Chapter 21
Aria’s POV
Damian had been gone for three days.
We talked now and then—mostly when I got stuck on a financial report.
Late-night calls where his voice would rumble through the phone, patient and steady as he walked me through balance sheets and cash flow projections.
“No, sweetheart, look at the operating expenses line again. See how it jumps in Q3? That’s your red flag p>
I’d stare at my laptop screen, chewing my lip. “So they’re hiding something p>
“Or they’re incompetent. Either way, use it p>
Those conversations became my lifeline. Not just because he knew business inside and out, but because hearing his voice made me feel less alone in this fight.
Sometimes I’d call him when the walls felt too close. When the silence in my apartment got too loud and memories I didn’t want started creeping in.
I never told him what I was thinking about. Never mentioned Ethan’s name.
But Damian always seemed to know anyway.
“You still with me, Aria p>
“Yeah. Sorry. Just tired p>
“Liar.” His voice would go soft. “But I’ll let it slide. For now p>
And somehow that made it easier to breathe.
Other times, our conversations took a different turn. Damian was a master at flirtation, the kind that made heat pool low in my stomach even through a phone line.
I wanted him. That much was clear. The chemistry between us was undeniable, electric. And I wasn’t naive enough to pretend otherwise.
Sex? Absolutely. I could do that.
But falling in love? That was still too soon. Too dangerous. Too much like opening myself up to get destroyed again.
I’d learned that lesson the hard way.
The morning of the board meeting, I woke up with my stomach in knots.
I stood in front of my closet for twenty minutes, staring at my limited options. Everything I owned suddenly felt wrong—too casual, too cheap, too… not enough for facing a room full of sharks who’d probably love to see me fail.
My phone buzzed on the nightstand.
A delivery notification.
I frowned and went downstairs. Sure enough, a sleek black box sat on the doorstep, my name printed on the label in gold lettering.
Inside was the most beautiful suit I’d ever seen.
Charcoal gray, perfectly tailored, with a silk blouse the color of cream. The fabric felt like water between my fingers. There was a note tucked inside:
[Knock them dead, beautiful. These old bastards won’t know what hit them. —D]
My chest tightened in the best way.
I pulled out my phone immediately.
Me:[Thank you. It’s gorgeous p>
His reply came within seconds.
[Not as gorgeous as you’ll look wearing it p>
Heat crept up my neck.
Me:[Smooth talker p>
Damian:[Only for you, sweetheart. Wish I could be there to watch you tear them apart p>
I bit my lip, my fingers hovering over the keyboard.
Me:[Maybe you can help me celebrate after p>
Three dots appeared. Disappeared. Appeared again.
Damian:[Dangerous offer, Aria. You sure you want to start something you can’t finish p>
My pulse quickened.
Me:[Who says I can’t finish it p>
[Fuck.] The response was immediate. [You’re killing me. I’m in the middle of a meeting and now all I can think about is peeling that suit off you later p>
My face was burning now, but I couldn’t stop smiling.
Me:[Focus, Alpha King. Wouldn’t want to scandalize your advisors p>
Damian:[Too late. Already scandalized. Rick just asked if I’m having a stroke because I’m grinning at my phone like an idiot p>
I laughed out loud.
Me:[Poor Rick p>
Damian:[Poor me. I have to sit through three more hours of border dispute negotiations with a hard-on. ]
Damian:[This is your fault p>
Me:[My fault? You’re the one who sent me a suit that probably costs more than my car p>
Damian:[You’re the one who looks like sin incarnate. Fair trade p>
God, this man.
Me:[I should go get ready. Don’t want to be late p>
[Go kill it, sweetheart. Call me after. I want to hear everything p>
Me:[You just want to hear me beg you to come over p>
Damian:[That too. Now go before I say something that’ll make you blush through the entire meeting p>
I set my phone down, my heart racing in a way that had nothing to do with nerves about the board.
The suit fit perfectly. Of course it did.
When I looked in the mirror, I barely recognized myself. I looked… powerful. Like someone who belonged in a boardroom. Like Vincent Smith’s daughter.
Like someone who could stare down a room full of old-money assholes and come out on top.
By two PM, Victor and I were standing in the lobby of V&A International Group headquarters.
The building was everything I’d imagined and worse—thirty-five stories of glass and steel, all sharp edges and intimidating architecture. People in expensive suits rushed past, their shoes clicking on the marble floors, everyone looking like they knew exactly where they belonged.
So did I.
I smoothed down the front of my blazer and met the building’s cold stare with one of my own.
“The board room’s on the top floor,” Victor said quietly. “Nathan and Sylvia will both be there p>
My stomach dropped.
Of course they would.
Victor must have sensed my panic because he squeezed my shoulder gently. “You prepared for this, right p>
“Yes.” My voice came out steadier than I felt.
“Then that’s all you need.” His expression hardened. “Remember—you’re Vincent’s daughter. You have every right to sit at that table p>
I nodded and followed him into the elevator.
The ride up felt like it took forever.