DAMIEN'S POV
I close Aria's door behind me and lean against it.
My hands are shaking.
Actually shaking.
Twelve years of control. Twelve years of patience. And one touch almost destroyed it all.
Her skin was so soft. So warm. Exactly like I imagined it would be.
Better.
I wanted to kiss her. Wanted to pull her against me and never let go. Wanted to show her exactly what twelve years of wanting feels like.
But I didn't.
Because she's not ready. Not yet.
And when I finally have her—when she finally surrenders—I want her to want it just as badly as I do.
I push off the door and walk down the hallway to my room. It's late. Past midnight. The house is quiet.
Everyone's asleep except us.
Except me and Aria.
Always me and Aria.
I enter my room and close the door. Lock it. My sanctuary. The one place where I don't have to pretend to be the perfect son. The perfect heir.
The perfect brother.
I pull out my phone and open the hidden folder. The one no one knows exists.
Thousands of photos. All of Aria.
I scroll through them slowly. Savoring each one.
Aria at eight, missing her front tooth. I remember that day. She'd fallen off her bike. Cried for an hour. I carried her inside and told her she looked like a pirate. She laughed through her tears.
Aria at twelve, reading under the garden tree. She didn't know I was watching. Didn't know I'd been watching for hours. She looked so peaceful. So beautiful.
Aria at fifteen, angry at me for something stupid. I don't even remember what. But I remember the fire in her eyes. The way she stood up to me. Nobody else ever stood up to me.
That's when I knew I was in trouble.
Aria at eighteen, wearing that white dress. The last photo before she started suspecting. Before she started pulling away. She's smiling, but it's forced. She already knew something was wrong between us.
She just didn't know what.
I scroll to the Paris photos. The ones she definitely doesn't know about.
I hired a private investigator the day she left. Best money I ever spent.
Photos of her tiny apartment. Her working at that gallery. Her laughing with her roommate Sophie. Her walking through Montmartre with coffee in her hands.
She looked happy.
I hated it.
Hated that she could be happy without me. Hated that she found peace in running away. Hated that she built a life where I didn't exist.
But I let her have it. Let her have two years of freedom.
Because I needed her to understand something: you can run to the other side of the world, and it won't matter. You can change your number, change your life, change everything about yourself.
But you can't change what we are.
You can't change fate.
I stop at a photo from six months ago. Aria sitting at a café. She's reading. Not noticing the man at the next table watching her.
That man disappeared three days later. Nothing violent. Just a job opportunity in Australia that he couldn't refuse. By the time he realized it was fake, he was already gone.
Too far away to ever come back.
I scroll through more photos. Each one represents a threat I eliminated. A person I removed. A life I destroyed.
All for her.
All to keep her safe.
Marcus. The photographer. The barista. The art student who asked for her number. The professor who looked at her too long. The tourist who tried to chat her up at a museum.
Gone. All of them.
Some lost jobs. Some lost scholarships. Some just... disappeared.
I wasn't lying when I told Aria I've been her shadow. I've protected her from more threats than she'll ever know.
Because people see a beautiful, lonely girl and think she's easy prey. Think they can use her. Hurt her. Take advantage.
They're wrong.
She's not prey.
She's mine.
And I protect what's mine.
My phone buzzes. A text from the security team.
*All clear. Perimeter secure. Miss Aria's room monitored as requested.*
Good.
I set up cameras in the hallways years ago. Not in her room—I'm not that much of a monster. But outside her door. In the common areas. Everywhere she might go if she decides to run.
I pull up the security feed on my tablet. Her door is still closed. Light off.
She's probably crying. Processing everything I told her.
Good.
Let her process. Let her understand the reality of her situation.
She has three months. Three months to accept what we are. What we've always been.
And if she doesn't?
Then I'll make the choice for her.
I switch to a different camera. Celeste's room. The fake princess sleeping in a borrowed bed.
I don't hate Celeste. She's innocent in all this. Just a pawn in a game she doesn't understand.
But she's useful.
Her existence proves what I've always known: Aria isn't my sister. Never was. The universe was just waiting for the right moment to reveal the truth.
And I made sure that moment happened exactly when I wanted it to.
The DNA test wasn't Mother's idea. It was mine.
I found Celeste six months ago. Tracked her down through old hospital records and some very expensive private investigators. I waited until the timing was perfect. Until Aria had been gone long enough to miss home. Long enough to be vulnerable.
Then I made sure Mother "accidentally" discovered the truth.
Made sure the DNA test happened.
Made sure Celeste was brought here at exactly the right moment.
Every piece falling into place like dominoes.
Because I've learned something over twelve years of wanting Aria: control is everything. If you control the game, you control the outcome.
And I always control the game.
My phone buzzes again. Another text from security.
*Miss Aria's door opened. She's moving.*
I switch to the hallway camera.
Aria emerges from her room. She looks exhausted. Lost. She's wearing pajamas and walking toward the stairs.
Where is she going?
I watch as she descends to the first floor. Heads toward the kitchen.
Can't sleep. Looking for tea or warm milk. Something to calm her nerves.
I should let her be. Should give her space like she asked.
But I can't.
I stand and leave my room. Walk quietly down the hallway. Down the stairs.
I stop before entering the kitchen. Listen.
Voices.
Aria's not alone.
I peek around the corner.
Celeste is there. Sitting at the kitchen island. Making tea.
And Aria just walked in.
This should be interesting.
I stay hidden in the shadows. Watching. Listening.
Because this moment—the moment when Aria meets the girl who's replacing her—this is important.
This will tell me everything I need to know about Aria's state of mind.
Whether she's breaking.
Or whether she's planning to fight.
Either way, I'll be ready.
Because Aria is mine.
And in three months, she'll finally understand that.
Even if I have to break her to make her see it.