Part 3: The Office Confrontation
The glass tower of Blackwood Enterprises sliced into the sky like a blade.
Aria had seen it a hundred times from afar—its mirrored walls, its air of silent power—but standing in its lobby now, she felt small for the first time in her life. The marble floors reflected her every nervous step; the receptionist's polite smile didn't reach her eyes.
"Miss Bennett?" the woman asked. "Mr. Blackwood is expecting you."
Aria nodded stiffly and followed the assistant toward the private elevator. Her palms were cold despite the heat outside. She told herself she wasn't here because she wanted to be—she was here because she had no choice.
The headlines had done enough damage already: Runaway Groom Scandal Rocks Bennett–Blackwood Alliance.
Suppliers had started to pull out, investors had gone silent. The family business her father had spent decades building was collapsing, and everyone knew it.
The elevator doors slid open to the top floor.
Damian's office was vast and minimal—steel, glass, and quiet authority. Behind a desk that seemed carved from obsidian, Damian Blackwood didn't even look up as she entered.
For a moment Aria stood frozen, half-expecting to see the man from that night—the one whose eyes had softened for a second before he walked away. But this Damian was all control, every movement precise, his suit immaculate, his gaze fixed on the files in front of him.
"Sit," he said, voice clipped.
No greeting. No trace of warmth.
Aria sat, clutching her bag on her lap like a shield. The silence stretched until she finally spoke.
"You asked to see me."
"I did," Damian said, setting a document aside. "I assume you've read the news."
Her jaw tightened. "Everyone has."
"Then you know the merger between our companies is void."
"I'm aware."
He leaned back, folding his hands. "What you may not know is that the Bennett Group owes my family's firm nearly twenty million dollars in pending contracts. Your fiancé's disappearance—" he paused, almost with distaste at the word "—terminated the protection clause that would have absorbed that debt."
Aria's throat went dry. "You're saying—"
"I'm saying your company is bankrupt unless someone steps in."
The words hit like a slap. She blinked, searching his face for some sign of empathy, but there was none. Only calm calculation.
"My father built that company from nothing," she whispered. "You can't just—"
"I'm not doing anything, Miss Bennett. Numbers are." He tapped the desk once, and the screen behind him came alive with figures, graphs plunging down like wounds. "You have two weeks before your creditors seize the assets."
She stared at the falling lines. For a heartbeat she couldn't breathe.
"You called me here just to gloat?" she asked, forcing the tremor out of her voice.
"Gloat?" A faint curve touched his lips, almost humorless. "No. I called you because you're still useful."
"Useful?"
Damian rose, and the temperature in the room seemed to drop. He walked to the window, looking out over the city. "Your family name still carries value. The board is uneasy about the scandal, and they need a narrative that repairs the damage Ethan caused."
Her pulse quickened. "What kind of narrative?"
He turned back to her, eyes hard as slate. "One that ends the rumors and stabilizes the market. A marriage alliance still achieves that."
She stared at him, realizing what he was implying. "You can't possibly mean—"
"I can, and I do."
Her chair scraped the floor as she stood. "After everything that happened? After you humiliated me in front of everyone?"
"You think I enjoyed that spectacle?" His tone didn't rise, but something in his eyes flickered—a trace of the man who'd walked away that night. "I cleaned up your family's disaster, Miss Bennett. You're in no position to moralize."
She took a shaky breath. "So this is business to you. A transaction."
"It was always business," Damian said softly. "Ethan just made the mistake of confusing it with love."
The silence that followed was heavy. Aria looked down, trying to mask the sting in her chest.
He circled back to his desk and pressed a button. A new document appeared on the screen—formal, legal, terrifying in its simplicity.
A contract marriage.
Her voice barely rose above a whisper. "You planned this."
"I prepared for contingencies," he corrected. "If we go through with this, your company survives, the shareholders calm down, and the scandal dies. In return, you'll keep up appearances for one year. After that, we part ways."
"And if I refuse?"
Damian met her eyes, unblinking. "Then you lose everything. Your family, your home, your reputation."
For a long moment neither moved. The hum of the city outside filled the silence.
Aria's fingers curled around the edge of the chair. "You think I'd marry you out of desperation?"
"I think," he said quietly, "you will do whatever it takes to protect your father's legacy."
The truth of it hit too close.
She turned away, pacing to the window. Below them, the city shimmered—cold glass, indifferent light. Somewhere down there, reporters were probably still feeding on her humiliation.
Her voice was steady when she finally spoke. "And what about you, Damian? What do you get out of this convenient arrangement?"
He hesitated a fraction of a second before replying. "Control. Stability. The Blackwood name intact."
Nothing more.
She almost laughed—bitter, sharp. "You could have any woman sign your papers and pose for photographs. Why me?"
"Because you already belong to this mess," he said. "And because you owe me."
"I don't owe you anything."
"Don't you?" His gaze sharpened. "You wore my ring once—even if it was meant for someone else. The public already associates us. I'm offering you a way to rewrite that story."
Her chest tightened. "Rewrite it into what? A lie?"
"All marriages start with one," he said.
The morning sun bled through the tall glass windows of the Blackwood Empire Tower, scattering gold across Damian's office — a fortress of glass, steel, and restrained luxury. Everything in the space was as he was: sharp, precise, and calculated.
