Henry held her tightly, feeling the tremors of her sobs against his chest. For a long moment, neither spoke. Only the muffled sound of Aria's broken breaths filled the room. Slowly, her crying quieted, though her eyes remained swollen and red.
Henry leaned back, his hands gently framing her face. "Aria," he whispered, voice softer than she'd ever heard from him. "You're safe now. With me. No one will touch you here."
Her lips trembled, but no words came out.
He stood and crossed the room, pouring a glass of water from the crystal decanter on the side table. Returning, he knelt before her and held it out. "Drink. Just a little."
Her hands shook as she accepted it. The cool water eased the dryness in her throat, though her heart still hammered painfully.
"Better?" Henry asked.
She gave the faintest nod.
"Good." He brushed a strand of hair from her damp cheek. "Darcy isn't here today, so… it's on me. I'll take care of you."
The way he said it carried no arrogance, no demand — just a quiet promise. Aria stared at him, lost, as though trying to decide whether to believe in that promise.
Henry rose, loosened his tie, and disappeared into the kitchen. Minutes later, the faint sound of pans and chopping reached her ears. The thought of him cooking for her — Henry Lannister, who had always seemed untouchable, self-sufficient, almost proud to the point of cruelty — felt surreal.
When he returned, he carried a small tray: a bowl of soup, bread, and a bit of fruit. He set it gently on the low table in front of her.
"You should eat something," he said quietly.
Aria shook her head, murmuring, "I'm not hungry."
"You don't have to be," Henry replied. "But your body needs it. Just a few bites."
His insistence was steady, not forceful. Something in his tone made her pick up the spoon and take a hesitant sip. The warmth of the soup slid down her throat, grounding her. Henry watched, relief flickering across his face when she took another.
When she had eaten enough to ease his concern, he finally spoke again. His eyes fell to her arm. The sleeve of her blouse had slipped back, revealing the angry purple bruise on her skin. His jaw tightened.
"Aria," he said slowly, carefully. "Tell me how this happened."
She froze, the spoon halfway to the bowl.
He leaned closer, voice sharper. "Who did this to you? Don't tell me it was an accident. I saw the way you flinched."
Her lips parted. She wanted to deny it, to hide the truth, but the look in his eyes — fierce, protective, unyielding — undid her.
"My father," she whispered.
The words cracked in the air like glass shattering.
Henry stilled, his hand curling into a fist. His breathing grew heavy. "He hurt you? Your own father?"
Tears welled again in her eyes. She nodded, lowering her gaze.
"I can't—" Henry broke off, standing abruptly and pacing the room. His hands raked through his hair, his body taut with restrained fury. "I swear, if he ever comes near you again—" He stopped, exhaling sharply. Then he turned back, kneeling once more before her. His hand touched her uninjured arm gently. "Why didn't you tell me sooner?"
"Because it doesn't matter," Aria said softly, her voice hoarse.
Henry's eyes burned into hers. "It matters to me."
Her shoulders sagged, and at last, the dam within her broke.
"They've never cared about me," she whispered. "Not once. My whole life, I was raised for this marriage. For the family name. Every lesson, every rule, every word was about being the perfect, obedient daughter who would marry well. It wasn't about who I was. It was about what I was worth to them."
Henry's brows furrowed, confusion mingling with disbelief.
Aria's voice cracked as she went on. "I was never allowed to dream for myself. They said friends were distractions, so I grew up alone. They said emotions were weakness, so I swallowed mine until they suffocated me. I did everything they asked. Every expectation. Every demand. And still—still it's never enough. My life has never been mine."
Henry stared at her, words momentarily failing him.
Aria drew a shuddering breath. "The only thing that belonged to me was skating. Ice was the only place I felt alive. Free. But then the injury… it ended everything. And I… I had nothing left. Not even myself."
Her tears streamed freely now. "So when they told me about marrying you… I thought maybe, just maybe, it wouldn't be so bad. Maybe you'd see me. Maybe we could make something real out of this arrangement. Maybe I could find… happiness."
Henry flinched, as though her words cut deeper than he expected. "You… wanted this marriage?"
"I wanted you," Aria whispered.
For a long heartbeat, silence reigned. Henry's chest tightened painfully.
"That's not what I thought," he admitted at last, his voice rough. "I believed you wanted my name, my wealth, my influence. From the start, your family demanded money, favors, deals. They tried to manipulate me at every turn. And you—" He hesitated, struggling. "You offered yourself, even when I told you this wasn't real. I thought you were desperate to secure me."
Her eyes widened, stung by the misunderstanding. "No. I wasn't trying to trap you, Henry. I was trying to hold onto the only person left in my life who might stay. The only one who might… choose me."
Henry's throat worked as he swallowed hard.
"I didn't want a stranger's fortune," Aria whispered. "I wanted to believe we could build something. That you might be different from them."
Her words hung between them, fragile yet unyielding.
Henry exhaled slowly, dragging a hand over his face. "God. All this time… I misjudged you."
Aria's lips curved in a bitter, broken smile. "Everyone does."
The heaviness in the room deepened. Henry reached forward, taking her hand carefully. His thumb brushed the back of it, tentative but steady.
"I don't know what to say," he murmured. "But I do know this: you're not alone anymore. Not while I'm here. And if your family thinks they can keep hurting you—" His voice hardened. "They're wrong."
Aria blinked at him through her tears, stunned by the quiet ferocity in his tone.
"You really mean that?" she asked.
"I've never meant anything more," Henry replied firmly.
Something in her chest cracked open, raw and aching, but also lighter. For the first time in years, she felt like someone had truly heard her.