3.

3

"Why?" Damian whispered, leaning down slightly so his warm breath brushed the side of my neck. "Is that why you try to shrink yourself whenever I'm around?"

His gaze lingered on mine. "You weren't this afraid of me a year ago.”

My heart plummeted into my stomach.

Had he noticed? The lingering glances I thought I'd hidden so carefully? The secret breathlessness I'd always fought whenever he walked into a room?

Did he know I'd been noticing every glance, every quiet moment between us since the night he'd saved me from Ethan's enemies a year ago, when my husband had been too busy with Sienna to even realize I was missing?

"I… I don't know what you're talking about," I stammered, pulling back as much as the bar behind me would allow.

How could I ever admit something like that out loud?

Damian took another step forward, eliminating every inch of space between us.

Unwanted heat spread through me instantly, my heart hammering against my ribs and my breath hitching in my chest.

"Then why did your breathing just change, Arabella?" his deep voice purred, dark and possessive.

"I…" I opened my mouth to refute his claim, to tell him he was out of his mind, but the words died in my throat under his penetrating gaze.

Panicked, I chose the only logical option left: I ran.

I refused to let myself be vulnerable—not to Ethan, and certainly not to his lethal, commanding father.

I spun on my heel and blindly pushed my way through the sea of dancing bodies. Music thundered around me as I fled toward the exit, my pulse racing as if a demon were pursuing me.

When I broke through the front doors and realized Damian hadn't chased after me, I didn't know whether the sharp pang in my chest was relief or bitter disappointment.

Outside, the cold night air slapped my face, cutting through the haze of the alcohol.

Reality crashed down around me. It was almost midnight, and I had nowhere to go.

Worse, I didn't have my credit card—the card linked to the monthly allowance Ethan graciously granted me like a dependent.

All I had in my purse were a few loose bills, hardly enough to cover a night in a decent hotel.

Returning to Ethan's mansion after my dramatic exit felt like a slap to my own face. But crawling back inside the club to ask Damian for help felt even worse.

I stood under the harsh glare of the streetlights, shivering violently. In my rush to escape Damian, I had left my coat at the bar, leaving me exposed in the red lace dress I'd chosen for Ethan.

Fresh tears welled in my eyes, spilling over my lashes as the sheer misery of the night crushed me. Humiliation, grief, and absolute isolation washed over me all at once.

I was so consumed by everything that was happening that I didn't notice the shadow approaching until a heavy presence loomed directly behind me.

"What's a pretty thing like you doing out here all alone?" a man's voice slurred. "Mind if I keep you company and make your night a little more fun?"

I whipped around to face a tall, disheveled man with a predatory smirk. Danger practically radiated off him. Instinctively, I took a step back.

He matched my step, his eyes gleaming with malicious intent, and grabbed my arm in a vice-like grip.

"Let go of me!" I demanded, trying to yank my arm free.

His grip only tightened, bruising my skin.

"Drop the act, sweetheart," the man hissed, his eyes greedily raking over my bare legs and tight dress. "You came out here dressed like you're begging to be taken."

Before I could react, he slammed me backward against a parked car. The cold metal bit into my back as his heavy frame pinned me down. I thrashed against him, but his brutal strength overpowered me.

"Help!" The scream tore out of my throat, raw and desperate. "Somebody help me!"

I opened my mouth to scream again, but suddenly, the weight pressing against me vanished.

The man was violently ripped away. In the very next second, strong, warm arms wrapped securely around my trembling frame, pulling me tightly into a broad chest.

"Shh, I've got you," Damian's low voice rasped against my hair. He held me tightly, his heart thumping wildly against his chest as if he were terrified I would shatter. "I'm sorry... Everything is fine now. You're safe."

Over his shoulder, I watched in shock as two burly men in black suits pinned my attacker to the asphalt. Within seconds, the man was subdued, groaning in pain.

"Get him out of my sight," Damian commanded, his voice dropping to a terrifying, lethal pitch. "Teach him what happens when he touches what isn't his."

I froze in his arms.

'What isn't his?'

What did he mean by that?

Damian's bodyguards dragged him into the darkness…dissappearing from sight.

Realization washed over me, snapping me out of my shock. I shoved against his chest, pushing myself out of his embrace as if he were on fire.

"Arabella—" Damian reached for me, his brow furrowing.

"Mr. Sterling, thank you for stepping in," I breathed, my voice trembling as I pulled the shreds of my dignity together. "But please, remember propriety. What if someone sees us together like this? Do you have any idea what kind of scandal that would cause?"

Damian didn't flinch. He simply stood tall, his dark eyes locking onto mine with unnerving focus.

"Didn't you tell Ethan you agreed to the divorce?" he asked calmly.

My breath caught. "W-what?"

"You told him you wanted a divorce," Damian repeated, taking a slow step toward me. "Did you not mean it?"

"H-how do you know about that?" I stuttered, my mind racing. "Have you been spying on me?"

The accusation sounded wild out loud, but the pieces fit together far too neatly. The sudden call from his family lawyer, Vance, the second I left the estate... Damian miraculously appearing at an obscure club outside his usual territory...

"Answer the question, Arabella," he pressed, ignoring my accusation entirely. "Did you mean it when you took off your ring and walked out?"

I stared at him, my mind spinning. ‘Why was Damian Sterling watching my every move? Why did he care so much about the end of my marriage?’

Before I could find my voice, the sharp, piercing ring of my phone shattered the thick silence.

Grateful for the interruption, I snatched the phone from my purse and answered without even checking the screen. "Hello?"

"Is this Arabella Morgan?" a professional, urgent voice asked.

I pulled the phone back to look at the display. The caller ID read “Premier Care Intensive Unit." The blood in my veins ran cold.

"Yes, this is her," I said, my throat going dry. "Is my mother alright?"

"Miss Morgan, please come to the hospital immediately," the nurse replied hastily. "Your mother suffered a sudden relapse. She has been moved into the ICU, and her condition is critical."

"I... I'm on my way," I gasped, hanging up with trembling fingers.

Panicked, I turned toward the main road, desperate to hail a cab. But before I could take three steps, a firm hand clamped around my wrist—gentle this time, but unyielding.

"Come with me," Damian said softly, his dark eyes filled with absolute authority. "I'm driving you."

Every instinct told me to refuse, to maintain my distance from this dangerous man. But as I looked into his steady eyes and thought of how I needed to get to my mother in an ICU bed, my defense mechanisms crumbled.

"Okay," I whispered.