CHAPTER THREE

Damian’s POV.

It had only been two damn days since our first real encounter, but it might as well have been a lifetime.

She had barely said a word to me. Barely even looked at me. Just lowered her head, muttered a quiet “Yes, sir,” and left the room like I was nothing more than a shadow in her world.

I told myself I didn’t care.

That I wasn’t affected by the way she gripped that dusting cloth with white-knuckled tension, or the way her breath hitched ever so slightly when she caught me staring at her.

But that was a lie.

Because that night—and the one after that—I dreamt of her.

And I woke up aching for something I couldn’t have.

They weren’t innocent.

I wasn’t the kind of man who had innocent dreams.

In them, she was under me, her back arching as my name left her lips in breathless gasps. My hands were on her thighs, spreading her wide, my mouth tasting every inch of her. She was drenched for me, shivering as I whispered filthy things against her skin.

I could feel the warmth of her, the way her body clenched around my fingers, the way she begged for more.

And just as I pushed inside her, just as I claimed what I’d been craving—

I woke up.

Hard. Aching. Frustrated as hell.

I had never wanted anyone like this. Not once.

Not even Serena.

I exhaled sharply, rolling my shoulders as I sat in my office, staring at the whiskey glass in my hand.

Serena.

My fiancée.

I should have been thinking about her. She was beautiful, intelligent, and came from a family as wealthy and powerful as mine. She was the perfect match.

But when I touched her, when I buried myself between her thighs, it wasn’t her I saw.

It was Aria.

It was her lips I wanted to taste, her breathy moans I wanted to pull from her throat, her body I wanted to claim, ruin, own.

Even last night, as Serena rode me in my bed, her perfect, manicured hands gripping my shoulders, I had to close my eyes and pretend.

Pretend it was Aria’s nails raking down my chest.

Pretend it was Aria’s breath against my neck.

Pretend it was Aria gasping my name.

And when I came, it wasn’t my fiancée’s name that nearly slipped from my lips.

It was hers.

Fuck.

I pushed the thought away, jaw tightening. This was getting out of control.

—

If she wasn’t going to acknowledge me, then I’d make damn sure she had no choice.

I pulled out my phone, typing a quick message.

Come over.

Thirty minutes later, the doors to my office swung open, and Serena’s perfume flooded the space before she even spoke.

“There you are, darling,” she purred, sauntering over with that practiced, effortless confidence she was known for. “I was beginning to think you were avoiding me.”

I wasn’t avoiding her. I was avoiding what she wasn’t.

“Busy,” I said simply.

She pouted, trailing her fingers over my tie. “Well, I don’t like it. We need to spend more time together. Remind me again why we’re even engaged if I never get to see you?”

For the merger. The business. The power.

Certainly not for love.

But I didn’t say that. Instead, I let my fingers skim her waist, feigning just enough interest to keep her satisfied.

“Join me in the formal sitting room,” I murmured.

Her smile turned coy, pleased. “Finally, some attention.”

I didn’t respond, already reaching for the intercom.

“Mrs. Hathaway, have Aria serve us in the formal sitting room.”

A pause. Then, “Of course, sir.”

Perfect.

Because if Aria thought she could pretend I didn’t exist—if she thought she could ignore this tension between us—

She was about to learn otherwise.

Chapter Three (Continued)

Damian

Serena ran her fingers down my chest, smiling up at me. “Come with me now,” she purred.

“Go ahead,” I told her smoothly. “I’ll join you in a minute.”

She pouted but didn’t argue, stepping away with a confident sway of her hips as she made her way toward the formal sitting room.

I stayed behind, waiting.

Waiting for her.

I knew exactly what I was doing.

I wanted Aria in that room first, wanted her to see Serena waiting for me, wanted her to feel the weight of my presence before I even stepped inside.

I could picture it now—Serena, lounging in luxury, while Aria stood there, silent and unseen, just a maid in the background. Watching.

I wanted her to watch.

Minutes later, the intercom buzzed.

“Sir, Miss Serena has requested tea,” Mrs. Hathaway’s voice came through.

Perfect.

I didn’t answer—just turned toward the doorway, listening for the sound of footsteps.

I knew the moment Aria arrived.

Her soft, measured steps echoed faintly through the hall, stopping just outside the sitting room. I could imagine her there, taking a breath, squaring her shoulders before stepping inside.

I waited a moment longer.

Then, finally, I walked in.

And as expected, Serena lit up like a damn chandelier.

“Damian,” she crooned, rising from the chaise, all traces of her earlier boredom gone.

She reached for me instantly, her hand sliding over my chest, and for a split second, my gaze flicked past her—to Aria.

She was standing near the table, her posture stiff, her eyes carefully trained on the tray in her hands. But I saw the way her fingers trembled slightly, the way she forced herself not to look.

Good.

Let’s see how long that lasts.

I curled an arm around Serena’s waist, pulling her close in one smooth motion. She gave a pleased hum, pressing herself against me.

And then, while Aria was still watching, I bent my head and captured Serena’s lips.

She melted into it, sighing softly, fingers curling into my jacket. It was exactly the reaction I expected.

But the only thing I cared about was Aria.

Would she look away? Would she pretend not to care?

Or—would she finally react?