Chapter 5

Ariana POV

The morning after the gala felt like the hangover from a nightmare I hadn’t actually slept through.

Friday night’s string quartets and diamond collars were replaced by the harsh fluorescent glow of the thirty-second floor at seven-fifteen on a Saturday morning. The office was dead quiet, the kind of silence that makes every footstep sound like an accusation. I sat at my desk, staring at three separate spreadsheets for the Whitmore deal, but all I could see was Victoria Sinclair’s red-lipped smile and hear Damien’s quiet, rough voice out on that terrace.

Novelty.

The word was stuck in my brain like a splinter. I kept rubbing my thumb against the edge of my desk, trying to smooth away the phantom feeling of his eyes on me. I’d told myself a hundred times since Thursday that he was just my boss. That Saturday night in his penthouse was an accident born of tequila, heartache, and foolish pride.

But bosses don't look at you like you're the only warm thing in a frozen room. And uncles definitely don't look at their nephew's ex-girlfriends like they're trying to figure out how to keep them.

The heavy glass door of Damien’s office clicked open. I didn't look up immediately, forcing my hands to remain steady over the keyboard, but I knew his stride before he even spoke. Dark grey tailored suit, no tie today, the top button of his crisp white shirt unfastened just enough to remind me of the man who’d held me against his chest in the dark.

"You're early," he said. His voice was low, devoid of the cold command he usually wore like armor in front of the board.

"The Whitmore contracts needed cross-referencing before the Monday morning Asian markets open," I said, keeping my gaze locked on the screen. "I wanted to make sure everything was clean."

He didn't move toward his office. Instead, he walked slowly over to my desk, stopping just on the other side of the glass partition. The scent of cedar and rain followed him, instantly filling my lungs and making my pulse hammer against my ribs.

"Ariana."

I swallowed hard and finally looked up. "Yes, Mr. Ashford?"

His jaw tightened at the formal title. "We're alone in the building. Drop the 'Mr. Ashford.'"

"It's standard protocol for executive assistants, isn't it?" I asked, hating how breathless my own voice sounded. "Especially when dealing with 'novelties.'"

Damien’s eyes narrowed, a flash of genuine irritation darkening his irises. Before I could process his movement, he walked around my desk, pulled out the empty chair beside mine, and sat down. He leaned back, resting one arm over the back of the chair, bringing him terrifyingly close to me.

"Victoria speaks for her father's empire, not for me," he said firmly. "What she said to you was a deliberate calculation designed to make you feel small. She's been doing it her entire life to anyone she views as a threat."

"A threat?" I let out a dry, bitter laugh. "I'm a mid level assistant with a mountain of family debt and a hand-sewn dress, Damien. She has billions and a family surname that practically prints money. I'm not a threat to anyone."

"You are to her," Damien replied softly, his dark eyes searching my face with an intensity that made it hard to breathe. "Because you're the first person in five years who made me forget a corporate schedule."

My heart gave a sudden, violent thud against my ribs. I turned my head away, terrified that if I looked at him any longer, I’d lose whatever fragile control I had left.

"Don't say things like that," I whispered. "Ethan already thinks I used him to climb the ladder here. If anyone finds out about... about us, about Saturday, they'll think I traded my dignity for a promotion."

"Ethan is an insecure child who hides behind his grandfather's money," Damien said, his tone shifting from soft to icy anger in a fraction of a second. "He couldn't hold a job outside this building if his life depended on it. If he comes near your desk again, or utters another word to make you uncomfortable, you tell me."

"So you can fire your own nephew?" I asked, turning back to him. "Family is everything in the Ashford empire. You said it yourself."

"Loyalty is everything," Damien corrected, reaching out. His fingers brushed against the back of my hand resting on the desk a light, tentative touch that sent a sharp shudder straight down my spine.

"And Ethan broke his loyalty to this family the moment he used a human being as a game piece."

I stared down at where his hand rested over mine. His skin was warm, his touch surprisingly gentle for a man who tore competitors apart in boardrooms for a living.

"I don't want protection, Damien," I said softly, my anger melting into something far more dangerous vulnerability. "I spent my whole life watching my mother crumble while my father ran away from his debts. I swore I’d rely on myself. I came to headquarters to build my own career, not to become another dirty secret in an Ashford drama."

Damien was quiet for a long moment. He didn't pull his hand away. Slowly, his thumb traced a soft line over my knuckles.

"You aren't a secret, Ariana," he said, his voice dropping into a register so dark and sincere it felt like a vow. "And you aren't a mistake. I don't give hand-outs, and I didn't transfer you here out of pity.

You're here because you're sharper than half the executives on the top floor."

He stood up then, releasing my hand, though his eyes never left mine.

"Finish the Whitmore files," he instructed, slipping back into his controlled, executive persona, though the warmth in his gaze remained. "Then go home. Take the rest of the weekend off. That's an order."

"And Monday?" I asked, my voice barely audible in the quiet room.

Damien reached his office door and paused, looking back over his shoulder with a subtle, dangerous curve at the edge of his lips.

"On Monday, we sign the Whitmore deal," he said. "And then we figure out what comes next."

He walked in and closed his office door, leaving me alone at my desk. My hands were trembling, but for the first time since my birthday night, the heavy knot in my chest felt a little lighter. I leaned back in my chair, looking out at the NYC skyline through the glass walls.

He was dangerous far more dangerous than Ethan could ever hope to be. But as I turned back to my monitor, I knew one thing for certain: I wasn't running away anymore.