Damien's mind was in turmoil long after Aria Williams – no, Aria – had left the conference room. He stood by the floor-to-ceiling windows of his top-floor office, glaring out at the city skyline without truly seeing it. The coffee on his desk sat untouched and cold. All he could think about was the shock of seeing her again.
Four years. It had been four years since that night – a night he'd tried and failed to forget. And now, out of nowhere, she'd appeared in his boardroom, of all places. What cruel twist of fate was this?
He had hidden his reaction behind a mask of professionalism, but the moment he'd walked into that meeting and locked eyes with her, recognition had hit him like a punch to the gut. Aria's face was just as he remembered, though a touch more mature. Those wide amber-brown eyes had gone round with shock – she'd recognized him too, he was sure of it.
Damien exhaled slowly, pressing a hand against the cool glass. His reflection stared back at him: a tall, composed businessman in a suit, looking every inch the powerful CEO. But inside, his heart was racing with unanswered questions and a surge of emotions he wasn't prepared for.
Why was she here? Life as a freelance designer couldn't have been easy – was she still struggling? A pang of something like guilt tugged at him. He remembered leaving that money on the nightstand, a decision that had haunted him more than he cared to admit. Had she been forced to use it? Did she hate him for it?
And the biggest question of all – why had she disappeared without a trace? After that night, Damien had woken alone, the sheets beside him cold. She'd slipped away, leaving nothing behind but a faint scent of vanilla on the pillow. He told himself it was for the best, that it was a clean break. Yet he'd found himself thinking of her at odd moments, wondering what had become of the fierce, beautiful woman who'd stood up to a drunk stranger and then shared his bed.
He had even tasked his private investigator to find her, back then. But with only a first name and a hazy description, it was impossible. Eventually, he convinced himself to let it go.
Now she was back in his orbit. Aria Williams, she called herself. Was Williams her married name? The thought sent an unreasonable spike of irritation through him. Did she have a husband? A family?
Damien's jaw tightened. He needed answers. He needed information – about her life since that night, and why she had never attempted to reach him. Because one thing was certain: her reappearance was no mere coincidence. She either had no idea who he was when she applied for the contract (which he found hard to believe – Knight Enterprises was not exactly obscure), or she did know and had come intentionally.
But if she knew, why look so surprised? No, her shock had seemed genuine.
"Sir?" A voice interrupted his thoughts. It was Jacob, his personal assistant, standing hesitantly by the office door.
Damien turned, schooling his face back to neutrality. "Yes?"
Jacob stepped forward, holding a tablet. "I have the report you requested on Ms. Aria Williams."
It hadn't taken long. Damien felt a twinge of satisfaction – his resources could unearth anything. "Go on."
Jacob cleared his throat. "Aria Williams, age twenty-eight. Freelance fashion designer, also worked part-time at Rose Boutique for the last three years. Prior to that, she was a student at Greenvalley Art Institute – studied fashion design, graduated with honors. No criminal record, no noteworthy legal issues. Financially, moderate credit, some student loans…" He scrolled. "Family: father is Victor Lancaster, mother deceased. The Lancasters are a well-known wealthy family, estranged from her as of about six years ago."
Damien's brows lifted fractionally. Lancaster? The name rang a bell – an old-money family with a significant presence in the city's high society. So Aria came from money. Why was she living as a struggling designer then? Estranged for six years… around the time she would have been twenty-two.
Jacob continued, "It appears she cut ties and changed her surname to Williams, her mother's maiden name. There was some mention in society pages of a falling out… but details are scarce. She's kept a low profile since."
Damien absorbed this silently. Aria had walked away from a life of privilege – willingly, it seemed. That explained her independent streak. He found himself almost proud of her resolve, even as he was perplexed by what could drive someone to leave such wealth behind.
"And her… personal life?" Damien asked carefully, bracing himself for the answer. "Is she married? Children?"
Jacob glanced at the tablet, then looked up, surprised. "No record of a marriage, sir. But…" he paused, "she does have a child listed as a dependent. A son, Noah Williams, born four years ago."
For a moment, Damien forgot to breathe. Four years ago?
His mind raced. Four years ago, after that night, she would have been… Pregnant. The realization slammed into him. A son. Aria had a son.
His son?
A mix of shock and fury roared to life inside Damien, nearly knocking the air from his lungs. He struggled to keep his face impassive under Jacob's mildly concerned gaze. "Did you find any information on the father?" he asked, voice tight.
"None, sir," Jacob replied. "The father's name isn't on any public record. The child's birth certificate lists no father."
Damien's hands curled into fists at his sides. No father named. A four-year-old boy.
