Aria's POV
"Are you going to keep pacing like that, Damon, or are you finally going to tell me what you're hiding?"
The words leave me sharper than I intend, my voice ricocheting across the glossy boardroom walls. Damon doesn't stop moving.
He strides from one end of the long mahogany table to the other, each step precise, shoulders taut, jaw tight.
His suit jacket swings with every turn, but the storm in his eyes is far more unsettling than his restless movements.
He pauses finally, hands braced on the back of a leather chair, his knuckles bone-white. "If I tell you, Aria, there's no going back."
I fold my arms across my chest even though my whole body is trembling. "You already told me enough last night to keep me from sleeping.
That Marcus might be my father too. That we might—" My throat closes around the word. Related. The thought tastes like poison.
