The photograph arrived without warning.
No message.
No signature.
Just an image that detonated every nerve in Damian Wolfe’s body.
Aria—sleeping in his bed.
Her hair spilled over his pillow, her lips slightly parted, her face turned toward the side where he always sat during his insomnia-ridden nights. The blanket was pulled to her waist, exposing the collar that no longer held a chain but still held his sanity hostage.
Damian stared at the image until the room around him vanished. Until his breathing turned shallow. Until the gun in his hand trembled.
Jaxon hovered in the doorway, voice low and careful.
“Boss… you need to—”
Damian didn’t let him finish.
He threw the phone across the room with such force it cracked against the glass wall.
Aria startled from the sound, lifting her head from the paperwork she was sorting on the far end of the office.
“Damian? What’s wrong?”
Wrong.
Everything was wrong.
The world was wrong.
The Syndicate was wrong.
And she—sleeping in his bed, vulnerable, exposed to someone close enough to photograph her—was the worst wrong of all.
His voice came out strangled with fury.
“Who took that picture?”
Aria blinked in confusion. “What picture?”
Damian didn’t explain.
He couldn’t.
The rage building inside him was not meant for words. It was meant for blood.
He stalked toward her, each step tight with violence, each breath a thread unraveling. Aria rose instinctively, backing up until her hips hit the desk.
“Damian, talk to me—”
“Someone was in my penthouse,” he snarled, grabbing the edge of the desk so hard it groaned under his fingers. “Someone was close enough to you while you slept that they could touch your hair. Someone who wants me to know that they were there.”
Her eyes widened. Fear flickered across her face—not fear of him, but fear of what that meant. “How? How did they get inside?”
“Because,” he hissed, “someone in my circle let them.”
Aria looked toward Jaxon, but the man was already stepping back, jaw clenched, hurt and fury battling in his eyes.
“You think it was me?” Jaxon snapped. “After everything? After years of loyalty?”
Damian’s glare was cold as steel. “I think someone betrayed me. And you were in charge of her floor last night.”
Blood drained from Jaxon’s face.
“Damian, don’t do this. Don’t turn this into—”
But the kingpin was already past the point of reason.
Aria’s voice rose, trembling.
“Stop it—both of you. No one here would hurt me.”
Damian rounded on her so fast she gasped.
“You don’t know that,” he growled, grabbing her wrist, pulling her close enough that she could feel his breath crash against her skin. “You don’t understand how many enemies you have. How many people want you dead. How many people want to use you.”
“I’m not a child—”
“Then stop acting like one.”
The words cut deep. She recoiled as if slapped.
Damian saw it—felt it—and instead of softening, his anger consumed him whole.
“You don’t get to roam the tower freely,” he continued, voice tightening. “Not when someone was standing over you in the dark. Not when Sabrina is out there, watching, waiting. Not when I don’t know who the traitor is.”
Aria pushed at his chest, furious.
“I’m not property. You can’t lock me up every time you panic.”
He grabbed her jaw, forcing her to look at him.
“It’s not panic,” he growled. “It’s strategy.”
“That’s not strategy,” she shot back. “That’s fear.”
For one split second, the world stopped.
Damian’s grip loosened.
His pupils blew wide.
Fear.
She had said fear. She had seen it. She had named it. His voice dropped so low she almost didn’t hear it.
“You think I fear?”
She swallowed. “You fear losing control. You fear losing me.”
The truth cracked him open like a blade.
Jaxon took one step backward.
“Boss… I should leave.”
Damian didn’t even look at him.
“Get out.”
Jaxon hesitated only a second before slipping out, the door closing on a silence that felt explosive.
Aria tried to step away.
Damian stopped her with a hand around her waist, dragging her back with a roughness that wasn’t meant to hurt but to keep her anchored.
“Damian—”
“No.” His voice was shaking. Actually shaking. “You don’t walk away from me right now. You don’t get to walk away from this.”
Her breath hitched. “I’m not walking away.”
“You were listening,” he accused, voice low, dangerous, intimate. “You heard me accuse Jaxon. You heard him blame you.”
“I wasn’t trying to—”
“Who do you trust?” Damian demanded. “Me or the world outside those doors?”
She stared at him, torn in half.
“Damian… I don’t know anymore.”
Something inside him cracked. Not loud. Not visible. Not even violent.
Worse. A quiet break. The kind that changes everything.
His grip on her waist tightened. His chest rose and fell too fast. His eyes—those ruthless, unflinching eyes—looked suddenly, devastatingly human.
“You don’t know?” he rasped.
Aria shook, struggling to breathe. “You keep me trapped. You threaten me. You protect me. You kiss me. You confuse me. I don’t know what you want from me.”
Damian’s jaw clenched so tightly the muscle jumped.
“I want you alive.”
“Alive isn’t enough,” she whispered. “Not when you’re the one killing me slowly.”
His breath stopped.
She stepped closer, touching his hand where it gripped her hip.
He froze as if her touch could burn through bone.
“Damian…” she whispered. “Talk to me.”
He didn’t.
He couldn’t.
Instead, he dragged her toward the elevator, motion so sudden she stumbled.
“Damian, stop—what are you—”
“You’re done working here today,” he said, voice rough and low. “You’re done walking these floors where anyone can watch you. You’re done being exposed.”
“Damian, please—”
“I’m taking you upstairs.”
She shoved at him, fury sparking.
“I am not your prisoner!”
He stopped walking.
The air thickened.
His hand slammed against the elevator wall beside her head, trapping her with his body.
“You’re right,” he whispered, forehead nearly touching hers. “You’re not a prisoner.”
His thumb brushed her lower lip.
Her breath stopped.
“You’re mine.”
Her knees weakened.
Her pulse stuttered.
Something inside her broke and rebuilt in the same heartbeat.
Damian leaned closer, voice barely a breath.
“And I will not lose you to Sabrina, to the Syndicate, or to your own stupidity.”
Aria trembled, voice cracking.
“Damian… I can’t live like this.”
He closed his eyes, fighting something brutal inside himself.
“You won’t. I’ll fix this. I’ll fix everything.”
“By locking me away?”
“Yes,” he whispered. “If it keeps you breathing.”
The elevator doors slid open.
Damian didn’t wait.
He pulled her inside, hit the penthouse button, and held her against him the entire way up—as if letting her go for even one second would kill him.
And maybe it would.