CHAPTER FIVE — THE BROTHER AND THE BATTLEFIELD
Aria didn't sleep.
Not because she couldn't, but because the silence pressed against her like a weight she refused to surrender under. She sat in the armchair near the balcony door, still in the emerald dress, hair slightly loosened from the knot, barefoot and wide awake.
The door remained locked—again, symbolic. A lock meant nothing in a place where everything was under someone else's jurisdiction.
Her thoughts were blades she kept sharpening.
Adrian Blackwood.
Younger brother. Too amused. Too informed. Too casual for someone she'd never met.
If Damian was a storm contained in ice, Adrian was the flickering flame that survived it. They were not the same—and the fact he'd walked into her room unannounced meant she couldn't assume any part of this mansion was secure.
At some point, dawn peeled across the sky in muted tones of pearl and steel. The light reached her but did not warm her.
A knock—not soft, not hesitant—sounded at the door.
Three sharp raps.
She said nothing. The handle turned anyway.
A tall man entered, this one in a dark suit with an earpiece. Not Carmella. Not Adrian. Another piece on the board.
He scanned the room but did not comment on her sleepless state.
"Your presence is required," he said simply.
Aria rose without a word. She didn't need to ask where or why—he wouldn't answer, and she wouldn't waste breath.
The emerald gown flowed behind her like a shadow as she followed him through the hallway. Light crept across the floor in sharp lines. No other staff appeared. No one made noise.
They reached a wing she hadn't been taken through before. Two tall double doors opened into a conference room—not lavish, not grand, but efficient. Minimalist walls. A long black table of solid stone. Six chairs. A wide window with sheer drapes.
And Damian Blackwood seated at the head.
He was already dressed for the day—charcoal suit, cuffs aligned, gaze unreadable. A tablet rested near his hand, a phone near the other. He didn't acknowledge the guard when Aria entered.
She didn't wait for permission. She walked to the far end of the table and stood, not sitting.
A folder lay in front of the chair across from Damian.
He finally looked at her—once, briefly, then at the chair.
"Sit."
She stared back at him, spine straight. "No."
He didn't change expression. "You'll sign the remaining documents."
"You had me sign one mistake," she said. "You won't get another."
He ignored her tone and opened the folder himself, sliding a page across the table.
"This is a notice of legal identity transfer. It finalizes your attachment to my estate and business holdings."
She didn't look at it. "You can frame it in gold and burn it for all I care. I'm not signing anything."
"You don't have a choice."
She leaned forward, eyes as sharp as ground glass. "You keep saying that like it's supposed to break me."
"No," he said. "It's supposed to remind you that reason is limited here."
"I don't need reason," she said. "I need opportunity."
His gaze held hers for a slow, heavy moment. "Any attempt to void this union results in court proceedings."
"I'll take court over captivity."
"You won't win."
"I don't have to win," she said. "I just have to drag you into the light."
His voice remained unshaken. "You won't get close enough to try."
She allowed herself a cold, humorless smile. "You underestimate desperation."
"And you," he said, "overestimate leverage."
They stayed locked in silence until the door opened again.
Carmella stepped inside with a tablet. Behind her, to Aria's displeasure but not surprise, Adrian appeared—hands in pockets, smirk barely restrained.
He took a seat at the table without waiting to be invited.
Damian didn't look at him. "You're not needed."
Adrian ignored him entirely, turning to Aria with a lazy flicker of interest. "If looks could kill, brother dearest would've died three conversations ago."
Aria didn't give him a glance.
Carmella placed the tablet in front of Damian. "Press outlets are requesting confirmation on the timeline of announcement."
He nodded once. "Tell them by Friday."
"Understood."
Carmella left silently.
Adrian swiveled his chair a bit. "Isn't it charming? You've barely arrived and you're already headlining."
Aria finally turned her head slightly. "Do you practice being insufferable or is it hereditary?"
Adrian grinned slowly. "Oh, I like you."
"Stop speaking," Damian said without raising his voice.
Adrian lifted both hands in surrender, amused but compliant—for now.
Damian returned his attention to Aria. "You will complete the legal transition today. I won't repeat the request."
"And I won't comply," she said.
He studied her for a calm, dangerous pause. "You want a concession."
"I want freedom."
He didn't even blink. "Not available."
She took a step closer to the table. "Then I'll take damage."
He set the tablet aside. "Meaning?"
"I may not be able to take you down…" She placed both hands on the stone surface, leaning in. "But I can bleed your reputation dry."
Adrian whistled under his breath. "She wants to go nuclear."
She didn't spare him a look.
Damian did not shift, but the air cooled around his stillness. "You think you can reach the press."
"I know how to talk. I know where to hurt. I know what the world loves more than wealth—scandal."
"You won't get the chance."
"You can't keep me silent forever."
"Forever?" he repeated quietly. "No. Only long enough."
She held his gaze. "Try."
He didn't move, didn't blink.
Then, at last, he said, "Leave us."
Adrian raised a brow. "Me too?"
Damian turned his head slightly. "Now."
Adrian stood, amused. "Don't stab each other without me."
He left with the guard.
The door clicked.
Silence flooded the room—thick, heavy, alive.
Aria straightened.
Damian rose from his seat with an unhurried movement. "Threats don't impress me."
"I wasn't threatening," she said. "I was promising."
"You can't touch what you can't reach."
"Everyone can be reached," she said. "Even gods. Especially kings."
He stepped closer, not aggressive, not rushed—simply reducing the distance like gravity.
"You don't understand the cost of defiance."
"And you don't understand the cost of trying to own a storm."
He stopped just across the table from her. His voice dropped to a precise, lethal calm.
"You will cooperate."
"No."
"You will sign."
"Never."
"You will stay in line."
"Break me."
His eyes narrowed by a fraction. "Don't tempt me."
She smiled, cold as winter glass. "There it is. The truth."
His jaw stilled. "I don't bluff."
"And I," she said, "don't bow."
He held her stare until the silence itself trembled.
Then he reached across the table and slid the unsigned document back into the folder.
For a heartbeat, she thought he was conceding.
He wasn't.
"You won't sign today," he said.
Her breath hitched—but she masked it fast.
He continued, voice even. "You'll attend an event tonight."
She didn't respond.
He didn't wait. "A private fundraiser. You'll stand at my side, speak when spoken to, and give the world no reason to ask questions."
"I won't smile."
"You don't need to."
"I won't pretend to be yours."
"You already are."
She swallowed the fury rising in her throat.
He closed the folder and handed it to her. She didn't take it.
"Keep it," she said. "Frame it next to the first contract you forged."
He ignored the jab. "You'll leave in four hours. Carmella will bring attire. You won't refuse."
"And if I do?"
He didn't hesitate. "I'll collect your brother and have him delivered to the estate."
Her blood froze midstream.
He added, without drama, "And I don't make idle arrangements."
The room darkened behind her eyes.
She didn't speak. She didn't breathe.
He left her there, folder still on the tabl
e, everything around her made of iron and ice.
When the door closed behind him, she stood alone.
But not defeated.
Not finished.
Not yet.
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