The moment the office door slammed, the echo vibrated through Aria’s bones. Damian Wolfe paced like a caged wolf in front of her, suit jacket half-open, eyes burning with a fury so potent it felt poisonous in the air. Aria stayed pressed against the wall, breath shaky, chest rising too fast to control. She still smelled gunpowder from the garage. She still felt the ghost of a blade against her throat.
Damian spun toward her.
“What the hell were you thinking leaving the executive floor without me?” His voice was a snarl—low, cold, and shaking with something darker than anger.
Aria flinched. “Jaxon said it was clear. I just wanted air—”
“You don’t get air.” Damian stormed toward her with lethal precision, and Aria’s back hit the bookshelf. His hand shot up, gripping the chain attached to her collar so hard the metal links bit into her skin. He yanked her forward until their faces nearly collided. “You breathe when I decide you breathe.”
“I’m not—” she gasped, struggling against his hold, “I’m not your prisoner—”
“You’re damn right you are,” he hissed, leaning in until she could feel the heat of his breath spill over her lips. His pulse slammed against her chest through the chain he held. “A prisoner who almost got butchered in front of my eyes.”
Her voice cracked. “I didn’t know they were waiting—”
“That’s the problem,” Damian bit out, voice fracturing at the edges. “You don’t know anything about danger, about blood, about what your father built. You walk outside this tower and every monster in this city smells Navarro on you like a target painted on your skin.”
Aria jerked away as much as the chain allowed.
“I can’t live like this,” she whispered, trembling, tears burning behind her eyes. “Locked, controlled, dragged around by a collar like—like property.”
Damian froze. A tremor ran through his arm.
Then he yanked her even closer.
“Property is better than a corpse,” he growled, the words ripping out of him as if they hurt. “And you are one mistake away from ending up in a body bag. Do you want that?”
“No!” Her tears finally spilled. “I want freedom—just a little—just the ability to walk without fearing someone will chain or shoot or torture me! I can’t—Damian, I can’t breathe like this.”
“Good.” His grip tightened. “Maybe if breathing hurts, you’ll stop running into death.”
Her knees buckled, and she grabbed at his wrist, not to escape—but because something inside her broke.
“I’m suffocating,” she whispered, voice trembling violently. “Not from the danger. From you.”
Those words hit him like a bullet.
Damian’s eyes widened—only for a fractured second—and then something inside him snapped. He slammed his palm onto the biometric scanner built into the side of his desk. The collar around Aria’s throat beeped, lights flashing.
“What—what did you just do?” she begged, grabbing at the metal.
Damian didn’t look away.
His voice dropped to a dead, terrifying softness.
“I limited your movement to two floors. You leave those floors, that collar will put you on your knees before you take three steps.”
Aria’s scream tore through the office. “Damian—why—why would you do this?!”
“Because I’m done burying people!” he roared, voice cracking, hands shaking. “I’m done watching everything I care about get carved out of my life!”
Aria froze.
Everything he cares about.
The words echoed between them like gunfire.
Damian swallowed thickly, chest heaving. The fury in his eyes fractured into something raw and unguarded—fear so deep it felt ancient.
“I’m trying to keep you alive, damn you,” he whispered, voice hoarse, breaking. “Even if it means chaining you to hell itself.”
Aria sank to the floor, sobbing, the collar warm and merciless against her throat.
Damian turned away sharply—but his hands, his lethal steady hands, were still shaking.
And for a moment he looked like a man standing over the edge of something he could never undo.