DAMIEN'S POV
I hang up the phone and smile.
She sounded terrified.
Good.
My office is silent except for the sound of my own heartbeat. Steady. Calm. I've waited seven hundred and ninety-two days for this moment. I can wait another hour.
The flight information glows on my computer screen. Flight CA876 - Arrived 3:47 PM. She landed eighteen minutes ago. She'll clear customs in another twenty. Then she'll walk out those doors and see the car I sent.
And she'll have a choice to make.
Get in. Or run again.
I'm betting on the first option. Aria doesn't run from fights. She runs from feelings. And right now, she's feeling everything.
My phone buzzes. A text from the driver: In position. Terminal 2, Gate B. Waiting for package.
Package. Like she's cargo. Like she's something to be delivered and signed for.
I suppose she is.
I type back: Bring her straight to the manor. No stops. No detours. If she tries to run, stop her. Gently.
Three dots appear. Then: Understood, sir.
"Sir?" Elise's voice cuts through my thoughts. My assistant stands in the doorway, tablet in hand, looking nervous. She always looks nervous around me. Smart woman. "The reports you requested are ready. Should I—"
"Leave them on my desk."
"Of course. Also, Mrs. Chen called. She wants to know if you need anything prepared for—"
"Tell Mother everything is already handled." I don't look away from the screen. From the blinking dot that represents Aria's phone. She's moving now. Slowly. Toward the exit. Toward me. "Make sure the east wing is ready. Fresh flowers in her old room. The kind she likes."
"White roses?"
"Peonies." I finally look at Elise. She flinches. "Aria hates roses. She told me when she was sixteen. Said they're beautiful but covered in thorns, and beauty shouldn't hurt people."
The irony wasn't lost on me then. It isn't lost on me now.
Beautiful things always hurt. Especially when you want them as badly as I want her.
Elise nods quickly. "Peonies. Of course. Anything else?"
"Yes." I stand and walk to the window. Shanghai spreads below me like a kingdom made of glass and steel. Somewhere out there, Aria is breathing the same air I am. Finally. "Clear my schedule for the next week. Cancel everything. Every meeting. Every call. Every obligation."
"Sir, you have the board meeting on—"
"Cancel. It."
Elise goes pale. "Mr. Chen, the board won't—"
"The board," I say softly, "will do exactly what I tell them to do. Because I own forty-eight percent of this company, and my father owns another thirty. We are the board. So cancel everything, Elise. Unless you'd like to join the list of people looking for new jobs?"
She clutches her tablet. "No, sir. I'll handle it immediately."
"Good." I dismiss her with a wave. "And Elise? Not a word about this to anyone. If I find out you've been talking..."
I don't finish the sentence. I don't need to.
She practically runs out of my office.
Alone again, I pull out my phone and open the photo gallery. The hidden one. The one no one else knows exists.
Thousands of photos. All of Aria.
Aria at eight, missing her front teeth, laughing at something I said.
Aria at twelve, reading under a tree, sunlight in her hair.
Aria at fifteen, angry at me for something—I don't even remember what—her eyes flashing green fire.
Aria at eighteen, the last photo before she became suspicious. Before she started pulling away. She's wearing a white dress. She's smiling, but it doesn't reach her eyes.
That's when I knew I was losing her.
I scroll to the more recent photos. The ones she doesn't know about.
Paris. Her tiny apartment. Her working at that pathetic gallery. Her laughing with that blonde roommate. Her looking happy in a way she never looked happy here.
I hated every single one of those photos.
But I didn't stop her. Didn't drag her home. Didn't lock her in her room like every instinct screamed at me to do.
Because Aria needed to understand something: freedom is an illusion. She could run to Paris. To London. To the end of the earth. It wouldn't matter.
She'd always be mine.
And now she was coming to understand that too.
My desk phone rings. Internal line. I answer without looking. "What?"
"The house is ready, sir." It's James, our head of staff. "Fresh linens in Miss Aria's room. Peonies in the vase by her window. Cook wants to know what to prepare for dinner."
"Her favorites. All of them." I tap my fingers on the desk. "And James? Make sure everyone knows—Miss Aria is to have whatever she wants. Whatever she asks for. No questions."
"Of course, sir. Will she be staying long?"
Forever, I think. But I say: "That remains to be seen."
I hang up and check the tracking app again. Aria's dot is moving faster now. She's in the car. Coming home. The drive from the airport takes about ninety minutes in traffic.
I have ninety minutes to prepare.
Ninety minutes to make sure everything is perfect.
Ninety minutes until I see her face again.
I grab my jacket and head for the elevator. My hands are steadier now. The shaking from earlier is gone. This is what I do best—control. Planning. Making sure every piece falls exactly where I need it.
The elevator ride down feels like forever. My driver is waiting with the Bentley outside. "The manor. Now."
"Yes, sir."
