Darius's hand clamped around Aria's arm as he drew her back into the mansion, his expression carved from stone. He didn't speak until they were deep in the hall, far from the curious eyes of the ballroom.
"Who was he?" Aria asked, her voice taut.
Darius didn't answer right away. He poured a glass of whiskey, swallowed it in a single pull, and set the glass down hard enough to rattle.
"Someone who thinks fear is a weapon," he said finally.
"Then why did his words feel more like a truth than a threat?" she shot back.
His gaze snapped to her. For a moment, she saw it — the edge beneath the charm, the warlord buried under the businessman. "Because truth and threat are the same in my world."
Her breath caught. "Your world… the one you've kept me locked out of."
"You wanted the marriage," he said. "But the vows didn't include the ledger of enemies I've bled to keep at bay."
Aria's chest tightened. "So there is a ledger. Names. People you've wronged."
"People I've survived," Darius corrected, voice low. "And survival has a cost. They'd rather see me on my knees. Now they see you at my side, and that makes you leverage."
The weight of his words pressed down on her, heavy and inescapable. "Then why bring me into this? Why marry me at all if it meant putting me in the crosshairs?"
For the first time, Darius looked… unsure. His jaw worked, eyes shadowed. "Because I thought I could shield you." He turned away, shoulders tense. "But maybe Rafael was right. Maybe I can't."
Aria stood there, pulse unsteady, the ground shifting beneath her feet. The ballroom noise seeped faintly through the walls — laughter, music, the illusion of safety. And yet, she felt the claws of something unseen tightening around both of them.
She realized then: whatever she had stepped into wasn't just a marriage. It was a war.