I didn't see Damon for two days.

Not really, anyway. He was there, always there-silent, shadowing me like the perfect soldier-but he didn't look at me. Not once. His eyes, which had burned with fury and possession when he ripped Ethan off me, were now ice.

It was torture.

And I knew it was deliberate.

This was his punishment.

⸻

The morning after the gala, I tested him. I wore the same silk robe I'd worn the night of his warning. I lingered in the hallway, walking slower than necessary, brushing past him close enough that my perfume clung to his suit.

Nothing.

At breakfast, I crossed my legs under the table, letting my dress slip high enough to make even the butler choke on his water. Damon didn't flinch. Didn't glance. Didn't breathe.

It drove me insane.

Because I'd tasted the truth in him already. I'd seen him snap. I'd felt his hands on me, rough and hungry, in that car. I'd heard the crack in his voice when he slammed me against that wall.

And now he expected me to believe it meant nothing?

No. Damon Cross wasn't ice. He was fire pretending to be frozen.

And I was going to melt him.

⸻

That evening, my father announced a dinner with his business partners. Another boring, gilded cage for me to sit quietly in while men discussed money.

But I didn't hear him. My eyes were on Damon.

He stood behind my father's chair, silent, arms crossed, his sharp jaw angled away from me.

And then it happened.

For the first time in two days, his gaze flicked to mine. Just for a second.

But it was enough.

Enough to see the storm still raging beneath the ice.

I smiled. Victory.

⸻

After dinner, I waited in the library. I knew Damon would come. He always swept the rooms before locking up for the night.

And right on time, the door opened. His tall frame filled the doorway, his steps silent against the Persian rug.

"Damon." My voice was soft, laced with challenge.

He froze, eyes hard, jaw set. "You should be in your room."

I tilted my head, stepping closer, the silk of my dress whispering against my thighs. "You've been avoiding me."

His expression didn't change. "I've been doing my job."

"No," I whispered, stopping inches from him. "Your job is to protect me. Not punish me."

His eyes flicked down-just once-to my lips. Then back to mine. His fists clenched.

"Go to your room, Aria." His voice was low, strained, dangerous.

I smirked, leaning closer, letting my breath brush his jaw. "What if I don't?"

⸻

The next second, I was against the wall.

His hand gripped my wrist, pinning it above my head, his body towering over mine. His breath was hot, ragged, his control slipping.

"You think this is a game?" His voice was a growl, his eyes wild. "You think I don't know exactly what you're doing?"

My pulse thundered. "Maybe I want you to know."

His jaw tightened. His lips hovered inches from mine, the heat of him wrapping around me like a cage. "You're going to get hurt, Aria. And it won't be by my hand."

I swallowed, my heart slamming against my ribs. "Then whose?"

His gaze darkened, something dangerous flickering in his eyes. "Your father's."

The words hit harder than his grip.

"What?" My voice cracked.

Damon's jaw flexed, his grip loosening just slightly, though his body stayed pressed against mine. "Do you really think Kingsley doesn't notice? You think he didn't see me drag you out of that ballroom? He doesn't tolerate disobedience, Aria. Not from his daughter. And not from his bodyguard."

Ice filled my veins. "You mean-he knows?"

Damon's silence was answer enough.

⸻

He let go suddenly, stepping back like my touch had burned him. His control slammed back into place, his walls higher than ever.

"You're not safe," he said, voice sharp, final. "Not from him. Not from me. Stay away, Aria."

And then he turned, leaving me trembling against the wall, my mind spinning with his warning.

Not safe from my father.

Not safe from Damon.

The two men who controlled my life in different ways-and one of them had just admitted he was about to break.

⸻

That night, I lay awake in bed, replaying his words, his touch, the storm in his eyes.

Stay away, Aria.

But I couldn't.

Because the truth was, Damon Cross wasn't just my bodyguard.

He was the only man who'd ever looked at me like I was real.

And I knew-sooner or later-he was going to break his own rules.

I just didn't know if it would destroy us both when he did.

