Page 49 of The Billionaire’s Contract Bride

The question froze the air between them.

Damien’s bandaged hand turned beneath hers. His fingers closed gently around her wrist. “Do you want one?”

Aria thought of the locked suite, her mother’s solitary hospital room, the blood on his cuff, and the way his kiss had burned against her lips in the courtroom.

“I don’t know,” she admitted.

“Then no. When you know for certain, ask me again.” He lifted her hand and pressed his mouth to the center of her palm. The touch was feather-light, but his eyes were dark and dangerous. “But understand this, Aria. I let Celeste disappear because I never wanted her.”

His lips moved slowly to her pulse point.

“You will not receive the same mercy.”

Chapter Nine: Her Choice

Aria dreamed of locked doors.

In the dream, every key belonged to Damien.

When she woke before dawn, the penthouse was silent. The previous night’s anger still hummed in her veins, but fear had given way to something far more dangerous: clarity. For too long, her life had been decided in rooms she entered after the decision was already made. Damien used speed as a weapon—cars waiting downstairs, attorneys briefed, security routes changed before anyone else knew there was a problem. Moving quickly was not the same as being in control.

She found him standing before the floor-to-ceiling windows in the dark living room, an untouched glass of whiskey in his hand.

“Do you ever sleep?” she asked softly.

“When nothing I value is threatened.”

“That sounds exhausting.”

“It is.”

He wore black trousers and an unbuttoned white shirt, the lines of the city casting pale grids across his chest. Aria approached until she stood just beyond his reach.

“My mother is stable,” she said.

“I know.”

“The guard is in police custody.”

“I know.”

“And I am standing here because I chose to leave my suite.”

Damien set the glass on the marble console, finally turning to look at her. His gaze was calculating. “What are you trying to prove, Aria?”

“That not everything between us happens because you arranged it.”

His gaze traveled slowly down her silk robe. “Go back to bed.”

“Why?”

“Because you are frightened, angry, and confusing adrenaline with desire.”

The rejection stung, sharp and cold, but Aria stepped closer. “You said I would eventually offer.” She wanted to know if holding him felt as good as kissing him. If it felt any more satisfying than when he gave her half answers.

“Not like this.”

“You don’t get to decide what my desire looks like.”