Aria felt Damian’s presence long after he left the room.
His scent—dark cedar, smoke, cold steel—clung to the sheets like a bruise she couldn’t wash off. The fever had broken hours ago, but the memory of his hands on her skin remained: steady, angry, unwillingly gentle.
She lay still, staring at the ceiling, trying to understand why the man who hated her enough to cage her would spend a night forcing ice water down her throat to keep her alive.
She pressed a palm over the collar, feeling its faint pulse. Damian had adjusted it before leaving, muttering something about “malfunction protocols.” A man who despised her shouldn’t know how to adjust her collar at all.
But someone else understood perfectly.
That afternoon, the parking garage echoed cold and empty except for the humming lights above and Aria’s soft footsteps. She was returning files to the lower archives when a shadow cut across her path.
A hand slammed her against a pillar. A blade kissed her ribs—sharp, cold, close enough that she felt its promise.
Sabrina Knox stood in front of her, beauty sculpted like a weapon. Her smile stretched slow, cruel, deliberate. The knife glinted between them like a secret Sabrina wanted her to bleed for.
“You’re making him weak,” Sabrina whispered. Her voice dripped venom, sweetness twisted into threat.
Aria’s breath hitched. She didn’t dare move—not with the blade pressing harder each second. “He hates me,” she said softly, confused and trembling.
Sabrina’s eyes gleamed. “Exactly, sweetheart. And you’re ruining it.”
The knife pressed deeper, grazing skin. Sabrina leaned in until Aria could smell her perfume—dark jasmine, expensive, predatory. “Do you know what you did wrong?”
Aria managed a fragile whisper. “What did I do?”
“You didn’t die when you were supposed to.”
Aria’s knees weakened. Fear tightened around her ribs. Her father’s enemies had hunted her, but Sabrina’s hatred felt more personal, more vicious, more intimate.
Sabrina’s lips brushed Aria’s ear as she hissed, “He saved you last night. Carried you. Stayed with you. He was furious about it. Furious at himself. And that—” her voice sharpened to a deadly edge “—is unforgivable.”
Aria’s pulse roared in her ears. “I didn’t ask him to.”
“That’s the problem,” Sabrina said, smile widening. “He did it anyway.”
Before the knife could sink deeper, a presence cut through the shadows.
Jaxon Reed—Damian’s second-in-command—stepped out of the darkness with a gun drawn and eyes like carved stone. His voice came out cold enough to freeze the air.
“Step away from her. Now.”
Sabrina didn’t flinch. She smirked, dragging the blade a final inch across Aria’s ribs—just enough to make her gasp—before withdrawing it fully and stepping back into the shadows as though she’d never been there.
“You’re getting sloppy, Reed,” she teased. “He won’t like that.”
Jaxon didn’t lower his gun until she vanished around the corner. Then he turned to Aria, eyes softer but still wary. “Come on,” he said quietly. “We need to get you upstairs before someone else decides to test boundaries.”
Aria followed him, shaking, one hand pressed to her ribs where the knife had grazed her skin.
Every step hurt, but not as much as the realization that Damian’s world was devouring itself around her—and she was the match he’d thrown into a gasoline pool.
Hours later, Wolfe Tower erupted with sound—doors slamming, glass trembling, a voice sharp enough to cut steel.
Damian stormed into Sabrina’s private suite like a hurricane carved in human form. Before she could turn, he seized her by the throat and slammed her against the wall hard enough that a painting crashed to the floor.
“You touched her,” Damian growled. His eyes burned—not with warmth, but with fury so violent it trembled through his entire body. His grip tightened. “After I told you she was off-limits, you still touched her.”
Sabrina laughed breathlessly, though her feet dangled an inch above the ground. She clawed at his wrist but didn’t fight him. She leaned into the violence like it was foreplay.
“You’re unraveling,” she whispered. “Look at you. Angry over a girl you despise. Don’t you see it? She’s ruining you.”
Damian shoved her harder, pinning her so tightly she couldn’t inhale fully. “No,” he snarled. “You’re crossing lines that even you don’t get to cross.”
Sabrina’s voice turned soft, poisonous. “You hate her, Damian. That’s the only reason she matters to you. Hate is the only thing that motivates you anymore. I’m helping you stay focused.”
“You don’t help me,” Damian spat. “You obey me. And you don’t get to touch what I claim.”
Sabrina’s eyes widened—not in fear, but in possessive rage. “Claim?” she whispered. “She is Navarro’s spoiled daughter. He built his empire on your bones. She should have died with him.”
Damian leaned in, his breath cold against her cheek.
“Don’t confuse this for compassion. I’m not protecting her because she matters.” His voice dropped to that low, lethal whisper that terrified the entire Syndicate. “I’m protecting her because she’s mine to break. Mine to use. Mine to punish. Not yours.”
Sabrina swallowed, trembling—not with fear, but with furious heartbreak. “She’ll destroy you,” she whispered. “Piece by piece. You don’t even see it.”
Damian released her throat so suddenly she slid down the wall, coughing. He stepped back, but his eyes were still burning, still unsteady with a rage he hadn’t intended to feel.
“That girl,” he said with blistering hatred, “is the only person I despise enough to drag back from the edge just so I can throw her off again myself.”
Sabrina wiped blood from her lip and stared up at him with a wild, broken expression. “Then why did you save her last night? Why did you carry her to your bed instead of letting Rina step over her body in the hall? Why did you stay awake like a man guarding something precious?”
Damian’s jaw clenched. His nostrils flared. His body went still. He didn’t answer—not because he didn’t have one, but because he refused to admit it.
Sabrina’s voice broke with something raw. “See?” she whispered. “She’s already destroying you.”