Damian did not mistake attention for safety.
Clearing his name had never been the endgame — it was the permission.
Now the world could no longer dismiss what he was about to do as guilt, panic, or revenge. Every move from here on would land differently.
And Ethan knew it.
That was why silence would not return.
---
The dismissal came without ceremony.
No apology. No acknowledgment of error.
Just a change in posture.
The lead investigator closed the file in front of Damian, slower than necessary, as if dragging the moment out might restore the power he'd already lost.
"You're free to go," he said.
Damian didn't move immediately.
He leaned back in the chair, fingers interlaced, studying the room like he was memorizing it for later. Like he had always known this was temporary.
"I told you," Damian said calmly, "you were chasing the wrong narrative."
The man stiffened. "This doesn't mean—"
"It means exactly what it means," Damian cut in, rising to his feet. "You wanted a villain. I wanted time."
He reached for his coat.
As he passed the table, another voice tried to recover ground. "You should be careful, Mr. Cole. Clearing your name doesn't make you untouchable."
Damian paused at the door.
He didn't turn.
"It never did," he said. "That's why this ends differently."
Then he walked out.
---
The drive back to the mansion felt unreal.
Not because he was free — Damian had expected that.
Because the air itself had changed.
People stared now. Not with suspicion. With uncertainty. With calculation. Like they were trying to decide what kind of man walked free after surviving something that was meant to bury him.
He ignored all of it.
The gates opened.
The car slowed.
And the moment he stepped inside, everything else fell away.
Aria was already there.
And without thinking.
She crossed the space between them and collided with him, arms wrapping tight around his torso, fingers gripping his coat like he might vanish again.
Damian froze — only for a second.
Then he held her.
Firm. Protective. Real.
For the first time since his release, something inside his chest gave way.
"I knew it," she breathed against him. "I knew you'd come back today."
He rested his chin lightly against her head, eyes closing despite himself.
"I always do," he said.
She laughed softly, shaky, then seemed to remember herself all at once and pulled back, cheeks warm, breath uneven.
"I'm sorry. I just—"
"Don't," Damian said quietly.
Her eyes met his.
Something unspoken passed between them.
He hadn't realized how much he had missed her until she was suddenly there — solid, alive, impatient in his arms.
---
Later, inevitably, they ended up in the study.
They always did.
The room felt the same. Heavy. Private. Like it existed outside the rest of the house.
Aria stood near the shelves, fingers brushing spines she already knew by heart. Damian leaned against the desk, watching her in silence.
"You're thinking too loudly," she said without turning.
He smiled faintly. "You hear that?"
"I always do."
He crossed the room, stopping just behind her. Close enough that she felt him before he touched her.
"I read the memoir again," he said. "In custody."
Her shoulders tensed. "All of it?"
"Yes."
"And?" she asked, careful.
Damian reached out, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear. His fingers lingered.
"You turned a scandal into a weapon," he said. "You didn't defend me. You reframed me."
"That was the point," she replied. "The world needed to see you clearly before you moved."
His hand slid to her waist.
Slow.
Intentional.
"And now they do."
The kiss happened naturally.
Not rushed. Not planned.
His mouth found hers with the hunger of restraint finally breaking, weeks of silence and absence collapsing into heat. Aria responded instantly, fingers curling into his shirt, pulling him closer without thinking.
For a moment, Damian let himself forget.
The room. The plans. The danger.
He kissed her like he had time.
Then he stopped.
Abruptly.
He pulled back, breath uneven, hands still on her waist but tightening — not in desire, but restraint.
"What's wrong?" Aria asked, confused, searching his face.
Damian closed his eyes briefly.
Then he stepped back.
"This," he said carefully, "is where you step out."
Her expression fell. "Out of what?"
"My next move."
Silence stretched.
"Damian?" she said slowly.
"You are..." Damian replied. "You did what you came here to do. You cleared my name."
"That wasn't everything," she said. "You know that."
He shook his head. "What comes next doesn't involve truth. It involves force."
Aria's chest tightened. "You're going after them."
"Yes."
"And you don't want me here," she said, the realization cutting sharper than anger.
"I don't want you harmed," Damian said. "They won't stop now. Clearing my name only made me dangerous. And dangerous men draw desperate responses."
"So you're sending me away," she whispered.
"I'm protecting you."
Her laugh was brittle. "By choosing for me."
Damian held her gaze. "This isn't a debate."
For a moment, she looked like she might argue.
Then she didn't.
Her eyes filled instead.
"Fine," she said quietly. "Then I'll go."
She turned and left the study without another word.
Damian didn't follow.
He stood there long after the door closed, jaw tight, knowing this was the cost of moving forward.
---
Morning came too quickly.
Aria was ready when the car pulled up.
Suitcase packed. Expression guarded. Composed in a way that hurt more than anger would have.
Damian watched from the doorway.
"I'll have my men take you," he said. "Safely."
She nodded once. "Of course."
She didn't hug him.
She didn't look back.
The door closed.
The car pulled away.
And Damian told himself he had done the right thing.
---
The gunshot shattered that certainty.
The call came minutes later.
One of his men. Breathing hard. Panicked.
"She was taken," the man said. "We didn't see them coming. They hit us at the junction. Driver's down—"
Damian was already moving.
"Alive?" he demanded.
"Yes," the voice said. "They took her alive."
The line went dead.
Damian stopped walking.
Something cold and lethal settled behind his eyes.
So.
They had chosen.
He reached for his phone again.
This time, there would be no restraint.