Athanasia

Aria Pov:

I’ve always been reckless. It’s not a secret, not to anyone who’s ever met me.

Aria Sinclair, the billionaire’s daughter, the girl who grew up with diamonds dangling from her ears before she could even walk. The one who’d rather sneak out of a glittering gala than sip champagne with the elite. It’s not that I hated the wealth or the power, it’s just that I hated the cage it came with.

My father, Alexander Sinclair, ruled his empire with an iron fist, and I was his most precious possession. Not out of love, mind you. I was a symbol, a trophy, a thing to be protected and controlled.

His enemies circled like vultures, and he made damn sure I was never out of his sight. Bodyguards, security systems, trackers on my phone, he thought he could lock me in a glass box and call it safety.

But I was never good at staying put.

That night, the air was thick with summer heat, the kind that clings to your skin and makes you feel alive. I’d slipped out of another one of Dad’s insufferable parties, ditched my assigned shadow, a beefy guy named Carl who smelled like cheap cologne, and hopped into my convertible.

The city lights blurred past me, neon streaks against the dark, as I sped toward the underground club on the edge of town. It was my kind of place: loud, gritty, and alive with people who didn’t know my last name and didn’t care.

I was halfway there when something happened.

The headlights came out of nowhere, blinding in my rearview mirror. A black SUV, engine roaring like a beast, swerved too close. My heart slammed against my ribs as I gripped the wheel, jerking my car to the side, as my tires screeched.

The SUV matched my move, edging closer, its tinted windows hiding whoever was inside. For a second, I thought it was an accident, some drunk idiot playing games. But then it lunged forward, clipping my bumper.

I screamed, more out of shock than fear, and floored the gas. My car shot forward, the engine purring under my control, but the SUV stayed on me, relentless.

The road curved, and I took it too fast, my tires skidding as I fought to keep control.

My pulse was a drum in my ears, my hands slick with sweat. This wasn’t a game anymore.

I don’t know how I lost them. Maybe it was the sharp turn I took into an alley, or maybe they just gave up. But when I finally pulled over, my car shaking as much as I was, the SUV was gone.

I sat there, panting, my hands trembling on the wheel, staring at the empty street. For the first time in my life, I didn’t feel invincible.

I should’ve gone home. Should’ve called my father, let him send his army of suits to sweep me back to the penthouse.

But I didn’t. I drove to the club anyway, because that’s who I am, stubborn, defiant, and stupid. The music pounded through my veins, drowning out the fear, and I danced until my legs burned, until the memory of those headlights faded.

It was three days later when a letter came.

I found it slipped under the door of my penthouse, a sleek envelope with no stamp, and no address. Just my name scrawled in sharp, black ink:

Aria.

My fingers hesitated before tearing it open, some instinct whispering that I wouldn’t like what was inside.

'We’ll take what you love most, since we can’t take him'.

The words were cold and precise, like a blade pressed to my throat. No signature, no clue who sent it. Just that single line, looping in my head as I stood frozen in my living room, the city skyline glittering through the floor-to-ceiling windows.

For the first time, I felt it, a real, bone-deep fear.

I called my father. Of course I did.

He didn’t yell, and didn’t lecture. He just said,

“Stay where you are,” in that low, controlled voice that meant he was already ten steps ahead. By nightfall, my life wasn’t mine anymore.

They arrived at dawn. Two of them.

Damien Ward stepped through the door first, and I swear the air changed.

He was tall, broad-shouldered, his black suit tailored to a body that looked carved from stone. His face was all sharp angles, his jaw clenched, his eyes like steel, they were cold and unyielding.

He didn’t speak, didn’t even look at me at first, just scanned the room like he was calculating every exit, every threat. When his gaze finally landed on me, it hit like a punch. No warmth, no softness either, just a warning: Don’t test me.

“Miss Sinclair,” he said, voice low and clipped. “I’m Damien. Your new security.”

I opened my mouth to snap something sarcastic, but then the second one walked in, and my words died.

Kade Torres was trouble in human form. He was leaner than Damien, but just as dangerous, with tattoos curling up his neck and a grin that promised chaos.

His dark hair fell into his eyes, and he didn’t bother pushing it back as he sauntered over, all swagger and heat.

“Well, damn,” he said, his voice a lazy drawl. “You’re even prettier than they said, princess.”

I bristled, crossing my arms. “Don’t call me that.”

His grin widened, like he’d just found his new favorite game. “Oh, I’m gonna call you a lot of things, sweetheart. Better get used to it.”

Damien shot him a look, one that could’ve frozen hell. “Enough, Kade.”

Kade just chuckled, leaning against the wall, his eyes never leaving me. I felt something, the spark, the pull, the danger of being caught between them.

One was ice, the other fire, and I was already too curious for my own good.

My father’s orders were clear: Damien and Kade were to be my shadows. No more sneaking out, no more freedom.

They’d watch me every second, sleep in the next room, follow me to every party, every coffee shop, every breath I took. I hated it. Hated them. Hated the way Damien’s cold control made me want to push him, just to see if he’d crack. Hated the way Kade’s teasing made my pulse race, like he knew exactly what I was thinking.

But what I hated most? The way I wasn’t sure I wanted them to stop.

That night, I lay in bed, staring at the ceiling, the city lights casting shadows across my room.

The letter was still on my nightstand, its words burned into my mind. Someone out there wanted to hurt me, to take me apart piece by piece. And now, I was trapped with two men who were supposed to keep me safe, but who felt just as dangerous as the threat outside.

I didn’t know it then, but that was the night everything changed. The night I stopped being Aria Sinclair, the reckless heiress who played with danger for fun.

Because danger? It was about to play with me