No, it could be a coincidence… but Damien's gut told him otherwise. Noah. He whispered the name in his mind. Four years old – the timing matched. And those eyes… In a flash, he remembered the way Aria's son had looked in that photo she showed during the meeting—
Wait. Damien's brow furrowed. There hadn't been a photo, had there? Perhaps he was imagining, or Jacob might have more. "Do we have a photograph of the boy?" he demanded.
Jacob nodded. "Yes, sir. It took a little doing, but I was able to find a social media account belonging to Mrs. Alvarez – a neighbor. She had some pictures posted of a boy identified as Noah." He tapped the tablet a few times and handed it to Damien.
Damien took the tablet, his heart pounding in his ears. On the screen was a candid photo of Aria kneeling in front of a curly-haired toddler, adjusting his little coat. The boy was grinning broadly at the camera. Damien's breath caught. Even through a photograph, the resemblance was undeniable – the child's bright smile was Aria's, but those eyes, that expression… it was like seeing one of his own childhood photos.
His son. It had to be.
A tempest of emotions whipped through Damien – awe, disbelief, and a rising anger that made his vision sharp and clear. She had kept this from him. She'd had his child and never told him.
"Sir?" Jacob's voice was cautious. "Are you alright?"
Damien realized he was gripping the tablet so hard his knuckles were white. He forced himself to set it down on the desk, drawing in a slow breath. "I'm fine," he lied smoothly. "Thank you, Jacob. That will be all."
Jacob hesitated, eyes flicking to the tablet, clearly curious but wise enough not to ask. "Of course, sir. Let me know if you need anything else." With a respectful nod, he exited the office.
The moment the door clicked shut, Damien braced his hands on the desk, closing his eyes. A son. He had a son.
Memories flooded him: his own lonely childhood, the ache of growing up under a distant father and an absent mother. He had vowed long ago that if he ever had children, he would never abandon them or let them feel unwanted. Yet here he was, four years late to even realize he had a child of his own.
And Aria… she had decided to keep his son from him. The thought ignited a blaze of resentment. How could she not tell him? Did she think he wouldn't care, or did she simply not want him in her life?
His mind replayed every moment of the meeting earlier – her nervousness, the way she avoided his eyes. Was it guilt? Fear? Perhaps she had hoped he'd never find out.
Damien straightened, jaw clenched. Well, he had found out. And now that he knew, there was no force on earth that would keep him away from his child.
He moved with renewed purpose, grabbing his phone and keys. Meetings be damned, this took priority. He was going to see Aria – now – and get the truth from her own lips.
Half an hour later, Damien's black luxury sedan pulled to a stop across the street from a modest red-brick building that Jacob's report had listed as Aria's address. Dusk was falling, and a few street lamps flickered to life. He spotted a familiar figure walking down the sidewalk toward the building's entrance – Aria, holding a little boy's hand.
Even from a distance, Damien's chest tightened at the sight of the child. He looked tired, rubbing his eyes with his free hand as they approached the front door. Aria was carrying a couple of grocery bags in her other arm and appeared to be listening to the boy tell a story, judging by his animated gestures.
They reached the stoop, and Aria set down the bags to search for her keys. Noah – their son, Damien corrected in his mind – tugged on her sleeve, and even across the street, Damien could hear the boy's high, clear voice call, "Mommy?"
The single word sent a bolt of emotion through Damien. It took all his restraint not to stride over right then. But he held back, watching.
Aria smiled down at the child and said something Damien couldn't hear. She looked so at ease, so natural with him. It was a scene of domestic warmth that Damien had never imagined himself witnessing, much less being a part of. And yet… he already felt that primal tug of protectiveness toward the boy.
No more waiting. Damien stepped out of the car and crossed the street, his long strides eating up the distance. Aria had just retrieved her mail and was balancing the bags again while ushering Noah inside.
"Aria," Damien called, voice firm.
Aria froze in the doorway. She turned, and even in the dim light, he saw her eyes widen with disbelief and alarm. "Damien?" she breathed.
Her gaze darted to Noah, then back to Damien. The boy peered up curiously at the tall stranger approaching.
Damien came to a stop a few paces away. His heart pounded at finally seeing his son up close. The boy looked up at him with innocent curiosity – and those grey eyes that were a mirror of his own.
Aria's face had gone pale. "What… what are you doing here?" she asked, her voice unsteady. She moved subtly, positioning herself half in front of Noah, as if shielding him.
That protective gesture did not go unnoticed. The anger Damien had been holding in check simmered higher. "We need to talk," he said quietly, his tone brooking no argument.
Aria swallowed, her hand resting on Noah's shoulder. She didn't respond immediately, clearly torn.
Noah tugged at her sleeve. "Mommy, who's that?" he asked in a stage whisper that carried over to Damien.
