Aria Vale
Damian's breath came out in a low, controlled exhale, his lips still hovering just inches from mine. I could feel the heat from his body, the tension thick in the air, and yet there was something in his eyes that made it feel like we were teetering on the edge of a precipice—one wrong move and we'd fall.
I closed my eyes for a moment, grounding myself. This is what you wanted, Aria, I reminded myself. This is what you've been working toward.
But the truth was, I wasn't sure anymore.
His hand was still at the back of my neck, holding me in place, his touch both possessive and gentle in a way that both thrilled and terrified me. I could feel the power he held over me, how much he wanted to break me down, manipulate me, and in some sick way, it worked. But I also felt it—the conflict, the war inside him that he wasn't ready to show.
"Damian..." My voice was soft, a whisper, but it cut through the haze of desire that clouded my mind. I pulled away slightly, enough to look him in the eyes. "This... this isn't just about revenge, is it?"
The words lingered in the air, hanging between us like a thread, fragile and fragile, but undeniable. He didn't answer immediately. Instead, he seemed to study me, his gaze flicking between my eyes and my lips, as if he were weighing his next words carefully.
I couldn't keep the silence much longer. I reached up, brushing my fingers along the side of his face, my touch almost tender. The hardness in his expression softened just for a moment before the mask returned.
"I'm not your pawn, Damian. I'm not just some tool for you to use in your war."
He exhaled sharply, as if the confession had taken him by surprise. But he didn't pull away. His grip on my neck tightened, but it wasn't forceful—just firm, as if holding me in place so that I wouldn't run.
"I never thought you were," he said, his voice low, almost... regretful? "But maybe I don't know what I thought."
I stared at him, trying to read the depths of the emotions flickering behind his eyes. There was a tenderness in his touch now, something that felt too personal, too vulnerable for the man he'd made himself out to be. I wanted to pull away from it, wanted to remind him of the boundaries we'd set, but in that moment, I couldn't.
Because part of me wanted this. Wanted him.
The walls I had spent years building, the defenses I'd constructed so carefully, seemed to be crumbling under his touch. The control I had held over everything—the power I had manipulated into my own hands—was slipping away with every inch that brought me closer to him. And deep down, I didn't know if I wanted it back.
I leaned in again, my breath catching in my throat. "Then what do you want from me, Damian?" My voice was raw now, vulnerable in a way I hadn't allowed myself to be with anyone.
His thumb traced the line of my jaw, his touch reverent, as if he was memorizing the feel of me beneath his fingertips. He looked at me like I was the only thing that mattered in that moment, and I couldn't decide if it was suffocating or exhilarating.
"What I want…" he said slowly, his voice dropping even lower, "is to make you *see* what this really is."
"What is this?" I asked, my heart pounding in my chest.
He finally let go of me, stepping back, but only just. The distance between us felt wrong now—too much space for something that had been so intense just moments ago.
"This isn't just business, Aria." His voice was almost bitter, raw. "I want to destroy everything you've built, every piece of the world you've so carefully crafted. I want to break it all down—because of what your father did to me."
I swallowed hard, feeling the weight of his words press down on me like a heavy burden. This wasn't the answer I had been hoping for. I had known this was coming—the confrontation, the admission of everything I had feared. But hearing him say it, hearing the fire and pain in his voice… it made everything feel more real.
"And what happens when everything's burned to the ground?" I asked, my voice shaking, the sharpness in my words betraying the emotions I was trying to mask. "What do you do then, Damian? Will you stand there in the ashes, and then what?"
For a long moment, he didn't answer. His eyes flicked to the floor, and when he finally looked up at me again, there was something different there. Something unreadable. He stepped back, running a hand through his hair.
"I don't know," he admitted quietly, the first crack in his facade. "But I do know I can't let you walk away from this. Not anymore."
I shook my head, confused, lost in the whirlpool of emotions that was growing between us. "You don't get to decide that. Not for me."
I saw the anger flare up in his eyes then—quick and sharp, like a storm that could tear everything apart. But it was quickly replaced by something else, something more complicated. I wasn't sure if it was fear or desperation.
His voice was strained when he spoke again. "You're already too far in, Aria. We both are. You can't walk away anymore."
I opened my mouth to argue, but the words got caught in my throat. There was truth in what he was saying. He was right. As much as I wanted to tell myself I could control this, that I could walk away with my pride intact, I knew I couldn't. Not anymore.
And in that moment, I realized something terrifying: I didn't want to.
"Then what do you want me to do?" I whispered, my voice breaking. "Tell me, Damian. What happens now?"
The room was silent, heavy with unspoken promises and threats. And for the first time since I walked into this damn penthouse, I didn't know the answer either.
But I knew one thing for sure.
We were both lost in this game, and there was no escape.