The penthouse looks different at night. Too quiet. Too still. Too expectant.
Aria steps inside after Damian’s summons, pulse ticking in her throat like a warning she ignores. The lights are low—only the city bleeding through the floor-to-ceiling windows illuminates the room.
Damian stands in the center of it, not in a suit, not armored by his usual cold, but in a black shirt rolled at the sleeves, forearms tense, veins sharp. His hair is messy, as if he’s been running his hands through it for hours. His jaw clenches when he sees her.
He holds a key in his right hand.
And in his left—his phone, open on the collar control app.
One command flashing in red.
UNLOCK.
Aria’s breath catches. “Damian…?”
He swallows, throat flexing. “I called you here for this.”
She looks at the key—small, heavy, obscene in its meaning.
He steps closer, slow, deliberate, the way a predator approaches something precious rather than prey. His shadow swallows hers on the marble floor.
“I’m removing it,” he says, voice rough, unused. “The collar. The codes. All of it.”
She freezes.
It doesn’t feel triumphant.
It feels like a goodbye.
Or worse—a surrender.
Damian continues before she can speak. “You don’t need this anymore. You’re not my captive. Not my asset. You stay because you want to, or you walk out that door.”
Her chest twists painfully. “Why now?”
His eyes flicker—fear, guilt, longing, all tangled. “Because I’m losing the one part of myself still capable of protecting you. Because every day, I want you more, and every day, it becomes harder to pretend I’m not crossing lines I swore I wouldn’t cross.” His fingers tighten around the key. “Because if I keep you collared while I feel this—while you look at me like that—then I become exactly what your father was… and I would rather die.”
Aria steps toward him, slow. “Damian—”
“No.” His voice cracks, unexpectedly human. “Let me finish.”
He lifts the key like a confession between them.
“I told myself the collar was for your safety. I told myself it kept you alive. But that’s not the full truth.” His breath trembles. “It kept you tied to me. In reach. Close enough to touch. Close enough to lose.” His voice lowers to a whisper. “I am terrified of what I’d be without you here.”
Her heartbeat stutters.
Damian Wolfe—terrified.
“It’s wrong,” he says, voice fraying. “It’s wrong to want you like this. To need you like this. To think about you every damn second, even when I’m supposed to be planning a war.”
He steps closer until their breaths mix.
“So I’m giving you the choice I should’ve given you the night you walked into this tower.”
Silence swallows the room.
The city roars far below, but up here, it feels like the world has stopped.
Aria slowly reaches for the key.
Damian’s hand trembles.
She touches his wrist—light, gentle. The way she always touches him when she’s about to unravel him completely.
“Damian,” she whispers, voice soft but firm, “I don’t want you to remove it because you’re afraid of what you feel.”
His jaw tightens. “I’m not afraid.”
“You are.” She steps closer, closing the last inches between them. “You’re terrified that wanting me makes you weak. Or dangerous. Or like him.”
Something breaks in his eyes.
Aria slides her fingers down his forearm until she reaches his hand gripping the key. She lifts his wrist to her lips—one soft kiss against his skin.
He inhales sharply.
“Listen to me,” she murmurs. “If you take it off while you’re still scared of yourself, then I’m not choosing you—I’m protecting you.”
Damian blinks, breath catching. “Aria…”
“I don’t want you to remove it because you’re afraid,” she repeats, voice shaking. “I want you to remove it when you’re ready to claim me.”
The key slips slightly in his hand.
Her next words destroy him.
“Not when you’re scared to hurt me… but when you trust yourself not to.”
Damian exhales like she stabbed him.
A sound escapes him—rough, broken, almost pained. His head drops, forehead brushing hers, breath shaking against her lips.
“Aria,” he whispers, voice gutted, “don’t say things like that.”
“Why?” she asks softly.
“Because I can’t…” His fingers clutch her waist, dragging her closer, not violently but desperately. “I can’t think when you talk like that. I can’t breathe.”
Her heart pounds so loudly she feels it in her teeth.
He holds the key between them, knuckles white. “You want me to claim you.”
She nods once.
“I want you to want to.”
He shakes, visibly fighting himself. “If I claim you, there’s no going back.”
“I know.”
“My world will swallow you whole.”
“I know.”
“I will ruin you.”
She lifts her chin. “Then ruin me.”
His body goes still—frozen, pierced, undone.
The key drops to the floor.
Damian grabs her like he’s drowning.
He kisses her—not tentative, not restrained, but with a violent reverence that collapses every wall he ever built. His hand cups the back of her neck, thumb brushing her pulse, the other arm locking around her waist and lifting her onto the desk behind them.
Aria gasps, fingers tangling in his shirt as Damian deepens the kiss, mouth claiming hers with a hunger he’s held back for months. He devours her softly, then fiercely, like he’s memorizing her breath, her taste, her surrender.
Her legs wrap around his waist without thought.
Damian breaks the kiss only to breathe her in, forehead pressed to hers, eyes burning.
“Aria…” His voice is shredded. “I don’t know how to touch you gently and I don’t know how to want you lightly.”
“Then don’t.”
He growls—quiet, helpless—like the sound is torn from somewhere deep. His hands slide to her thighs, gripping, pulling her closer as if the space between them feels unbearable.
“You’re going to destroy me,” he whispers against her mouth.
“You already destroyed me,” she whispers back.
That is the moment he breaks completely.
Damian kisses her again—slow at first, torturously slow—like he’s savoring a forbidden sweetness. Then harder, deeper, each second more intoxicating, more dangerous, more inevitable.
Her fingers grip his jaw. He shudders.
His lips trail down her neck, stopping at the collar. He doesn’t touch the release code.
Not yet.
He presses a kiss to the metal instead.
A promise.
A warning.
A vow.
When he pulls back, he looks wrecked—hair messy, pupils blown, chest heaving.
“I’m not removing it tonight,” he says, voice low and hoarse. “Because you’re right.” His thumb grazes her swollen bottom lip. “I want to remove it when I’m ready to claim you… completely.”
She swallows hard. “And when will that be?”
His mouth curves into a sinful, broken smile.
“When I can trust myself not to lose you the second I do.”
He leans in, brushing her mouth with his.
“Or lose my mind.”
Aria kisses him softly—once, lingering.
Damian’s hands tremble on her hips.
He rests his forehead to hers again, whispering her name like prayer and profanity.
The key lies between their feet on the floor.
Waiting.
Not forgotten.
Not rejected.
Just postponed—
until wanting becomes claiming.
And claiming becomes truth.