Chapter 233 We’ve done this before
Aria’s POV
"If anything happens to me—if things get worse—I need you to run."
His hands framed my face, thumbs stroking across my cheekbones with devastating tenderness. "Promise me you’ll put yourself first. That you’ll get somewhere safe."
"Are you serious right now?" I pulled back, anger flaring hot and sudden in my chest. "After everything we’ve been through, you think I’d just abandon you?"
My eyes were already burning, tears threatening to spill over despite my best efforts to hold them back.
I hated crying—hated showing this kind of vulnerability—but the thought of losing him, of running away while he faced whatever darkness was coming alone...
It was unbearable.
"Don’t cry," he said immediately, panic flashing across his features as he reached for me. "Aria, please don’t—"
But I was already moving, throwing myself into his arms before he could finish the sentence. I wrapped myself around him carefully—so carefully—like he was made of glass instead of muscle and bone and supernatural strength.
"I’m scared," I whispered against his shoulder, my voice thick with unshed tears. "I’m so scared, Damian. I’m not some fearless Luna who knows how to handle all of this. I’m just... I’m terrified of losing you. Of waking up one day and finding out you’re gone."
His arms tightened around me, one hand coming up to cradle the back of my head. "I’m not going anywhere."
"You can’t promise that." The tears were falling now, hot and unchecked against his shirt. "You were lost and I couldn’t do anything. I couldn’t help you, couldn’t protect you, couldn’t—"
My voice broke. "If you just disappeared on me without warning, I don’t know what I’d do. I don’t know how to exist in a world without you in it anymore."
It was the most honest I’d ever been. More honest than I’d managed to be even with Ethan, back when I’d still believed he loved me. Back when I’d still had walls up and armor on.
But with Damian, I had nothing left to hide behind. He’d already seen every broken piece of me and chosen to stay anyway.
His hand was stroking through my hair now, the gesture soothing and protective. "I know. I know, sweetheart. And I’m sorry. I’m so fucking sorry for scaring you like that."
He kept murmuring reassurances, his voice a low rumble against my ear, and gradually—so gradually—I felt some of the terror loosen its grip on my chest.
Finally, I pulled back enough to look up at him, swiping at my damp cheeks with the back of my hand. "You’re not allowed to do that again. Do you understand me? No more playing hero and nearly dying."
"I’ll do my best," he said seriously, though I caught the faint curve of his lips. "For us."
"Promise?"
"I promise." His throat worked as he swallowed hard. "For us."
And then he was kissing me.
It wasn’t rushed or desperate like our kisses on the plane had been. This was something else entirely—slow and deep and thorough, like he was trying to memorize the taste of me.
His tongue swept into my mouth with practiced ease, and I felt myself melting against him despite everything.
Heat pooled low in my belly, my body responding to his touch like it always did. Like it was designed specifically for this, for him.
But before things could progress any further, I pressed my palm against his chest gently. Firmly.
"Don’t," I said breathlessly, my face flushing hot. "We’ve done this before. You need to rest, not—not this."
His eyes were dark with desire, pupils blown wide, but he nodded. Stepped back. Gave me space even though I could see it cost him.
"Go shower," he said, his voice rough. "I’ll be here when you get back."
I hesitated for just a moment, then nodded and disappeared into the en suite bathroom.
---
I kept the shower quick, washing the day’s tension from my skin with water that was almost too hot. When I emerged fifteen minutes later, toweling my damp hair, I found Damian sitting on the edge of the massive bed.
His attention was focused entirely on his phone, brow furrowed in concentration.
"It’s late," I said, padding across the plush carpet toward him. "No working. You need sleep, not more stress keeping you up all night."
I reached for his phone, intending to confiscate it, but what I saw on the screen made me freeze.
It wasn’t work emails or pack business.
It was a gossip article.
[Alpha King Damian Blackwood’s Secret Romance—Insiders Say He and Vanessa Crane Grew Close on Set in Croatia]
Below the headline were photos. Damian and Vanessa on the film set, standing close together as she laughed at something.
Vanessa’s hand resting on his arm. The images were grainy and taken from a distance, but the angles made them look unmistakably intimate.
My stomach twisted before I could stop it.
"I’ve seen these before," I said quietly, sinking down onto the bed beside him. "They started popping up right after your accident."
"Why didn’t you tell me?" His eyes searched mine. "Is that why you kept my phone away at Ronan’s?"
"You were supposed to be healing, not stressing over tabloid trash," I said. "Besides, I know there’s nothing between you two. It’s gossip, Damian. It’s what they do."
"It’s a lie." His voice was flat and hard.
"There is nothing—there has never been anything—between me and Vanessa. The set, the launch events, all of it was work. You know that."
"I know that." And I did. Mostly. Ninety percent of the time.
He must have heard the missing ten percent, because his jaw tightened, and the anger on his face shifted into something else—directed at himself now.
"You were carrying the pain of my disappearance alone," he said slowly, "while the whole world speculated about me and another woman. And you carried that on top of everything else, because you didn’t want to slow my healing down."
"Damian—"
"I’ll have the story killed tomorrow." His hand found mine, fingers lacing together with almost desperate tightness.
"And then I’m going to make sure no one on this planet ever has to speculate about who I belong to."
I opened my mouth to respond—to tell him it didn’t matter, that I didn’t care what strangers thought—but he was already moving.
"Do you have social media?" he asked abruptly.
I blinked at the sudden change in topic. "Um. Yes? I have Instagram but I barely use it. Why?"
"Log in."
"Damian, what are you—"
"Please." He looked at me with those storm-gray eyes, and I found myself reaching for my phone before I’d consciously decided to move.
My hands were shaking slightly as I pulled up the app and entered my password.
The account was mostly dormant—a handful of posts from years ago, back when I’d still been trying to fit into Ethan’s world. \I’d stopped posting entirely after the fake wedding, too exhausted by the performance to keep up appearances online too.
"Okay," I said slowly, handing him my unlocked phone. "I’m logged in. Now what?"