Sabrina returned to Wolfe Tower like a storm disguised in silk.
Employees felt the shift before they even saw her—heels clicking too sharply, perfume too sweet, smile too perfect. News had already spread through the building like wildfire: Sabrina Knox had been stripped of privileges. Meetings postponed. Cards revoked. Access limited. All because of one thing.
Aria Navarro.
A punishment Sabrina had no intention of accepting quietly.
Aria sensed her before she saw her—the air tightening, conversations dropping to a whisper. She turned the corner of the executive hallway balancing a stack of files when Sabrina stepped directly into her path, wearing a smile that belonged on magazine covers and eyes sharp enough to cut wire.
“Well,” Sabrina murmured, tilting her head, “if it isn’t the Syndicate’s favorite charity case.”
Aria tried to move past her.
Sabrina drifted with her like smoke.
“You really think he saved you in that club because he cared?” The words were honeyed poison, released only loud enough for Aria to hear. “Damian doesn’t care. Damian obsesses. There’s a difference. One keeps you alive. The other…” Her smile widened. “The other burns you down.”
Aria forced a breath. “Please move.”
“Oh, sweetheart.” Sabrina leaned in, close enough that Aria could feel the brush of her breath on her cheek. “You don’t get to give orders here. You barely get to breathe unless he decides you can.”
A group of executives rounded the corner. Sabrina’s entire demeanor shifted—lips curving, voice bright as summer. “Aria! You’re doing such wonderful work. Damian must be thrilled.” She even laughed, a sound so fake it glittered.
The moment they passed, the mask slipped.
Sabrina’s fingers shot out and closed around Aria’s wrist.
Aria gasped at the sharp sting as Sabrina’s manicured nails dug deep—half-moons of pain puncturing her skin.
“Let go—”
“No,” Sabrina whispered. “Not until I leave a mark he can see.”
Aria tried pulling away, but Sabrina’s grip tightened.
“He’s unraveling, you know. Every day you’re here, he gets worse. And that kind of unraveling… ends men like him. Violently.”
Footsteps approached behind them.
Sabrina’s nails dug in deeper, dragging across Aria’s skin with slow, deliberate cruelty. The pain made Aria wince back a small sound she couldn’t hide.
It was enough.
Damian appeared at the end of the hallway—fast, silent, furious. His gaze snapped to Aria’s wrist, to Sabrina’s hand, to the red grooves already forming in her skin.
The air cracked.
“Inside,” Damian said.
Sabrina didn’t move. “If this is about her—”
Damian grabbed her arm and dragged her into the nearest empty office. Aria stumbled back, heart hammering, as the door slammed behind them hard enough to rattle the wall.
Inside, Damian shoved Sabrina against the glass wall.
Her breath left her in a sharp gasp—but her smile remained.
“Touch her again,” Damian growled, voice low enough to shake the floor, “and I will erase your name from the Syndicate. Permanently.”
Sabrina laughed softly. “You’re shaking.”
“Don’t test me.”
“Oh, but I already have.” Sabrina leaned forward until her lips nearly brushed his jaw. “You’re furious. Not because someone defied you. But because someone touched the girl.”
Damian slammed his hand beside her head. The glass trembled.
“Don’t twist this.”
“Twist?” Sabrina pushed off the wall and stepped into him, eyes blazing. “You can’t even look at her without clenching your jaw. You protect her from everyone but pretend you hate her. You dragged her into a club on a chain but nearly murdered a man for breathing at her. You’re losing control, Damian.”
His jaw flexed. “Desire and hatred are not the same thing.”
Sabrina’s voice dropped to a whisper. “And yet you sound very confused about which one is winning.”
Damian’s breath caught just slightly—the smallest break, the kind only someone who had memorized him would notice.
Sabrina did. She smiled like she had won.
“You’re falling,” she whispered. “And I hope she takes you all the way down.”
Damian stepped back as if distance could undo truth. His glare turned ice-cold, but something in it flickered—uncertainty, fear, something darker twisted with rage.
“I’m done with you,” he said.
Sabrina smoothed a hand down her blouse, composed, victorious. “No, Damian. You’re done with yourself. She’s already ruining you.”
He left without answering, slamming the door hard enough that Aria flinched from across the hall.
Sabrina emerged a moment later, smiling like blood was on her teeth. As she passed Aria, she whispered one last thing—soft, sing-song, lethal:
“He won’t survive you.”
And she walked away. Aria pressed her injured wrist to her chest, heart shaking.
She wasn’t sure which terrified her more—Sabrina’s promise. Or the fact that for the first time… she believed it.