Sabrina’s voice sliced through the air before Aria even saw her.
“Bruises look good on you, princess. Very Wolfe-coded.”
The executive lounge was almost empty, the late afternoon hush broken only by the soft hiss of the espresso machine and the distant hum of city traffic beneath glass walls. Aria had come here because Rina finally barked at her to “refuel before you pass out on the carpet,” and for three blessed minutes she’d been alone with a paper cup and the illusion that she could breathe. Then Sabrina Knox stepped through the doorway in stilettos that sounded like gunshots on marble.
Aria stiffened, fingers tightening around her cup. She didn’t need a mirror to know what Sabrina was staring at. The faint yellowing shadows on her hips, the stiffness in her posture, the way the collar sat high against a throat rubbed raw. Sabrina’s gaze crawled over her slowly, lingering on every place Damian’s hands had been.
Sabrina smiled, all red lips and polished malice. “Damian’s new toy looks tired.”
Aria forced herself to meet her eyes. “I’m working.”
Sabrina laughed, low and amused, as if Aria had told a joke. “No, sweet thing. You’re being paraded. There’s a difference.” She stepped deeper into the lounge, trailing perfectly manicured fingers along the back of a leather chair like she was picking which one to wreck. “You know what people are saying in the lower floors? They’re placing bets on how long you last.”
Aria swallowed. “Last through what?”
“Through him.” Sabrina’s eyes glittered. “Damian doesn’t keep pretty things. He sharpens them until they cut him or they shatter. Either way, they don’t stay.”
The words sank like ice into Aria’s chest. She tried to look away, but Sabrina’s presence was magnetic in the worst way. Everything about her screamed danger—perfectly styled, perfectly poised, perfectly lethal.
“You think he’s different with you?” Sabrina tilted her head. “Because he killed a man for you in that club?” She stepped closer, the sweet poison of her perfume sliding between them. “He has killed for a lot of women. There aren’t many of them left.”
Aria’s fingers tightened around the cup until the lid warped. “Why are you telling me this?”
“Because I enjoy watching people fall from high places,” Sabrina said lightly. “And you, Navarro princess, started at the top of the world. The higher the fall, the better the sound when you hit the ground.”
Aria’s throat went dry. “You sound jealous.”
Sabrina’s smile sharpened. “Jealousy is for equals. You are not my equal.” She took a step forward, closing the last inches between them until Aria could see the microscopic shimmer of her highlighter, the faint line of a healed cut along her jaw. “You’re a warning. That’s all.”
Aria held her ground, even as her pulse thudded loud in her ears. “A warning of what?”
“That everyone who matters to Damian Wolfe,” Sabrina murmured, eyes darkening, “ends up broken or buried. Sometimes both.”
Aria’s breath hitched.
Sabrina let the silence hang, enjoying it. Then, slowly, she lifted her hand and slid one manicured finger across Aria’s throat, right along the edge of the collar. The metal warmed beneath the touch, reacting to movement, to proximity, to fear.
Aria couldn’t stop the flinch.
“There it is,” Sabrina whispered. “Pretty little pet. Out of your cage, but not really. Have they told you about Tribute Night yet?”
Aria’s stomach turned. “No.”
“They will.” Sabrina’s voice flowed like silk over razor wire. “It’s a lovely tradition. Every few months, the Syndicate gathers. Debts are paid. Gifts are offered. Bodies are displayed and passed around like party favors.” She leaned in, lips almost brushing Aria’s ear, voice dropping to a deadly sweet whisper. “Navarro always honored it. He sent girls sometimes. Girls who never came back.”
Aria felt her knees weaken. “Damian said—”
“Damian doesn’t rule the entire world,” Sabrina cut in. “The families will push. They’ll demand something worthy. What better than Navarro’s only daughter?” She drew her finger slowly along the collar again, nails scraping lightly. “And I, sweetheart, will be right there to make sure they remember you’re on the list.”
Fear punched through Aria’s ribs.