The air hummed quietly with the low whirr of the city far below. Damian stood by the window, suit immaculate, one hand in his pocket, the other holding a cup of coffee that had long gone cold. He hadn't slept. Not properly. Every time he closed his eyes, he saw her.
Her trembling lips.
Her defiance.
Her scent that lingered on his skin even after the shower.
Damian exhaled slowly, jaw tightening. Fool. He had built empires, destroyed rivals, and walked through fire to stay in control. Yet one woman — one stubborn, infuriating woman — was enough to crack the edges of that discipline.
"Sir?"
Lena, his assistant, hovered at the door. Efficient as always, she held a tablet close to her chest. "The board meeting is at ten. The partners from Lyon called to confirm lunch, and the legal team sent over the contract revisions you requested."
He turned slightly, voice clipped. "Put them on my desk."
She nodded, stepping forward to leave the files, her gaze flicking up briefly. She hesitated. "Also… Miss Aria called earlier. She asked if—"
"Block her number." His voice cut through the air, hard and low. "And make sure she doesn't call again."
Lena froze for a fraction of a second. She'd seen that tone before — the one that warned her not to push further. But she still nodded. "Understood."
When she left, silence crept back into the room, thick and suffocating.
Damian dropped into his chair, flipping open a file. But the words blurred into meaningless lines. Every sound outside — footsteps, a phone ringing, papers shuffling — grated on his nerves. He wasn't angry at her, not really. He was angry at himself.
You shouldn't have gone there.
You shouldn't have touched her.
You shouldn't have cared.
The door opened again without a knock.
"Mr. Blackwood—"
Lena's voice faltered, and then he saw her.
Aria.
She stood in the doorway, small against the vast glass and steel, but somehow she owned the space the moment she stepped in. Her hair was loose, cascading over her shoulders, her dress simple but elegant — and her eyes… they burned.
Lena stammered, "I tried to stop her, but—"
"It's fine." Damian's voice dropped to a cold calm. "Leave us."
The door closed behind them, sealing the tension in.
Aria's heels clicked softly against the marble as she approached, chin high. "Blocking my number? That's your grand solution?"
He leaned back in his chair, fingers steepled under his chin. "You shouldn't be here."
"Neither should you last night," she shot back.
For a moment, the only sound was the faint hum of the city below.
Damian's gaze swept over her — the dark circles under her eyes, the faint tremor in her voice she tried to hide. She looked tired, hurt, but still fierce. He hated how much that drew him in.
"I made a mistake," he said finally.
Her jaw tightened. "That's what you call it? A mistake?"
"Yes," he said evenly. "And one I don't intend to repeat."
Aria's laugh was short, bitter. "Of course not. You always get to decide what happens, don't you? You pull the strings, control the terms, even when it comes to me."
He stood abruptly, his chair sliding back. "Because control is the only thing that keeps people alive in my world, Aria. Without it, you drown."
She met his gaze without flinching. "Maybe you already have."
That hit harder than he expected.
He took a step closer, then another. "You don't know what you're talking about."
"I think I do." Her voice softened, eyes glinting with emotion. "You walk around acting like nothing touches you, but last night—"
"Stop."
"Last night wasn't just control. It wasn't business. It wasn't cold." Her voice trembled but didn't break. "You cared. And that terrifies you."
He stared at her, his pulse unsteady — something he hadn't felt in years. The memory of her body pressed against his, the way she'd looked at him — not with fear, but with something dangerously close to understanding — flashed through him.
He turned away, striding to the window. "You think caring is a luxury I can afford? You think I haven't learned what that costs?"
Aria followed, quiet but firm. "Then maybe you're the coward here, not me."
He laughed under his breath — low, dark, humorless. "You're playing with fire."
"Maybe I already burned," she whispered.
Silence again. Electric. Heavy.
He turned back to face her, and for the first time, the mask cracked. Just a little.
"Why are you here, Aria?"
"Because I'm tired," she admitted. "Tired of being told what's best for me. Tired of being treated like I don't have a say in my own life. You made me feel—" She stopped, shaking her head. "You made me feel alive again. And now you want to erase it like it meant nothing?"
His throat tightened. He wanted to tell her it wasn't nothing — that every second of it haunted him — but he couldn't.
"Go home," he said finally, his voice quieter now. "Before this becomes something neither of us can undo."
She stared at him for a long time, eyes shimmering with a mix of anger and heartbreak. "It already is."
She turned to leave, but his hand shot out, grabbing her wrist before he could stop himself.
Her breath hitched.
"Damian," she whispered.
He released her instantly, like her skin burned him. "Don't come here again."
Aria's lips parted — maybe to argue, maybe to confess — but she only nodded, swallowing hard. She walked out, head high, not looking back once.
When the door clicked shut, Damian pressed his palms to his desk, his control splintering. Papers fluttered under the force of his exhale.
From the corner of the room, the city stretched endlessly beneath him — full of power, noise, and ambition — but for the first time, it all felt hollow.
He sank into his chair, staring at the faint mark her hand had left on his wrist, like her touch had branded him.
He'd told himself he could forget her. That what happened was a slip — a weakness to be buried.
But as her scent lingered in the air, Damian knew the truth.
He wasn't angry because she came to his office.
He was angry because part of him had wanted her to.