CHAPTER FOUR: THE RIDE SHE COULDN'T REFUSE
Aria stood frozen on the sidewalk, the world bustling around her as if nothing extraordinary was happening—while her entire life tilted dangerously off balance.
Damien's car door remained open, an invitation wrapped in threat.
His eyes—dark, unreadable, demanding—were fixed on her as though he could pull her into the car with his gaze alone.
Aria forced her voice to steady.
"I'm not getting in."
Damien didn't blink. "Yes, you are."
"No."
"Yes."
"I said no."
"And I said you're getting in the car, Aria."
Her chest tightened.
This was the Damien she remembered—the man who negotiated billion-dollar deals with a single glance, the man who never backed down, the man whose determination felt like gravity.
"Why?" she whispered, her voice barely carrying over the city noise. "Why can't you just leave me alone?"
Damien's jaw clenched. "Because I need answers."
"You don't."
"Yes, I do."
The tension stretched between them like a taut string.
Aria's heart hammered painfully. "Damien, I have somewhere urgent to be. Let me go."
His expression shifted—subtle but sharp. "Is it about your son?"
Her breath faltered.
He saw it.
He felt it.
He pushed the door wider. "Get in the car."
Aria swallowed hard. "Damien—"
"Now," he said, voice firm but low, like a command he used sparingly but effectively.
Her heart squeezed painfully.
He wasn't going to let her walk away—that much was obvious. If she tried to run, he would follow. If she tried to hide, he would find her.
He always did.
And the last thing she needed was Damien Cole showing up at Eli's preschool asking questions she could not answer.
Her hands trembled as she weighed her choices.
The truth was simple:
She had none.
With a shaky breath, Aria stepped forward. Damien shifted slightly, making space for her. She eased into the plush leather seat, feeling swallowed and trapped at the same time.
The car door closed with a soft click—
a sound that felt alarmingly like a trap snapping shut.
Damien slid back into his seat, the leather creaking under his weight. He didn't say anything, but his presence filled the small space like a storm cloud.
The driver glanced at them in the rearview mirror, awaiting directions.
Damien spoke before Aria could open her mouth.
"Take us to Aster Preschool."
Her heart seized.
"You were listening?"
"You weren't exactly whispering," he replied calmly. "And the moment you said you had to go pick up your son, I knew that's where you'd be headed."
Aria inhaled shakily through her nose. "You don't know where it is."
Damien's lips curved—not into a smile, but something colder.
"I know every major facility within fifteen blocks of this hotel. Including the ones listed under the city's childcare registry."
Aria stiffened.
Of course he would.
Damien Cole didn't live in a world with unknowns. He didn't believe in uncertainty. He built his empire by eliminating them.
"Give me one reason you should be anywhere near my son."
Damien tensed. "You said my?"
Her stomach dropped.
"I meant—my responsibility," she corrected quickly. "Not yours."
His knuckles turned white where he gripped the edge of his seat.
"Aria," he said slowly, "you're hiding something from me."
"I'm not."
"You are."
His voice darkened.
"I can feel it."
Her pulse quickened. "You're imagining things."
"Don't lie to me," Damien said sharply.
Aria turned toward the window, her throat tightening. The city streets blurred by—taxis, vendors, afternoon commuters. Life going on as her own unraveled.
She whispered, "Please… just focus on the road."
"I'm not the driver," he replied. "And I will focus when you give me the truth."
Aria pressed her nails into her palms to stop her hands from shaking.
He was too close to the truth.
Too close to the secret she built her entire life around protecting.
Damien leaned back slightly, studying her with a mixture of frustration, confusion, and something deeper—something she wished she didn't recognize.
Hurt.
"Does he look like you?" Damien asked quietly.
Aria's breath caught.
"Stop."
"Does he look like… someone else?" His jaw tightened. "Another man?"
"Stop," she repeated, panic rising in her chest. "Damien, enough."
"Then tell me—"
"I don't owe you anything!" she snapped, louder than she intended.
The car fell completely silent.
Damien stared at her, stunned for a moment. Then something shifted in his eyes—something softer, something she hadn't seen since before everything fell apart.
"You're shaking, Aria."
"I'm fine."
"You're lying to me again."