My father never wasted words.

So when he called Damon into his office that morning, I knew something was wrong.

I wasn't supposed to be there. But I lingered outside the door, ear pressed against the polished wood, heart thundering in my chest.

"I don't like what I saw at the gala," my father's voice was sharp, cold, the same tone he used on employees who didn't last long afterward. "You touched my daughter. In front of everyone."

My blood turned to ice.

Damon's voice came steady, low. "I was doing my job. Harrow crossed a line. I removed him."

"You removed him," my father repeated, mocking. "And in the process, made the Kingsleys look weak. My daughter is not a toy, Cross. She's not your property."

My hands trembled. My father wasn't just angry. He was suspicious.

"From now on," my father continued, "you'll follow stricter orders. You'll escort Aria to the charity ball tonight. You'll keep her in line. And you'll remember your place."

The silence that followed was suffocating. I could almost feel Damon weighing his words.

Finally, he spoke. "Yes, sir."

And that was it. The conversation ended.

But the way my father's voice had curved around the word property stayed with me, like a warning I couldn't ignore.

⸻

That evening, Damon stood outside my bedroom door, waiting to escort me. His black suit was immaculate, his tie knotted with military precision, his jaw a line of steel.

"You heard everything, didn't you?" I whispered as I stepped out.

His eyes flicked to mine, cold, unreadable. "Get in the car, Aria."

"No." I planted myself in front of him, silk gown shimmering beneath the hallway light. "Tell me what he meant. Why does my father think you-"

"Get in the car," he repeated, sharper this time.

The command cut through me, but it wasn't his words that scared me. It was his eyes. Because for the first time, they weren't just hard. They were conflicted.

And Damon Cross didn't do conflicted.

⸻

The charity ball was another glittering nightmare. Chandeliers, champagne, women in jewels worth more than most people's houses. But I barely noticed any of it.

All I noticed was Damon.

The way he stayed close, hovering like a shadow I couldn't shake. The way his eyes followed every man who glanced at me. The way his hand lingered just a fraction longer when he guided me up the steps.

Every move screamed control. Discipline. Distance.

But beneath it, I felt the storm again.

And I couldn't stop myself from pushing.

⸻

A young heir approached me near the champagne tower. Daniel Quinn. Blonde, rich, cocky in that entitled way men like him always were.

"You must be Aria," he said with a smirk, handing me a glass. "I've been dying to meet the most beautiful girl in the room."

I smiled sweetly, taking the glass. "Is that so?"

His eyes swept down my body, slow and deliberate. "Definitely so."

I felt Damon's stare before I saw it. Burning into the back of my neck, sharp and furious.

So I leaned closer to Daniel, my voice low, teasing. "Careful. My bodyguard might kill you for saying that."

Daniel chuckled. "Let him try."

And just like that, Damon was beside us.

He stepped between me and Daniel, his broad frame blocking me completely, his voice a low growl. "She's not interested."

Daniel raised his hands in mock surrender, smirking. "Relax, man. I was just talking."

"Walk away," Damon said, his tone lethal.

For a moment, I thought Daniel might push back. But one look at Damon's eyes-the storm raging there, the unspoken promise of violence-and Daniel backed off quickly, muttering something under his breath as he disappeared into the crowd.

⸻

The moment he was gone, Damon turned on me.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?" His voice was harsh, his eyes blazing.

I lifted my chin, refusing to flinch. "Talking."

"Talking?" His hand closed around my arm, pulling me close enough that his breath brushed my lips. "You were provoking me. Again."

My pulse skipped, heat rushing through me at the fury in his gaze. "And what if I was?"

For a second, just a second, his mask cracked. His grip tightened, his jaw clenched, his eyes dropping to my mouth like he wanted nothing more than to claim it.

Then he shoved me back, his voice a dangerous whisper. "You're going to get me killed, Aria."

The words stole my breath. "What do you mean?"

But he didn't answer. His eyes darted past me, scanning the room, and in that moment I realized-this wasn't just about us.

