Chapter 2 – Part 5: The Line Between Them
The steady hum of the city faded as the glass doors of Blackwood Enterprises slid shut behind her. Aria followed Damian into his office, the echo of her heels swallowed by the silence. The place looked like him — sleek, dark, and immaculate. Floor-to-ceiling windows framed the skyline, while his desk sat like a throne at the center of it all.
Damian loosened his tie, his movements sharp but deliberate. "Sit," he said quietly, not looking at her.
She hesitated before taking the chair opposite his desk, her pulse racing.
"Why did you come here, Aria?" His voice was low, almost weary, as he dropped into his chair and leaned back.
Her lips parted, but no sound came out. She didn't know anymore. She wasn't even sure why she'd walked into his building — maybe to apologize, maybe to understand why every time she closed her eyes, she saw him instead of Ethan.
"You shouldn't have followed me last night," Damian said finally, breaking the silence. His eyes flicked up to meet hers — cold, guarded, but something burned beneath that ice.
"I didn't follow you," she whispered. "I just… needed to see you."
He exhaled, rubbing a hand over his jaw. "That's worse."
Her brow furrowed. "Why?"
"Because it means I'm not the only one losing control."
The words hung between them, heavy and electric. Aria looked down at her hands, her chest tightening.
"Damian…" she began softly.
He stood suddenly, walking to the window. His reflection looked back at him — powerful, untouchable — but his voice betrayed him when he spoke. "I told myself last night was a mistake. That it would never happen again."
Aria's throat felt dry. "Was it?"
He turned to her, eyes dark. "Yes. Because you're not mine to want."
The truth stung, sharp and cruel. She tried to stand, but her knees felt weak. "You're right," she murmured. "I shouldn't have come."
She started for the door, but his voice stopped her.
"Aria."
It wasn't a command this time. It was a plea.
She turned, slowly. Damian was still by the window, his hands clenched at his sides.
"Do you think I don't want to?" he said hoarsely. "Every time I see you, I have to remind myself why I can't. That you deserve better than this — better than me."
Her heart thudded painfully. "Then stop pretending you don't feel it."
His gaze locked onto hers — fierce, unguarded, raw. "You think it's that easy? You think I can just stop?"
"Then why push me away?"
"Because I'll ruin you," he snapped, voice rising before softening again. "And I won't do that to you."
The silence that followed was unbearable. Aria's breath trembled as she took a step closer. "You already have," she whispered.
Damian's jaw tightened. His restraint was slipping, thread by thread. She was too close now — close enough that he could smell her perfume, faint and familiar. Close enough that if he reached out, he could destroy the fragile wall between them.
"Aria," he warned.
But she didn't stop. "Tell me to go, and I will," she said, voice trembling. "Look me in the eye and say it doesn't matter."
He couldn't.
Because it did.
Every moment with her was something he wasn't supposed to want — but couldn't live without.
He moved before he could think, closing the distance between them. His hand caught her wrist, his touch firm but shaking slightly. "You don't know what you're doing," he murmured.
Her eyes met his, wide and wet. "Maybe I do."
For a second, the world outside the glass vanished. There was only the sound of their breathing, the weight of everything unsaid.
Then Damian stepped back, releasing her hand like it burned. "Get out."
The words cut through the air, sharp and final.
Aria's lips parted in disbelief. "What?"
"I said get out." His voice was low again, but the calmness in it was worse than anger. "Before I forget every reason I shouldn't touch you."
She swallowed hard, her eyes glistening. "You already did."
He didn't move. Didn't breathe.
Then she turned and walked to the door, her heels echoing through the office.
When the door clicked shut behind her, the silence crashed down like a wave. Damian stood there, his chest rising and falling unevenly, staring at the spot where she'd been.
He pressed a hand against the window, his reflection fractured against the city lights. "What the hell are you doing to me, Aria?" he muttered under his breath.
In the hallway, Aria stopped walking. She leaned against the wall, blinking back tears she didn't want to shed. She had walked into that office thinking she could handle him — that she could bury what she felt.
But she was wrong.
Because every time he pushed her away, he pulled her deeper instead.
And neither of them knew it yet, but this was only the beginning of the storm.