she could barely lift the final binder. Sweat collected at the back of her neck. Her breaths came too fast. Rina approached with another set of files—another stack meant to break her—but stopped when she saw Aria sway on her feet.
Rina’s eyes narrowed, irritated. “Don’t collapse. Wolfe hates mess.”
Aria forced herself upright, the world spinning around her edges. The elevator chimed. The air shifted.
Every head in the hallway snapped to attention as Damian Wolfe stepped out, dressed in charcoal gray, sleeves rolled, hair pushed back like he had run his hands through it more than once. His presence hit the corridor like a storm front—quiet, lethal, cold.
He walked past assistants, executives, guards—ignoring them all.
Until his gaze landed on Aria.
He didn’t stop. He didn’t speak. He didn’t touch her. But his jaw tightened so sharply she heard the faint click of his teeth grinding together.
He kept walking.
Aria’s stomach hollowed. She didn’t know if he was furious because she looked pale, or because she wasn’t broken yet.
Hours later, with final files delivered, Aria stepped into the elevator alone. The doors began to close—
A hand shot between them.
Damian entered the elevator with a quiet, predatory calm that made her pulse jump. He tapped a button above her head. The doors slid shut. The elevator began its slow rise.
Silence. Then his voice cut the air like a blade. “You look fragile,” he said. “Convenient.”
Aria swallowed. “I’m tired.”
“So you want sympathy.” He stepped closer. “From me.”
“No.” Her voice trembled, but she forced the word out again. “No.”
He advanced another step. “You think I’m a fool? You think I don’t know manipulation when I see it?”
“I’m not manipulating you.”
He stared at her, then laughed softly—dark, humorless, dangerous. “You think I protected you last night because you were scared?” His breath brushed the side of her face. “I protected you because you’re mine to use. No one touches what’s mine.”
Her chest tightened. “I didn’t ask you to—”
“And yet you didn’t object,” he snapped. “You stared at me like you wanted saving. Do you know how much I hate that?”
Something inside her snapped.
Maybe it was exhaustion. Maybe it was humiliation. Maybe it was the way he kept blaming her for reactions she wasn’t allowed to control.
Aria lifted her chin.
“Stop twisting everything into hatred,” she said, voice shaking but firm. “I’m surviving. That’s all. I’m not manipulating you. I’m not trying to control you. I’m doing what I have to do because you give me no choice.”
Damian froze. He didn’t expect that. The silence thickened.
He stepped closer until her back pressed against the wall, his body caging her in. His hand lifted—slowly, almost involuntarily—to touch her jaw. His fingertips hovered, not yet touching, as if fighting himself.
“You think you get to raise your voice to me?” he asked quietly, dangerously.
Aria forced herself not to look away. “I think you’re angry at things I didn’t do.”
His eyes darkened, confusion breaking through the fury. For a heartbeat, he looked like the boy he used to be—hurt, betrayed, furious at a world that told him pain was his only inheritance.
But only for a heartbeat. The elevator chimed.
The doors opened. Damian didn’t move. He stared at her like she had just drawn blood from him.
Then, shockingly, impossibly—He stepped aside. Not pushing her. Not dragging her. Not forcing her. He let her walk out first.
His voice followed her, low and unreadable, as the doors began to close.
“Careful, Aria. I don’t know whether I want to break you… or see how long you can stand before you do.”
The doors sealed shut.
And Aria—breath trembling, heart racing—realized something terrifying: She had surprised Damian Wolfe.
And that was more dangerous than his hatred.