Something else was happening. Something bigger.

Because for the first time since I'd met him, Damon looked... worried.

⸻

He leaned down, his lips brushing my ear, his voice low and rough.

"Stay close to me tonight. Don't leave my sight. No matter what happens."

A shiver raced down my spine. "Damon-what's going on?"

His gaze swept the room again, sharp, calculating. His jaw tightened.

"Someone's here who shouldn't be."

My stomach dropped. "Who?"

His eyes flicked to mine, stormy and fierce. "Your father's enemies."

And before I could breathe, before I could ask another question-he grabbed my hand, pulling me into the shadows of the ballroom.

Straight toward danger.

His mouth was everywhere.

The moment the door shut behind us, Damon shoved me against the wall, his chest crushing into mine, his breath hot and ragged like he'd been holding it back all night. I barely had a chance to gasp before his lips devoured mine, hungry, desperate, like he needed this kiss to survive.

My fingers tangled in his hair, pulling him closer, closer, until there was no space between us. His tongue slid against mine, teasing, claiming, and I let him, I begged for it. Every kiss felt like fire, like we were burning alive but too addicted to stop.

Then his hands moved.

One cupped the side of my face, keeping me trapped in his kiss. The other slid down, brushing over my waist before boldly rising higher. My breath hitched when his palm covered my breast through the thin silk of my dress. He groaned into my mouth, the sound low and dangerous, as his thumb flicked over my hardened nipple.

I gasped against his lips, the sensation sharp and sweet, leaving me trembling. "Damon-"

"Don't say my name like that," he growled, his voice thick with restraint. His lips left mine, trailing hot kisses down my neck, his tongue grazing the sensitive skin just below my ear. "You'll drive me insane."

He squeezed gently, then teased with a maddening patience that had my knees buckling. Every brush of his hand sent shivers spiraling through me, a storm I couldn't contain.

I should have stopped him.

I should have reminded him who I was, who my father was.

But instead, I arched into his touch, offering myself to the danger.

The warmth of his tongue traced lower, across my collarbone, down to the swell of my breast where the neckline dipped just enough for temptation. His teeth grazed the curve, pulling a sharp gasp from me. When his mouth closed over fabric, sucking, I nearly screamed at the wave of sensation.

"Damon," I whispered again, but this time it was a plea, not a warning.

He pulled back, his breathing wild, his forehead pressing against mine. His hand was still on my breast, his thumb lazily circling. His eyes burned into mine, a storm of desire and torment.

"You're playing with fire, Aria." His voice cracked with hunger. "And if I touch you any more, I won't be able to stop."

My chest heaved against his hand. "Then don't stop."

The words tumbled out before I could swallow them back. A confession. A surrender.

His jaw clenched, and for a moment I thought he'd pull away. But instead, he kissed me again-rougher, deeper, his teeth tugging at my lip. His hand squeezed harder, his touch more demanding now, as though something inside him had finally snapped.

I was drowning in him. In his heat, his strength, his absolute obsession. Every forbidden second made me ache for more, even as I knew how dangerous it was.

And then-

A sharp sound cut through the air. A knock. Firm. Loud. Right outside the door.

We froze. Our breaths mingling. My heart slammed against my ribs.

Damon's eyes locked on mine, wide, wild, and filled with a fury I didn't understand. He stepped back, dragging his hand away, leaving me aching, cold, desperate.

"Stay quiet," he hissed, his voice deadly calm now, a perfect mask snapping back into place.

Another knock. "Miss Kingsley?" A man's voice, clipped and professional. "Your father is looking for you."

My stomach plummeted. Father. He couldn't find us like this. If he even suspected...

I met Damon's gaze, panic swirling in my eyes. He leaned closer, his lips brushing my ear.

"This isn't over," he whispered, his tone dark, promising. "Not even close."

And just like that, he yanked open the door, his face unreadable, his body once again the perfect soldier at my side.

But my lips were still swollen.

My dress was still wrinkled.

And my heart... my heart was still begging for the man who was forbidden to touch me.