The penthouse was quiet.
Aria sat at her vanity, staring at her reflection in the harsh perimeter lighting of the mirror. She still had the makeup from the shopping trip on—a streak of electric blue eyeliner and glitter that had seemed fun in the fitting room but now just looked exhausted against her pale skin.
She picked up a cotton pad soaked in makeup remover and began to scrub. She was aggressive with it, trying to wipe away not just the glitter, but the lingering unease of the afternoon.
"You're going to rub your skin raw," a low voice noted from the doorway.
Aria paused, looking in the mirror. Damien was leaning against the frame, barefoot, wearing only charcoal trousers. He watched her with a heavy, hooded gaze.
"It's waterproof," Aria muttered, reaching for another pad. "It's stubborn."
Damien walked over. He didn't say a word. He simply took the pad from her fingers, moved her hand gently to her lap, and tilted her chin up with his other hand.
"Allow me," he murmured.