She clenched her jaw. "Just take me to pick up my child."
Damien didn't respond immediately.
Then, in a quieter tone:
"You have a child."
He said it as if trying to understand the weight of the words.
"You… you're a mother."
Aria closed her eyes briefly. "Yes."
"How long?" he murmured.
"Damien…"
"How long have you been carrying this alone?"
Her breath hitched. His tone wasn't angry. It wasn't sharp.
It was… wounded.
Painfully, quietly wounded.
Aria looked away. "Don't do this."
"Do what?"
"Make me remember how you used to care."
Damien's breath faltered.
The car stopped at a red light. The driver remained silent, professional, immovable.
Damien looked at her as though she had opened a door he had been trying to kick down for years.
Aria turned her head away.
She couldn't let him see her breaking.
"Aria," he said, voice softer than she expected, "you know I cared. You know that everything I did for you back then—every decision, every moment—was because I—"
"Stop."
"—because I loved you."
Her heart cracked open.
There it was.
The word she tried to bury.
The word she ran from.
Her fingers shook so violently she had to clasp them together.
"That's not what it felt like," she whispered, barely breathing.
His gaze sharpened with disbelief.
"What are you talking about?"
"Drop it."
"No."
His voice hardened.
"Not this time. You left me without giving me a chance to explain anything."
Aria's voice trembled. "I saw everything I needed to see."
Damien leaned forward. "Tell me what you think you saw."
"I don't want to talk about it."
"I do."
"Well, I don't."
His jaw clenched. "Aria—"
"I said no!"
The car jerked slightly as the driver braked in front of Aster Preschool.
Aria exhaled shakily, relief and fear tangling in her chest.
She reached for the door handle, but Damien's hand shot out—not grabbing her, just bracing against the seat in front of her as he leaned toward her.
"Aria."
His voice dropped to something low and raw.
"Don't shut me out like this."
She stared at him—really stared—seeing the man she once loved more than anything in the world.
Damien reached out slowly, hesitant, as though afraid she'd recoil.
His fingertips brushed her cheek.
Just once.
Electricity shot through her body. Memories slammed into her—his touch, his warmth, the night he held her as if she were the only thing that mattered.
Her breath quivered.
Damien's voice was barely audible.
"Whoever hurt you… whoever made you run… let me fix it."
Her heart twisted painfully. "You can't."
"Try me."
Aria shook her head, pulling away from his hand. "I have to get my son."
She pushed the door open and stepped out into the afternoon sun, the crisp air hitting her skin like a slap of reality.
But Damien wasn't done.
The moment she closed the door, he got out from the other side.
Aria turned, eyes widening. "Damien. No."
He straightened his suit. "You're not doing this alone."
Her heart lurched.
"This is not your place."
"I decide my place."
"This is my child's school."
"Then I'll wait outside."
"Damien—"
He took a step closer.
"I want to meet him."
The world stopped.
Aria's breath vanished. "No."
His eyes sharpened with determination.
"Why not?"
"Because—because you don't know him."
"I want to."
"You can't!"
"Is it because he'll recognize something?" he asked softly.
"Something familiar? Something… from me?"
Her entire body froze.
Damien watched her face, and something in his expression shifted completely.
His breath caught.
"Aria," he whispered, voice trembling for the first time since she'd known him.
"Is he mine?"
Her legs nearly gave out.
She backed away instinctively.
Damien stepped forward.
"Answer me."
Her lips parted—
—but no sound came out.
Her silence was enough.
Damien's chest rose sharply, his eyes widening with devastation, fury, and realization all crashing together.
"Aria…"
His voice fractured.
"No. Tell me I'm wrong. Tell me I'm—"
A small voice cut through the air.
"Mommy?"
Aria froze.
Her eyes flew toward the preschool gate.
Eli stood there, holding his teacher's hand—tiny backpack, messy curls, flushed cheeks from fever.
He looked so small.
So precious.
So innocent.
Aria's heart stopped when Damien turned toward him.
The color drained from Damien's face.
Because Eli had the same eyes as him.
Exactly the same.
Damien's breath shattered.
Aria felt her entire world collapse.
Because Damien wasn't looking at her anymore.
He was looking at his son.