Continuation of Sabrina’s attack scene
The concrete stairwell spun around Aria as she stumbled upward, one hand pressed desperately against the bleeding slash on her arm. Blood soaked through her fingers, warm and slick, dripping onto each cold step like a breadcrumb trail leading straight to death. Her breath broke in sharp, panicked bursts.
Sabrina’s laughter echoed behind her — unhinged, triumphant, echoing like a ghost in the dark.
“Run, little Navarro,” she sang. “Let’s see how fast your monster comes.”
Aria pushed herself harder. Her legs buckled. Her vision blurred until the world turned into streaks of gray and red. She tripped on the top step and crashed into the metal landing door, gasping in agony.
Her trembling hand slapped the handle.
Locked.
“No—no—please—”
Her throat tightened. The walls felt like they were shrinking around her. She slid down the door, knees folding beneath her, breath coming in quick whimpers. Blood dripped from her arm, pooling on the floor.
That was when she heard it.
Footsteps.
Not Sabrina’s heels.
Heavier. Faster. Violent in their urgency.
“Aria!”
Damian’s voice — raw, frayed, breaking.
Aria lifted her head just as the metal door was ripped open from the other side. Damian nearly tore it off its hinges. His suit jacket was gone. His shirt was half unbuttoned, torn like he sprinted through hell to reach her. His chest was rising and falling with savage desperation.
The moment he saw her on the floor — injured, shaking, bleeding — something inside him shattered.
“Aria—”
He dropped to his knees in front of her so fast the impact shook the landing. His hands gripped her shoulders, scanning her body with frantic eyes.
“Look at me.”
His voice cracked.
“Look at me—where are you hurt?”
She tried to answer, but her voice failed. Instead, she lifted her trembling, blood-covered hand.
Damian saw the wound.
And lost what was left of his control.
“Who did this to you?”
His whisper was low.
Deadly.
Inhuman.
Aria’s lips parted. “S-Sabrina—”
Damian’s entire body went still.
Not stiff — frozen.
As if someone had carved the air around him into ice.
He reached for Aria’s injured arm, hands shaking. “Hold pressure. Hard. Don’t faint, Aria—don’t you f**king faint on me.”
Her vision flickered, but she fought to stay conscious.
Because Damian looked shaken and terrified — and she had never seen him like this.
Ever.
He scooped her into his arms with a violence born of desperation, gripping her as if she were slipping through his fingers. Aria clung weakly to his shirt, smearing blood across the fabric. Damian’s breath hitched at the sight of her blood on him.
He whispered, voice breaking,
“I got you. I got you. I’m here.”
Then his head whipped toward the shadows at the bottom of the stairs.
Sabrina wasn’t visible.
But Damian smelled the blood.
He smelled the rage.
He smelled Aria’s fear.
He pressed his forehead to Aria’s for half a second — a grounding, trembling gesture.
“I swear on every grave Navarro ever filled,” Damian whispered, voice a dangerous whisper, “I will make her beg for death.”
Aria shook her head weakly. “Don’t… kill her. Damian, please—”
His grip tightened.
His jaw clenched.
His voice came out hoarse, almost broken.
“She cut you.”
“She wanted you dead.”
“She made you bleed.”
His eyes burned, molten with fury.
“No one touches you. No one. Not ever again.”
She winced, and Damian immediately shifted her weight carefully in his arms, adjusting her so he wouldn’t jostle her injury.
He carried her up the stairs, moving fast but gentle. Every step was fueled by terror — not anger. Not hatred.
Fear.
Raw, feral fear that he’d almost lost her.
When they burst out of the stairwell and into the abandoned gallery hallway, Jaxon and three guards were already scanning the area.
The moment they saw blood dripping down Damian’s arm, their eyes widened.
“Sir—what happened—?”
Damian didn’t stop walking. His voice sliced through the air like a blade.
“Shut down every exit. Sabrina Knox is in the building. Shoot on sight.”
Jaxon paled. “Damian—”
“I said shoot on sight.”
Aria shook her head weakly. “No—don’t kill her—”
Damian looked down at her, eyes storming.
“She tried to kill you.”
“She wanted you dead.”
“She wanted me broken.”
Aria closed her eyes in pain. Damian cursed under his breath and adjusted his grip again, trying to keep her conscious.
When they reached the private elevator, Damian pressed his palm to the scanner. The doors closed instantly. He sank to the floor of the elevator with her still in his arms, refusing to let go.
His forehead brushed her temple.
His voice was trembling.
“You scared me,” he whispered.
“You really f**king scared me.”
Aria felt tears slip down her cheeks. “I—didn’t mean to—”
He stopped her with a gentle thumb against her lips to silence the apology.
“Don’t,” he breathed.
“Just—don’t talk right now.”
She rested her head against his chest. She could hear his heartbeat — violent, frantic, terrified.
He wasn’t angry.
He wasn’t hateful.
He wasn’t cold.
Damian Wolfe was terrified.
The doors opened at the top floor. Damian stood, lifting her effortlessly again. He carried her into his suite, kicking the door shut with enough force to shake the frames on the walls.
He laid her on the couch, dropping to his knees beside her, hands frantic and tender and shaking all at once.
“Stay awake, Aria.”
Her vision blurred.
Her body slumped.
Her breath slowed.
“Aria—!”
His voice cracked — truly cracked — like a man begging.
Her eyes fluttered open just enough to see him.
His face — beautiful, furious, terrified — hovered inches above hers.
“Don’t you dare leave me,” he whispered.
And then everything went black.