All Chapters of Falling for my Saviour: Chapter 31 - Chapter 40

Aria’s POV I press my forehead against the glass, and the whole city stares back at me like it’s laughing. Cars crawling, horns blaring, people walking free. And me? I’m locked in a box in the damn sky. A very expensive, shiny, cage. How the hell do you escape a penthouse? You can’t just walk out. The elevator needs a keycard. The stairs are guarded. Windows don’t exactly open like a door, unless you want to splatter your brains across the pavement twenty floors down. My palms sweat against the railing, but the thought of him his voice, his hands, the way he looks at me like I’m both a weapon and a toy makes me shove harder against the fear. I hate him. God, I hate him. Not in the way I hated the cartel, not in the way I hated the men who bought me drinks just to show me off like some rare pet. That hate was dull, tired. A weight you drag until your legs give out. I had given up running back then, because what was the point? One cage swapped for another, one monster handing me

Aria’s POV I sat at the vanity staring at a row of lipsticks like they were weapons laid out for battle. Red. Darker red. Some shade of pink that looked like it belonged to another life a softer, dumber version of me who used to think dressing up was power instead of armor. My hand hovered, then grabbed the darkest one. If I was going to do this, I might as well look like I was bleeding. The cap snapped open, the sound too loud in the quiet room. I twisted the stick, watching the color rise from the tube, bright and sharp. My reflection stared back at me hollow cheeks, eyes bruised from nights without sleep, skin pale enough to show the bones underneath. Three days. Three long, heavy, suffocating days locked inside this room like punishment. No voice. No touch. Just footsteps outside, guards sliding trays of food through the door, and me, sitting here, waiting — and hating myself for waiting. This morning the lock had clicked open. No words. No orders. Just unlocked. Mayb

Damien I saw her before the doors even opened all the way. She walked in beside me like she owned the fucking place, her heels cutting against the floor in sharp little clicks that sounded louder than the bass thumping through the walls. I should’ve hated it. Should’ve reminded her she was only here because I wanted her close, because I didn’t trust her in the penthouse tonight. But fuck me I couldn’t stop looking. The club swallowed us whole. Lights flashing red, blue, white. Cigarette smoke and sweat rolling through the air, bodies pressed so close together it was impossible to breathe without taking in someone else’s perfume, someone else’s cologne, someone else’s skin. My world usually thrived in chaos like this, but tonight I was focused on one thing. Her. Aria. She had put on that black dress like it was war paint. Not silk this time. Something tighter. Leather maybe. Short enough that her thighs flashed when she walked, slit high enough that if she moved wrong, every

Damien’s POV I didn’t even hear the damn door. One second I was staring at the screen, at the little square box showing her on the penthouse cam bare feet padding across my marble floor, hair falling like a veil down her back, stopping to stretch like a cat in front of the balcony glass. And the next “Boss.” Christiano’s voice snapped me back. I jerked, blinked at him standing there by the door. I hadn’t even registered it opening. Fuck. That wasn’t me. I don’t miss shit like that. “Are we doing this or are you gonna keep daydreaming?” he asked, calm, too calm, the way he gets when he knows he’s poking a bruise. I set the glass down. Didn’t realize I’d been holding it so tight my palm was wet with condensation. My jaw locked. “Sit,” I muttered. He dropped into the chair opposite my desk, throwing a folder on the table. Thick. Contracts, proposals, shit I’m supposed to care about right now. “This acquisition? It’s not like the others. Clean market. New front. It’s gon

Damien’s POV The door slammed and my hand jerked out before I even thought about it, hitting the frame like I could shove it open with my own anger. I planted my shoulder against it, feeling the resistance, feeling her on the other side, silent but there, and the tension in my chest ratcheted higher, knotting every muscle in my body. “Aria, open the door,” I said, voice low but hard. Not raising it wouldn’t get her to move. I could almost hear the faint catch of her breathing through the wood, the slow careful way she must be holding herself, and it made my jaw tighten and my hands itch like I was about to tear the door down just to make her flinch. I pressed my palm against the surface, feeling the cool finish under my skin, solid and unyielding, just like her. My fingers curled slightly, nails pressing into the wood, and I had to fight the urge to hammer on it, to demand her obedience with force instead of words. But I didn’t. I kept myself still, tried to steady my pulse, eve