We speed through Shanghai traffic. I check my phone obsessively. Her dot is moving steadily along the highway. Eighty minutes away. Seventy. Sixty.
My mind races through everything that needs to happen. Mother will want to handle this her way—cold, controlled, businesslike. Father will stay silent like he always does. And Aria...
Aria will try to run again.
But this time, she won't get far.
This time, I'm not letting her go.
"Sir?" My driver glances at me in the rearview mirror. "Is everything alright? You seem... tense."
"I'm fine." I force my jaw to unclench. "Just drive faster."
We arrive at the manor fifty minutes later. The sun is starting to set, painting the sky in shades of orange and red. The house looks like it always does—cold, elegant, perfect. A prison made of marble and money.
Aria used to call it the Ice Palace when she was little. She'd laugh about it, but I could hear the truth underneath. She never felt warm here. Never felt safe.
I was the only warm thing in her life. The only person who actually saw her.
And then I ruined it by wanting too much.
I walk inside. The house is quiet. Too quiet. Mother and Father must be in their wing, preparing for dinner. Good. I need a moment alone before Aria arrives.
I head straight to her room.
The east wing hasn't been touched since she left. I made sure of that. Her books are still on the shelf. Her art supplies still scattered on the desk. Her bed still made with the blue sheets she loved.
The peonies are there, fresh and pink in a crystal vase.
Perfect.
I walk to her desk and open the bottom drawer. Inside is a small wooden box. I take it out and open it carefully.
Inside are letters. Dozens of them. All addressed to Aria. All written by me. All never sent.
I started writing them the day she left. One letter every week for seven hundred and ninety-two days. Telling her things I could never say out loud. Confessing things that would make her hate me even more than she probably already does.
Dear Aria,
It's been six days since you left. The house feels wrong without you. I feel wrong without you. I know you ran because of me. Because I scared you. Because you finally saw what I really am. But you need to understand something—I didn't choose this. I didn't choose to feel this way about you. It just happened. Like breathing. Like gravity. And now I can't stop. I've tried. God, I've tried. But you're in everything I do. Everything I see. Everything I am.
Come home, little bird. Please.
Come home before I do something we'll both regret.
- D
I close the box and put it back in the drawer. She'll never read those letters. They're just proof of how broken I am. How twisted.
My phone buzzes.
Driver: Approaching the gate. Five minutes out.
My heart slams against my ribs.
Five minutes.
I leave her room and head downstairs. Mother and Father are in the foyer now, waiting. They both look at me as I descend the stairs.
"Is she here?" Mother asks. Her voice is tight. Nervous.
"Almost." I check my phone again. Three minutes. "Remember what we discussed. Let her settle in first. Then we tell her."
"Tell her?" Father frowns. "Damien, your mother and I decided it's better to—"
"I don't care what you decided." My voice goes cold. Dangerous. "We do this my way. Or we don't do it at all."
Mother and Father exchange a look. But they don't argue. They know better.
The sound of tires on gravel echoes outside.
She's here.
I watch through the window as the black Mercedes pulls up. The driver gets out and opens the back door.
And then I see her.
Aria.
Twenty-two years old. Beautiful. Terrified. Mine.
She steps out of the car slowly, looking up at the house like it's a monster ready to eat her. Her hands are shaking. Her face is pale.
She looks so small standing there. So vulnerable.
Every instinct in my body screams at me to go to her. To pull her close. To tell her everything will be okay.
But I don't move.
Because everything won't be okay.
Everything is about to change.
She takes a deep breath and walks toward the front door. Each step looks like it costs her something. Like she's walking to her own execution.
Good. She should be scared.
What's coming will change everything between us.
Forever.
The door opens.
Aria steps inside.
She sees me standing there at the bottom of the stairs. Our eyes meet.
For a moment, the world stops. It's just us. Just me and her and seven hundred and ninety-two days of wanting and waiting and wondering if this moment would ever come.
"Hello, Aria," I say softly.
She opens her mouth to respond.
And that's when we hear it.
A sound from the sitting room.
Crying.
Aria's head snaps toward the sound. Her eyes go wide. "What is that? Who's—"
"We need to talk," Mother interrupts. Her voice is ice. "All of us. Right now."
Aria looks at me. Really looks at me. And I see the exact moment she realizes something is very, very wrong.
"Damien?" Her voice cracks. "What's going on?"
I want to tell her. Want to explain. Want to make her understand that everything I've done—everything I'm about to do—is because I love her.
But before I can speak, a girl appears in the doorway of the sitting room.
A girl I've never seen before in my life.
A girl who looks at Aria with red, swollen eyes and whispers: "Are you her? Are you Aria Chen?"
Aria stares at the stranger. "Yes. Who are you?"
The girl starts crying harder.
And Mother says the words that will destroy Aria's entire world:
"This is Celeste. And she's the reason we called you home."