The ride back to the penthouse was significantly quieter than the ride to The Obsidian, but the silence was far from empty. It was thick, heavy with the lingering taste of whiskey and the phantom sensation of Damien's lips against hers.
Aria sat as far away as possible on the leather bench, her knees pressed together and her hands folded tightly in her lap. She kept her gaze fixed out the window, watching the city lights blur into streaks of neon. Behind the glass, she saw her own reflection—flushed cheeks, swollen lips, and eyes that looked far too bright.
'It was just for the camera, Aria. Method acting. You're a professional.'
But her pulse, which was currently hammering at a rate that would concern a cardiologist, was calling her a liar.
Damien, for his part, looked completely unbothered. He was back on his laptop, his face illuminated by the cool blue light of the screen. To any outsider, he looked like the same cold, untouchable tycoon he had been that morning. But Aria could see the slight tension in his jaw, the way his fingers tapped a rhythm on the trackpad that wasn't quite regular.
He was still in pain. Or maybe, like her, he was just vibrating with the aftershocks of the rooftop.
"Clause 3," Aria said suddenly, her voice cracking slightly. She cleared her throat and tried again, sharper this time. "Let's re-evaluate Clause 3, Mr. Sinclair. The 'no physical obligations' part seems to have a very flexible definition in your mind."
Damien didn't look up from his screen. "You were the one who grabbed my tie and told me to kiss you, Little Doctor. I simply... fulfilled the request."
"I said kiss me for the camera! I didn't say devour my soul in 4K!"
"If the kiss looked fake, the headline wouldn't stick," Damien countered smoothly, finally closing his laptop and turning toward her. His golden eyes were dark, hooded. "Bella knows you. She knows how you used to look at Lucas—like a frightened rabbit. If I had just pecked you on the cheek, she would have seen the performance. Now, she's convinced I've lost my mind for you. Which is exactly what you wanted."
Aria opened her mouth to argue, but they had arrived.
They were back. The penthouse doors opened, and the cool, sterile air hit them. But tonight, the sterility felt like a challenge.
"Treatment," Damien commanded, tossing his keys onto the obsidian table. He started unbuttoning his shirt before he even reached the bedroom. "Now. My nerves are screaming."
Aria followed him, her bag gripped tightly.
Inside the Master Suite, the lighting was dimmed to a soft, amber glow. Damien had already discarded his shirt, sitting on the edge of the massive bed. His back was a vast, muscular landscape of pale skin and silver scars. In the dim light, he looked more like a fallen god than a businessman.
Aria walked over, her hands feeling strangely clumsy as she pulled out a small glass vial of herbal oil. 'Granny Shen's recipe,' she thought, the familiar, sharp scent grounding her.
She remembered the tiny, withered woman who had shared her asylum cell—the woman everyone called "Crazy Shen." For five years, that old woman had beaten the secrets of the 'Lost Medical Sect' into Aria's brain. She wasn't just a mentor; she was the reason Aria hadn't lost her mind.
"Lie down," Aria muttered.
Damien obeyed, stretching out facedown on the black silk. Aria climbed onto the bed, kneeling beside his hip. She poured the oil into her palms, rubbing them together to warm it. The scent of sandalwood and mint filled the air. As soon as her hands touched his shoulders, Damien groaned. It was a low, guttural sound that made Aria's fingers twitch.
"You're like a block of granite," she whispered, her thumbs digging into the tense knots at the base of his neck. "Do you ever relax, or is being an asshole a full-time muscular engagement?"
"It's a lifestyle," Damien rasped into the pillow.
Aria worked in silence, her hands moving with the precision of a master. She found the pressure points, the blocked meridians, the tangled nerves that kept him in constant agony. But as she moved lower, the professional distance began to erode. The heat from his skin was seeping into her palms.
The way his breath hitched whenever she hit a particularly sensitive spot... it was doing things to her concentration. She found herself staring at the curve of his waist, the way his trousers sat low on his hips.
Aria was inexperienced. In her past life, Lucas had barely touched her. She had never been this close to a man's raw, unadulterated strength.
Damien suddenly rolled over. Before Aria could protest, his large hand shot out and gripped her wrist, pulling her forward. Her hands landed on his bare chest to steady herself. Her palms were slick with oil, and the sensation of his warm skin was a sensory overload.
"The headache is gone," Damien whispered.
"Then... let go," she breathed, her heart hammering. "Treatment is over."
"The headache is gone," Damien repeated. He pulled her down further, until her face was inches from his. Aria could see the golden flecks in his eyes. "But something else is bothering me."
"Damien," she warned, though her voice lacked conviction. "Clause 3."
"Fuck Clause 3," he growled.
He reached up, his hand tangling in her rose-gold hair. Aria's eyes fluttered shut. She was terrified. She was thrilled.
Just as his lips brushed hers, a sharp, aggressive vibration erupted from the nightstand. Aria jumped, nearly falling off the bed. Damien let out a string of curses, releasing her as he snatched his phone.
He looked at the caller ID. "It's Ken."
He swiped to answer, putting it on speaker.
"Boss," Ken's voice was professional and urgent. "The trap worked. Bella just put out an emergency notification to all major media outlets. She's scheduled a press conference at the Vale Estate for tomorrow morning at 9 AM. The subject is: 'The TRUTH about Aria Vale's abduction and her struggle with domestic violence'."
Aria leaned in, her eyes sharpening as the 'Black-Belly Queen' returned. "She's going to claim the rooftop kiss was me pleading for my life."
Damien looked at Aria, a dark, lethal smile touching his lips. "Domestic violence? I suppose I should give her a reason to use that headline."
He looked out at the city, his silver hair messy. "Ken, tell Kai the move has started. I want his network focused on the live feed. And tell Julian to be at the Vale Estate by 8:30. I want the legal traps laid before she even opens her mouth."
"Understood, sir," Ken replied.
Damien turned back to Aria. "You can't go to your father's house looking like a commoner. Especially not when they're claiming you're being starved. I'll have Ken arrange something appropriate. Since you haven't been back to your apartment to pack, I'll assume you have nothing but rags."
Aria looked at her oil-slicked hands, then at him. The war was starting.
"I'm ready," she said. "But Damien? Next time you try to break Clause 3... put your phone on 'Do Not Disturb'."
She walked out of the room before he could respond.