For one long, charged moment, neither of us moved.

His thumb kept tracing the inside of my wrist.back and forth, back and forth—until it felt like he was drawing some invisible mark I’d never scrub away.

I forced myself to look down, desperate to break the spell, and that’s when I saw them.

Ink.

Lines of black and gray that curled along the inside of his wrist, disappearing beneath the cuff of his immaculate shirt.

I blinked, startled.

Damien Blackwood—the cold, polished billionaire,not only did he look charming,he also had tattoos. My type.

He followed my gaze and smiled faintly.

“Curious?”

I tore my hand from his grasp like he’d burned me.

“I—” My voice cracked. “That’s not—I mean—”

His brows lifted, waiting.

I swallowed hard, trying to gather my scattered thoughts.

“Vanessa,” I blurted out, desperate for something safe to cling to. “She—she really does like you. She’s smart and…and beautiful and she knows everything about your work and—”

He didn’t interrupt. Neither did he blink.

Just watched me with that same unnerving stillness, like he had all the time in the world to let me flail.

“And she’s loyal,” I went on, my voice rising. “And she’d make a great partner. She’s ambitious. She—she understands what it takes to—”

His mouth curved in a lazy, humorless smile.

“To what?” he asked softly.

“To…to be with someone like you.”

Silence pooled between us—thick and heavy and full of everything I didn’t want to name.

I wet my lips.

“If you’d just give her a chance…”

Damien’s chuckle was low and quiet—just a ripple of amusement, but it made my skin prickle all over.

“You’re determined,” he said.

I lifted my chin.

“I’m practical.”

He considered me, his gaze dropping to my mouth again before sliding back to my eyes.

“Very well,” he murmured.

My heart stuttered.

“What?”

“If it will make you feel better, I’ll take her number.”

Relief burst through me so fast it almost made me dizzy.

“Thank you,” I breathed.

He didn’t answer.

Just leaned back against the sofa, watching as I rummaged in my bag for a pen.

My hands were shaking so badly the numbers came out crooked, but I didn’t care.

I needed this to be over. I needed some fresh air,it was getting hot here.

When I finished, I tore the page free and passed it across the low table.

He didn’t even glance at it.

Instead, he lifted it between two fingers and handed it to the bodyguard who had appeared behind him so silently I hadn’t realized we weren’t alone.

I blinked, startled.

The bodyguard accepted the slip without a word and disappeared again.

I pushed to my feet, clutching my purse to my chest like it was armor.

“Thank you,” I said, because I didn’t know what else to say.

Damien didn’t rise.

Didn’t even pretend to be polite.

His gaze tracked me the whole way to the door—cool, assessing, and somehow more intimate than any touch.

It felt like I’d failed some test I didn’t understand.

But I couldn’t stay there another second.

I turned and walked out, my heart thundering so hard it felt like it might break.

***********

The main floor was a blur of light and sound after the hush of the VIP lounge.

I spotted Celia near the bar, stacking glasses, and made a beeline for her before my legs gave out.

She glanced up, her brows knitting when she saw my face.

“Jesus, Aria. You look like you’ve seen a ghost,again.”

“Something like that,” I muttered.

“You okay?”

“I’m fine.”

She didn’t look convinced, but she didn’t push because I wasn't going to open up.

Instead, she nudged a fresh drink toward me—a pale, glittering cocktail that smelled like citrus and recklessness.

“House special,” she said. “On the house. You look like you need it.”

“I shouldn’t—”

“You should.”

I hesitated.

Then I took the glass and drained half of it in one swallow, ignoring the way the alcohol burned all the way down.

It helped.

Not enough to erase the memory of Damien’s eyes on me.

But enough to dull the edges.

********

The next hour passed in a haze of motion and sound.

I tried to lose myself in the work—clearing tables, wiping down the bar, laughing too loud at Celia’s jokes.

But every time I closed my eyes, I saw him.

His mouth when he said he wanted me.His hand on my wrist.

The quiet certainty that he wouldn’t take no for an answer.

By the time our boss called closing, my head was spinning.

“Good work tonight,” he said gruffly. “Have a drink before you clock out.”

I almost declined.

Almost.

But then I thought about the way Damien had looked at me—and the way I’d felt when he did—and I tipped the glass back without hesitation. I needed to forget these things.

*******

I don’t remember how many I had after that.

Enough that the room felt a little too bright, a little too loud.

Enough that when my phone buzzed, I nearly dropped it trying to answer.

“Aria?”

Ethan’s voice. Familiar. Safe.

I pressed the phone closer to my ear, swaying a little.

“Hi,” I whispered.

“Where are you?”

“At work,” I slurred. “But we’re done.”

“Come upstairs.” His voice was warm, amused. “I booked a room for us.”

A giggle bubbled up in my throat, startling and a little hysterical.

“I shouldn’t.”

“You should,” he murmured, his tone low and teasing. “Come to me, baby. You know you want to.”

And God help me—I did.

I wanted something normal. Something simple.

Something that didn’t feel like it could devour me alive.

“I’m coming pookie,” I mumbled, and hung up before I could change my mind.

******

The hallway blurred around me as I staggered toward the elevator, one hand braced against the wall.

I must have looked ridiculous—makeup smudged, hair falling out of its clip.

But I didn’t care.

All I wanted was to forget.

The elevator doors opened, and I stumbled inside, punching the floor number with more force than necessary.

I could do this.

I could pretend that tonight was just another night.

When the doors slid open again, I nearly tripped over the threshold.

The carpet was soft under my heels as I made my way down the hall, counting door numbers under my breath.

Finally, I reached the one he’d given me.

I didn’t knock.

I just turned the handle and stepped inside.

The room was dark, the only light coming from the sliver of bathroom door left ajar.

My heart thudded—slow and heavy, dulled by the alcohol.

“Ethan?” I called softly.

No answer.

A laugh bubbled up—thin and a little sad.

Of course he’d want me to come to him.

Of course he’d want me to crawl into his arms.

My vision swam as I stepped further in, the door clicking shut behind me.

I barely had time to register the shape moving in the darkness before strong arms closed around my waist, pulling me back against a hard, unyielding chest.

I let out a breathless laugh, my body going limp with relief.

This is how I like it : I am madly obsessed with strong arms pulling me in from behind.

I reached up, cupping his cheek with unsteady fingers.

His skin was warm under my palm.

But the scent…

I froze.

Because this wasn’t Ethan’s cologne.

This was something darker. Colder.

Something I already knew.

I swallowed, my heart stuttering painfully in my chest.

The arms around me didn’t loosen.

They only pulled me closer—until my back was pressed flush against his front, until I could feel every measured breath he took.

Slowly, dread pooling low in my stomach, I tipped my head back—searching for his face in the dark.

The voice that spoke against my ear was a whisper, but it might as well have been a verdict.

“Hello, little dove.”