The last fragile thread of Damien's composure snapped at hearing his son call Aria "Mommy" while looking at him with those eyes. He met Aria's gaze head-on. "Inside," Damien said, his voice low. "Now."
For a moment, Aria looked ready to refuse. But perhaps something in his expression convinced her otherwise. She nodded faintly and pushed the door open fully. "Come in," she said softly.
Damien followed them up two flights of creaky stairs to a small apartment. His every sense was on high alert – the scuffed floors, the faint scent of home cooking in the halls. How had his son been living here all this time, without him?
Inside the apartment, Aria flipped on a light, illuminating a cozy but cramped living space. Toys were neatly arranged in one corner, and colorful crayon drawings were stuck on the fridge. One featured a stick-figure family of two: a woman holding a boy's hand under a smiling sun.
The sight twisted something in Damien's chest. Two figures. No father.
Aria set the grocery bags on the kitchenette counter, her movements tense. She knelt to Noah's level, speaking gently, "Noah, honey, why don't you go play in your room for a bit? Mommy needs to speak with… an old friend."
Noah looked between his mother and Damien with bright interest. "Okay. Is he gonna visit us, Mommy?"
Aria managed a strained smile. "Just for a little while. Go on now."
The boy nodded and trotted off down a short hallway, casting one last curious glance at Damien before disappearing into what must be his room.
The moment his small figure vanished, Aria rose to her feet and faced Damien. Her hands were clasped in front of her, knuckles white. For a long beat, neither spoke.
Damien's eyes swept over her, taking in every detail – the way a few stray strands of hair had escaped her ponytail, the rise and fall of her chest as she took a shaky breath, the anxiety clear in her eyes.
He was the first to break the silence. "He's mine, isn't he?" Damien's voice was calm, but each word dropped like a stone in the quiet room.
Aria flinched, her composure cracking. She opened her mouth, then closed it, anguish flickering across her face. Finally, she whispered, "Yes."
That single syllable hit Damien harder than any shouted confession. Though he'd known it in his heart, hearing her admit it made it real. He closed his eyes briefly, a mix of triumph and fury coursing through him. When he looked at her again, there was fire in his gaze. "Why? Why didn't you tell me, Aria?"
She bit her lip, eyes shining with unshed tears. "How was I supposed to? You… you left that morning, I had no way to contact you," she said, voice trembling but gaining strength. "I didn't even know your full name."
"You knew now," he retorted, a bite in his tone. "You could have come forward when you realized who I was."
Aria's temper sparked at that, color flooding back into her cheeks. "Oh, and say what? 'Hey, remember me from four years ago? Guess what, you have a child!'" She shook her head, anger and hurt spilling out. "I only put it together when I saw you at the meeting today. Do you think that's something I could just blurt out in a conference room?"
Damien stepped closer, lowering his voice to a harsh whisper. "You had four years, Aria. Four years raising my son without me. Do you have any idea what you've done?"
Her eyes flashed. "I have raised my son just fine on my own, thank you," she snapped quietly. "Don't you dare imply I've done him harm."
"He grew up without a father," Damien shot back, unyielding. "Without me."
Aria folded her arms around herself, as if warding off his words. "And who's fault is that? You were the one who treated me like a meaningless fling. You left money, Damien. Like I was someone you could pay off. I wasn't exactly eager to run to you after that."
Damien's gut churned at the mention of that damned envelope of cash. "I never meant—" he began, then stopped. This wasn't about that night's misunderstandings; this was about Noah. "I'm here now," he said instead, steel in his voice. "And things are going to change."
Aria's eyes narrowed. "What do you mean?"
"I mean," Damien said, "that boy is my son. And I intend to be in his life. In both of your lives."
Panic flickered across her face. "Damien, please. Noah doesn't even know about you. You can't just waltz in and—"
"I can," he interrupted, eyes flashing. "And I will. I missed the first four years of his life, Aria. I won't miss any more." His tone softened just a fraction, an edge of pain seeping through. "You kept him from me… you had your reasons, perhaps, but I won't allow it to continue."
Aria dashed a tear from her cheek angrily. "So what's your plan?" she whispered. "Take me to court? Try to claim custody of a child who doesn't know you at all? Uproot his entire world out of nowhere?"
The accusation hung between them. Damien's fists clenched and unclenched. He didn't want to hurt Noah – or Aria, despite his anger. But he couldn't just walk away now.
"No," he said slowly, resolutely. "I won't drag this into a court, not if it can be helped. That would hurt Noah, and I don't want that." He took a breath, his next words coming out with deliberate precision. "There's a better way for all of us."
Aria looked wary, uncertain. "What are you saying?"
Damien's eyes locked onto hers. "Marry me."