The roof of The Obsidian was less of a scenic overlook and more of a helipad for the morally bankrupt. It was a flat expanse of cracked concrete and loose gravel, wind-blasted and freezing. From this height, the city looked like a circuit board of neon veins, pulsing with light, but up here, there was only the howling wind and the hum of industrial ventilation units.
Aria shivered violently as a gust whipped her rose-gold hair across her face, blinding her for a second. It wasn't just the biting cold that made her tremble; it was the adrenaline coursing through her system like liquid lightning.
She was standing on a roof with a monster, hunting a rat.
Damien stood beside her, his charcoal suit jacket already off and draped over her shoulders before she could even formulate the thought that she was cold. The silk lining was still warm from his body, smelling of expensive cedar and tobacco.
He stood in just his vest and dress shirt, the white fabric pulling tight across his broad shoulders as he leaned against the parapet. He didn't look cold. In fact, standing in the biting wind with his silver hair engaging in a chaotic dance, he looked like he was in his natural element—a predator surveying his territory from a mountaintop.
"Do you see him?" Damien asked, his voice low, a rumble that seemed to travel under the wind noise.
"Across the alley," Aria murmured, stepping closer to the edge but keeping back just enough to stay in the shadows of the ventilation stack. "The brick building with the rusted fire escape. Fourth floor. Second window from the left. There's a glint."
She pointed discreetly, keeping her hand close to her body.
In the darkened window of the adjacent building, a lens flared briefly, reflecting the red neon glow of the Obsidian sign below. It was subtle—a amateur would have missed it—but Aria had spent her previous life dodging lenses.
"He's waiting for us to leave," Aria analyzed, her mind racing. "He wants a shot of your face to confirm the 'sex club' narrative. If he gets a picture of Damien Sinclair walking out of a notorious underground lounge with a disheveled woman, the headlines write themselves. 'The Demon King's Debauchery.' It destroys my credibility and makes you look unstable."
"Julian is already drafting the lawsuit," Damien reminded her, sounding bored. He tapped a cigarette from a silver case but didn't light it. "We can just have Kai's boys break the door down."
"Too messy. And boring," Aria countered. She turned to him, looking up at his sharp, illuminated jawline. "If we send thugs, Bella plays the victim. She'll say she was just 'concerned' and hired a PI to find her missing, mentally ill sister. She'll spin it that your 'goons' attacked a poor innocent photographer. We need to control the narrative."
Damien looked down at her, intrigued. The boredom vanished from his golden eyes, replaced by a flicker of curiosity. "And how do you propose we do that, Mrs. Sinclair? Do we pose for a portrait?"
Aria took a deep breath. Her heart was hammering against her ribs like a trapped bird. The plan forming in her head was reckless. It was dangerous. And physically, she was about to short-circuit.
'You're an actress, Aria. It's just a scene. A very... wet scene.'
"We give them a better headline," she whispered, her voice barely carrying over the wind.
She reached up, her small, pale hands grabbing the lapels of his white shirt. The fabric was crisp and cool under her fingers.
"Kiss me."
Damien's eyebrows shot up. He looked genuinely surprised for the first time that night. "Here? In front of the rats?"
"Yes. A passionate, 'I can't keep my hands off you' kiss. Make it look real. Make it look like we're so obsessed with each other we couldn't even wait to get to the car."
Aria's face was flushing furiously, heating up despite the freezing air. She was talking a big game, channeling her inner "Consort Li," but her hands were trembling against his chest. She had never really kissed a man like this before. Lucas had been... chaste. Performative. A peck on the cheek for the cameras, a gentle brush of lips.
Damien saw the tremor in her hands. He saw the way her long eyelashes fluttered, betraying her panic. He saw the blush creeping up her neck.
A slow, dark smirk spread across his face. It was the smile of a wolf who just realized the rabbit had walked into its den willingly.
"You're shaking," he noted, his voice dropping to a husky purr that made the hair on her arms stand up. "Nervous, Little Doctor?"
"I'm freezing," Aria lied, her voice squeaking slightly. She cleared her throat, trying to regain her composure. "Just... hurry up. Before he loses focus or leaves. We need the shot."
"Clause 3," Damien teased, stepping closer until his thighs brushed hers. The heat radiating off him was immense. "No physical obligations unless for medical treatment. I believe you drafted that yourself."
"This is medical," Aria hissed, standing on her tiptoes to minimize the height difference. "I'm treating your... reputation. Shut up and kiss me."
Damien chuckled—a low, vibrating sound that she felt in her chest as much as she heard it.
"As you wish."
He didn't hesitate. One large hand slid up her spine, tangling into her rose-gold hair to tilt her head back, exposing her throat. The other arm wrapped around her waist, crushing her body against his with zero daylight between them.
He lowered his head, blocking out the city lights.
When his lips touched hers, it wasn't the tentative, awkward collision Aria expected. It was an assault.
His mouth was hot, firm, and demanding. He tasted of the expensive whiskey he'd had at lunch, smoke, and something dark and purely Damien.
Aria gasped, shocked by the intensity, and he took that as an invitation, deepening the kiss instantly. His tongue swept into her mouth, claiming it with a possessiveness that made her knees buckle.
The world tilted on its axis. The wind, the cold, the stalker—it all vanished. There was only Damien. The rough texture of his tongue, the scrape of his stubble against her chin, the overwhelming heat of his body seeping into hers through the thin fabric of her blouse.
Aria's hands, which had been gripping his shirt for balance, slid up to wrap around his neck. She pressed closer, instinctively seeking more friction, her body reacting in ways she hadn't authorized.
Damien groaned into her mouth. The sound was raw, animalistic.
For him, the kiss was a revelation. The constant, low-level static in his brain—the remnant of the pain that never fully left even with her treatments—snapped into total silence. Her taste was like a drug, stronger than the acupuncture, stronger than the massage. It flooded his nervous system with dopamine, numbing the agony and replacing it with a white-hot hunger that he hadn't felt in years.
He forgot the audience. He forgot the plan. He forgot that this was supposed to be a performance.
He walked her backward until her back hit the concrete wall of the stairwell access, shielding her from the wind but trapping her against him. He never broke the kiss. He growled, biting gently on her lower lip, savoring the shudder that ran through her small frame.
Click. Click. Click.
The sound of a shutter firing rapidly echoed from across the alley, distinct even over the wind.
The stalker was getting the shot of a lifetime. The Demon King, unhinged and devouring a woman on a rooftop like a starving man at a banquet.
Suddenly, a chaotic shouting erupted from the other building, shattering the moment.
"Hey! Drop the camera!"
"Don't move! Hands in the air! Security!"
Kai's team had breached the roof.
Damien pulled back, breathing heavily. His golden eyes were blown wide, dark with arousal and something possessive that terrified Aria. His lips were wet, swollen, and red.
Aria wasn't fairing much better. Her legs were jelly. She was clinging to his shirt like it was a life raft, her chest heaving as she tried to remember how to convert oxygen into carbon dioxide. Her brain was offline. All she could process was the taste of him.
"Did we..." Aria gasped, her voice breathless and wrecked. She touched her lips, which were throbbing. "Did we get the shot?"
Damien stared at her mouth. He looked like he wanted to go back in for round two, consequences be damned. He reached up, wiping a smear of lipstick from the corner of his mouth with his thumb.
"We got something," he rasped.