“You won’t survive it,” Sabrina said softly. “Not Tribute Night. Not this Tower. Not him. But don’t worry.” Her eyes glittered. “I will look beautiful on the ashes.”
The door hissed softly.
Sabrina’s hand snapped back so fast it was almost comical. Her expression flipped in an instant—from predator to poised, from venom to honey—as Damian Wolfe stepped into the lounge.
He stopped when he saw them.
Damian’s gaze flicked from Sabrina to Aria in a single, assessing sweep. Aria stood too straight, cup clutched too tight, collar visibly pulsing faint blue with her heightened heartbeat. Sabrina stood too close, her lipstick too sharp, her smile too perfect.
“Sabrina,” Damian said, voice flat.
She turned toward him like she’d just been caught arranging flowers instead of threats. “Damian,” she purred, her tone soft and eager. “I was just checking on our little guest. Making sure she understands the culture here. You have her working so hard.”
Aria watched the transformation with something like nausea. The smirk was gone, the cruelty tucked neatly behind faux concern. Only her eyes stayed the same—cold, calculating, glowing with something dangerous when they darted briefly back to Aria.
Damian’s jaw flexed. “Your concern is unnecessary.”
Sabrina chuckled lightly, reaching out as if to touch his arm. “Oh, I don’t know. You seemed very concerned last night when—”
“Enough.” The word was quiet, but it landed like a slammed door.
Sabrina’s hand paused mid-gesture, fingers curling back. For the first time, Aria saw it—just a flash, quick and sharp as broken glass. Jealousy. It slashed through Sabrina’s polished composure and then vanished beneath another practiced smile, but Aria had seen it.
Damian stepped further into the room, his presence filling the space like pressure. “You have other responsibilities, Sabrina. Handle them.”
Her eyes cooled. “Of course.”
She brushed past Aria, the faintest shoulder bump—too light to be called a hit, too hard to be an accident. As she slipped by, she leaned close enough for only Aria to hear.
“This isn’t over,” she whispered, breath ghosting against Aria’s cheek. “Not even close.”
Then she was gone, heels clicking away down the hall.
The silence she left behind felt heavier than her presence.
Damian watched the doorway for a moment longer, as if making sure Sabrina really had disappeared, before turning his attention fully to Aria. The shift was almost physical, like a spotlight swiveling.
“You.” He said it like an accusation.
Aria straightened instinctively. “I was just making coffee.”
“I don’t care what you were making.” He strode closer, eyes sweeping over her face, her posture, the way her hand still trembled around the cup. “Stay away from Sabrina.”
She blinked. “She cornered me. I didn’t—”
“I don’t care how it starts,” he cut in. “I care how it ends. And Sabrina is a kind of problem you are not equipped for.”
Aria stiffened. “Meaning?”
“Meaning,” Damian said, each word quiet and precise, “she was built for cruelty. You weren’t. You’re not made for that level of poison. You won’t see the knife until it’s in your spine.”
For a second, pain flickered in her chest—not just from fear, but from the way he said it, like she was some fragile thing destined to be broken.
Aria looked up at him, finding his gaze and holding it even though her heart hammered. Her voice came out low but steady. “Neither are you.”
The words hung between them.
Damian went utterly still.
His expression didn’t change at first, but something in his eyes did. A flicker. A crack. For a heartbeat, she saw it—wounded anger, buried deep under all the armor. The boy who had been hurt before he ever became the man who hurt others.
He stared at her as if she’d reached for a scar he thought she couldn’t see.
Then the shutters slammed back down.
“Get back to work,” he snapped, the softness gone, edges sharper than ever. “You’re not here to analyze me.”
Aria felt the sting, but she refused to drop her gaze. She nodded once, set her untouched cup down on the counter with shaking hands, and walked past him.
He didn’t step aside.
He let her brush against him as she passed, that slight contact buzzing through both of them like an electric threat.
She didn’t look back. He did. Just once.
Then Damian Wolfe turned away too, jaw clenched, Sabrina’s jealousy echoing in the back of his mind and Aria’s quiet sentence cutting deeper than he would ever admit:
Neither are you.