Aria woke the next morning with a groan and a splitting headache. Her eyes squeezed shut as the sunlight pierced through the curtains, stabbing right into her skull.
"I'm never drinking again," she muttered, her voice hoarse, her head pounding like a war drum.
Dragging herself out of bed, she took a long shower, letting the warm water try and scrub away the hangover. After dressing in a floral gown that fluttered gently around her knees, she paused in front of the mirror. Damian's voice echoed in her head — "Don't wear short dresses again." She huffed and rolled her eyes. "Controlling much?" she muttered under her breath, but didn't bother changing.
By the time she made it downstairs, still gently massaging her forehead, Damian was already seated at the table, scrolling through something on his tablet. He looked up, lips twitching slightly.
"Morning," he said smoothly.
She mumbled a response and took her seat.
"Where's Zara?" she asked
"One of the bodyguard's took her home." came his reply.
Moments later, Marta the housekeeper approached with a glass filled with a thick green liquid.
Aria stared at it in horror. "What's that?"
Damian looked far too pleased with himself. "Drink it. It'll help."
"It looks like poison," she grumbled.
"You shouldn't drink that much wine next time if you can't handle it," he replied flatly.
Still glaring, Aria shut her eyes and took the glass, holding her breath as she swallowed. The taste was as bad as it looked, and she gagged dramatically at the end.
Damian chuckled, amused by her pained expression. "There's a gala tonight. We're attending."
She blinked. "Again? You should really start giving me more than six hours' notice when these things come up."
"You were drunk last night. I tried," he said, a bit too casually. Then, as if to appease her, he added, "There'll be a gown waiting for you when you get back from the shop."
Aria rolled her eyes but didn't argue further.
At the flower shop, she spent the day with Mikhail watching from a quiet corner. Orders came in — one especially large one for a wedding. She arranged the schedules, designed a centerpiece, and gave instructions to her small team.
By evening, she returned home to find a gown laid out neatly on her bed — just as Damian had promised. It was black, floor-length, with silver glittering accents that sparkled like stars and a scandalous slit that reached mid-thigh. Aria stood there for a moment, genuinely breathless.
When she came out of the bathroom, dressed and ready, Damian was sitting at the edge of the bed, scrolling through his phone, a deep frown etched into his brow. He looked up.
His gaze swept over her slowly, and something flickered in his eyes — heat, maybe. But his voice was composed when he said, "You look nice."
Aria blushed, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. "You don't look bad yourself."
They stared at each other for a heartbeat too long, tension humming in the space between them. Then his phone rang, shattering the moment. He looked away.
The gala venue was breathtaking. Crystal chandeliers hung from vaulted ceilings, and golden lights bathed the room in a soft, dreamlike glow. Damian introduced her to a few of his acquaintances — Gregory Thorne, a luxury yacht mogul; Nadia Velasquez, CEO of a fashion empire; and Alden Ko, a real estate tycoon in Singapore.
Eventually, Aria stepped away, giving him room to talk business. She wandered with a glass of champagne in hand, observing the opulence.
"Enjoying the party?" a warm voice asked behind her.
She turned to find a man smiling at her — tall, dark-haired, with striking features. "I'm Rafael Nikas," he said smoothly. "I run Nikas Aviation."
"Oh," she said with a small smile, even though she had never heard of the company before. "Nice to meet you."
They talked — he was charming, witty, and had an easy way of making her laugh. When he offered her a dance, she hesitated, then nodded.
They moved onto the dance floor, spinning to the soft rhythm of a live band. Aria found herself smiling more than she expected.
From the side of the room, Damian's eyes narrowed. His jaw ticked as he watched her laugh — really laugh — with someone else. Something sharp and ugly twisted inside his chest.
Without a word, he walked over and tapped Rafael on the shoulder, his voice cold. "Excuse me. Sorry to disrupt, but I'd like to dance with my wife."
He didn't wait for an answer before pulling Aria gently but firmly away.
She stumbled slightly in his arms. "What was that about?"
He clenched his jaw. "He was dancing too close."
She gave a short, disbelieving laugh. "Don't tell me you are jealous?"
Damian didn't respond immediately. Instead, he leaned in, his breath brushing her ear. His hands settled low on her hips, and her breath hitched.
"I'm not a jealous man, Aria," he murmured in a low, dangerous voice, "but when I am…" his hand slid slightly lower, making her body spark with heat.
She stared at him, eyes wide, chest rising and falling fast.
His gaze dropped to her lips, and heat surged through him like wildfire. Blood roared in his veins, rushing low, hardening him with aching urgency.
Those lips—soft, parted, utterly sinful—were driving him insane.
He shouldn't.
He knew he shouldn't.
But he was past the point of restraint.
Slowly, deliberately, he leaned in, letting the tension stretch and snap between them. His breath mingled with hers, his control unraveling with every second.
Then he claimed her mouth in a kiss that silenced every warning in his head—hot, deep, and completely reckless.
Softly at first. Testing. Tasting. Then tugging at her lower lips when she did respond immediately.
Aria's shock lasted only a heartbeat, then she surrendered.
With a soft sigh, she leaned in, her body molding to his as if it belonged there.
She melted into his arms, every inch of her drawn to the heat, the strength, the promise of everything he wasn't saying—yet made her feel with that one kiss.
Then, just as suddenly, he pulled away.
People were watching .
Aria blinked, face flushed crimson as she realized he'd kissed her in front of an entire crowd.
Somewhere at the edge of the ballroom, a glass shattered.
Selene stood frozen, eyes locked on the scene she'd just witnessed — Damian, her Damian, kissing that girl like she meant something.
Her lips curved slowly into a dangerous smile. The wheels in her mind turned with cold precision.
If Damian wanted to play house with Aria…
Then it was time to end the game.