The morning light sliced through the curtains, painting Aria's room in fractured gold. She sat upright in bed, staring at the phone in her hands — still dark, still silent.
No calls. No messages. No word from him.
The memory of the night before pressed against her like a bruise — Damian's voice, low and sharp, the heat of his anger barely hiding something else beneath it. She'd walked out of his office trembling, swearing she would never let him get under her skin again.
And yet here she was, still thinking about him.
A soft knock broke the silence.
Her mother, Vivian, entered with her robe wrapped tight, eyes swollen from another sleepless night.
"Aria," she began without greeting, "you need to see this."
She handed her a tablet. On the screen, the morning headlines screamed in bold letters:
'Blackwood Heiress-to-Be Spotted in Late-Night Clash with CEO Damian Blackwood!'
Aria froze. Beneath the headline was a photo — grainy but unmistakable — of her outside Damian's office last night, her face pale, his hand on her arm. The caption twisted everything: 'Lovers' Quarrel or Corporate Drama?'
Her stomach turned cold.
"They're saying you and Damian—" Vivian's voice shook. "Do you have any idea what this means for us? For the Bennetts?"
Aria's throat tightened. "It's not true. I—someone must have—"
"It doesn't matter!" her mother snapped, desperation cutting through exhaustion. "The investors are pulling out! They think you've been sleeping your way back into the Blackwoods' good graces. Aria, we can't afford another scandal!"
The words stung more than she expected.
"I didn't do anything wrong," she said quietly.
Vivian's laugh was bitter. "The world doesn't care what's true. Fix it, Aria. Before we lose everything."
She left the room, door slamming behind her, leaving Aria standing there with shaking hands and a pit of dread spreading in her chest.
Fix it.
Her mother always made it sound so simple — as if reputation could be ironed out like a wrinkle, as if humiliation didn't leave scars.
Aria took a deep breath, threw on a coat, and left the house before she could think twice.
Blackwood Tower loomed against the city skyline like a fortress — glass and steel glinting beneath the cold sun. As Aria stepped into the lobby, whispers trailed her. Eyes followed.
The security guards didn't stop her this time. Maybe they knew who she was — or maybe Damian had told them to let her through.
By the time she reached the top floor, her pulse was a steady drumbeat of fear and fury.
Damian's assistant, Claire, stood as soon as she entered. "Miss Bennett—"
"I need to see him."
Claire hesitated. "He's in a meeting—"
Aria didn't wait. She pushed open the office door.
Damian was at his desk, jacket off, shirt sleeves rolled up, the sunlight catching the silver of his watch. His gaze lifted — cold, unreadable — as if he'd expected her.
"Miss Bennett," he said evenly. "You're early. Or perhaps late, depending on what you've come to say."
Her voice trembled but she didn't back down. "Did you see it?"
"The article?" He leaned back in his chair, expression unmoved. "Of course."
"Then you know it's not true!"
He tilted his head, eyes narrowing. "Truth rarely sells as well as scandal."
"Someone followed us, Damian. They twisted everything. I need your help to—"
"Fix it?" he cut in, echoing her mother's words with a cruel precision. "You think I control the media, Miss Bennett?"
"You do," she snapped. "You're a Blackwood. You control everything else."
For a heartbeat, silence stretched between them. His jaw tightened, but when he spoke, his tone was lower, more dangerous.
"You should choose your words carefully."
Aria met his gaze, defiance sparking through her fear. "Why? Because you're angry someone saw the truth? That you can't keep your temper even in your own office?"
His chair scraped softly as he stood. He walked toward her — unhurried, every step measured. When he stopped, he was close enough that she could smell the faint trace of cedar and smoke.
"You came here," he said quietly, "to accuse me?"
"I came here," she shot back, "because you're the only one who can stop this."
Something flickered in his eyes then — a flash of emotion so quick she almost missed it.
"Do you really think," he murmured, "that I would use this to hurt you?"
"I don't know what to think anymore," she whispered.
He exhaled, long and slow, then turned away, pacing toward the window. The city stretched below them — ruthless, glittering, indifferent.
"Someone leaked this," he said finally. "From inside my company. They wanted to hit me — not you."
Her breath caught. "So I'm just collateral damage?"
His gaze hardened. "You walked into my world, Aria. It doesn't care who bleeds."
She stared at him, heart breaking a little at how easily he said it.
"Then why did you bring me into it?"
That stopped him.
For a moment, Damian looked at her — really looked at her — and something unspoken passed between them. Regret, maybe. Or the echo of a choice he couldn't take back.
"I told myself it was business," he said quietly. "But you keep proving me wrong."
Aria's pulse stumbled.
Before she could answer, his phone buzzed. He glanced at it, expression turning unreadable again.
"Leave your phone on," he said. "You'll need to stay somewhere else tonight."
"What?"
"It's not safe at the Bennett estate. If someone's feeding information to the press, they could come after you again."
"I can take care of myself."
His voice softened just slightly. "I'm not asking."
She hesitated. "And if I refuse?"
He stepped closer, lowering his voice until it brushed against the space between them. "Then I'll assume you enjoy being hunted."
Her breath caught, and for one dizzy second, she hated how much his concern felt like control.
He looked down at her — eyes dark, unreadable — and for once, she couldn't tell if he was protecting her or binding her to him.
"Why are you doing this?" she whispered.
His answer was quiet, almost to himself. "Because whether you like it or not, you're mine to protect."
Her chest tightened. "That's not protection, Damian. That's possession."
He smiled faintly — a tired, broken kind of smile. "Sometimes they're the same thing."
And before she could reply, he turned back to his desk, signaling that the conversation was over.
Aria left the office in a blur. The elevator doors slid shut, trapping her reflection in the glass — pale, shaking, furious.
She hated him. She hated how he made her feel.
But most of all, she hated that somewhere deep down, buried beneath pride and fear, part of her believed him.
Outside, rain began to fall — soft at first, then harder, drumming against the city streets.
Damian stood by the window, watching her car pull away.
Claire entered quietly, holding a folder. "Sir, should I release a statement about the article?"
He didn't answer immediately. His gaze followed the trail of headlights fading into the storm.
"Not yet," he said finally. "Let them talk."
Claire frowned. "But won't this damage the company's image?"
Damian's mouth curved — a small, dangerous smile. "Sometimes, the truth is stronger when people don't believe it."
He turned back to the window, eyes distant.
"She thinks I'm trying to control her," he murmured under his breath. "But what she doesn't understand is — she's the one who's controlling me."