Gunfire didn’t start with warning—it erupted like the building itself had decided to go to war.
A single crack. Then a barrage. The executive floors of Wolfe Tower convulsed under the sound of bullets tearing through glass and steel.
Aria screamed and dove behind a marble column as the hallway exploded into chaos. Shards of shattered glass rained across the floor like glittering shrapnel. Executives fled. Guards roared orders. The fire alarms shrieked but were drowned out by the staccato thunder of assault rifles.
Damian was already moving.
He grabbed Aria so hard her breath punched out of her. “Stay behind me,” he snarled, forcing her into the shield of his body as masked intruders stormed the hall in tactical black, firing in every direction.
Aria trembling, choking on smoke, pressed herself into Damian’s back as he returned fire with ruthless, terrifying precision. Each shot he fired was controlled, deadly, surgical. Bodies hit the ground.
“MOVE! MOVE!” Jaxon’s voice thundered as he sprinted toward them from the west corridor, gun blazing. He slid across the floor behind a toppled desk, panting, eyes wide. “Elevators are compromised! They jammed the system from the lower floors—”
Before he could finish, the lights flickered violently.
Then half the floor went dark.
The emergency shutters slammed down halfway before jamming on their tracks, sparking wildly.
Aria’s heartbeat felt like a blade inside her ribs. She tried to stand, to move, to breathe—but a deafening BOOM ripped down the hall as a grenade detonated. The shockwave hit her like a tidal wave, throwing her sideways. The floor buckled beneath her palms.
Smoke rolled thick through the corridor.
Damian appeared out of the cloud like a demon dragged from fire.
He wrapped an arm around her waist—iron, unyielding—and hauled her to her feet. “Aria!” His voice cut through the chaos, harsh and frantic. “Look at me.”
“I—I can’t—this is my fault—” Her words tripped over terror.
He slammed her back against the nearest wall, palms braced beside her head, forcing her eyes to his. His grip wasn’t cruel—it was grounding, commanding, anchoring her to reality. His face was smeared with dust, a cut bleeding down his cheek, his expression carved from rage and fear.
“This is not your fault,” he growled. “Your father’s sins caused this. Not you.”
Tears burned down her face. “Then why are they coming for me?”
“Because they think hurting you hurts him.” Damian pressed closer, shielding her with his entire body as bullets cracked through the far end of the hallway. “And because they want to break me.”
He took her hand—actually took her hand—and dragged her down the smoke-filled corridor toward the panic wing hidden behind reinforced steel.
“Go!” he barked at Jaxon.
Jaxon covered them as they sprinted, firing over his shoulder. “Two more down—keep moving!”
Another explosion rocked the floor. Aria lost her footing, but Damian yanked her upright before she hit the ground. The heat of his arm around her waist made her dizzy—terrified, protected, overwhelmed.
The three of them reached the secured corridor. The reinforced door slid shut behind them with a metallic thud, muffling the outside chaos to a distant roar.
Aria sagged against the wall, shaking so violently she couldn’t feel her fingers. Damian turned to her, chest heaving, eyes burning with fury and something far more dangerous.
“You stay behind me,” he ordered, low and lethal. “No matter what you think you are, no matter what guilt you carry—you don’t decide when you die. I do.”
Before Aria could respond, Jaxon swore. “They’re retreating.”
Damian’s shoulders tightened. “They’ll be back. They weren’t after ground—they were after her location.”
Her stomach dropped.
He didn’t wait for her to speak. He simply swept her up—his arms strong, unrelenting—as if her legs no longer counted.
“Damian—I can walk—”
“You’re shaking,” he snapped. “You’re not touching that floor.”
Smoke still drifted from the corridor as he carried her out, refusing to let anyone else near her. His grip was rough, but the way he held her—pressed tight against his chest—felt like a promise and a threat.
They passed a shattered window.
Wind rushed in, carrying broken glass and smoke.
Jaxon yelled, “DOWN!”
The sniper’s bullet tore through the air with a high, slicing whistle—aimed directly at Aria’s heart.
Damian didn’t think.
He moved.
He shoved her down with brutal force, pinning her beneath him as the bullet grazed across his shoulder, tearing through cloth and skin. Blood splattered the marble floor.
Aria screamed his name.
Damian didn’t flinch. He stayed over her, shielding her with his entire body as another shot shattered the glass above them.
“You’re safe,” he hissed, voice trembling with pain and fury. “I said you’re safe.”
And he bled for her without hesitation.