The mansion settled into silence once more, though the air still carried a tension Ariana could feel beneath her skin. Damian had handled the threat—silently, efficiently, without a single word of panic—but his presence alone reassured her more than any explanation could.
She found him in the study, seated behind his massive desk. Papers were neatly stacked, tablet in hand, but his eyes were fixed on the city lights beyond the windows. When he noticed her, the cold, unreadable mask softened just enough for her to see the man behind the empire.
"You stayed home," he said quietly, not as a question.
"I wanted to," she replied, stepping closer. "I… I felt safer knowing you were… handling it."
His eyes flicked toward her, dark, intense, but filled with something unspoken. Something tender.
"You did what you always do," he murmured. "You follow instructions. You trust me. And… you make me want to protect you even more."
Ariana's lips parted, words failing her. She stepped closer, until she could rest a hand lightly on his arm. The warmth radiating from him made her chest tighten.
Damian's other hand lifted, brushing her cheek with an almost hesitant touch. "I don't say it often," he admitted, voice low, "but… I can't bear the thought of anything touching you. Not threats, not gossip, not anyone. You're mine in a way no one else will ever understand."
Ariana's heart raced. She had known he cared, had even seen glimpses of it, but hearing the words—direct, raw, true—made her feel the depth of his devotion.
"I know," she whispered. "I… I trust you. I always have."
A faint smile brushed his lips, fleeting but real. He reached out, taking both her hands in his. "Then stay close tonight. Don't leave my side."
She nodded. "I won't."
For the first time since the morning threat, they allowed themselves to exhale. Damian's hands held hers tightly, possessively, but without the hardness that dominated his public persona. In this room, he was just a man—her man.
Hours passed quietly. Ariana sketched by the desk's soft lamp light, while Damian reviewed reports, though neither truly focused on the work before them. Occasionally, his gaze flicked to her, and she caught it—protective, admiring, and utterly tethered to her.
Finally, he set the tablet aside. "You paint beautifully," he said quietly, voice soft. "I could watch you all day."
Ariana's cheeks warmed. "You do."
"I do," he repeated, confirming it with a gentle brush of his thumb along her knuckles. "And I'll protect you from everything. Always."
She leaned closer, pressing a small kiss to his chest. "I know."
The city outside was alive, oblivious to the quiet bond within the mansion. But inside, Damian Steel and Ariana shared a moment no threat could touch, no empire could disrupt, no past could tarnish.
In the sanctuary of their love, even the most dangerous world felt… distant.
And Damian's vow, silent but absolute, echoed louder than any fear: she was safe. She was his. And he would never let anything harm her.