CHAPTER TWO

Aria's POV

The Blackwood Mansion was a world of its own.

Cold. Extravagant. Utterly suffocating.

Every surface gleamed, from the grand marble staircase to the endless halls lined with priceless artwork. The place was too perfect, too pristine—like a museum where no one truly lived. 

I gripped the feather duster in my hand, pretending to focus on the antique bookshelf in front of me. Dusting, cleaning, polishing—that was my job. Not sneaking glances at a man who was so far out of my reach, I had no business even breathing the same air as him.

Don’t look at him.

I dusted another shelf. He’s probably not even here.

Another.

Another.

And then—

The air in the room shifted.

A low hum of energy prickled at my skin, the fine hairs at the back of my neck standing on end. I knew that presence. Heavy. Commanding. Undeniable.

I turned slightly, just enough to catch a glimpse of him in the reflection of the polished glass cabinet.

Damian Blackwood.

Tall. Imposing. Sharp, cruelly handsome. His dark suit was perfectly tailored, stretching over broad shoulders, his white shirt crisp against tanned skin. He carried himself the way a man like him should—like the world belonged to him, and no one would dare question it.

I forced myself to keep dusting, but my fingers trembled slightly. This is ridiculous. He doesn’t even know you exist.

Except… he did.

Because when I risked another glance, his eyes were already on me.

Watching.

Lingering.

Heat coiled in my stomach, sharp and unwelcome. I swallowed hard and dropped my gaze, turning back to my work as if I hadn’t noticed. As if I wasn’t completely aware of him.

A sharp voice cut through the silence.

“Are you finished here?”

I jumped, nearly knocking over a small vase. Mrs. Hathaway, the housekeeper, stood in the doorway, arms crossed. Her graying hair was pulled into a severe bun, her lips pressed into a tight line.

“I…” I cleared my throat. “Almost, ma’am.”

Her eyes flicked between me and Damian, sharp as a blade. Had she noticed something?

“Then hurry up,” she said coolly. “There’s no time to stand around gawking.”

I ducked my head, face burning. Get a grip, Aria. You’re embarrassing yourself.

Mrs. Hathaway turned on her heel and strode away. I reached for the last shelf, pretending my pulse wasn’t hammering against my ribs, pretending I wasn’t acutely aware that Damian was still right there.

And then, as I grabbed my dusting cloth, I heard it…

A low, deep chuckle. Barely there. Almost inaudible.

But it was there.

My breath hitched.

And as I turned to leave the room, I swore I could still feel the heat of his gaze, burning through me like a promise.

----

The day was cold, and Mrs. Hathaway had sent me somewhere I’d never been before—the formal sitting room.

That part of the mansion had always been off-limits to the lower staff, but I guess my duties were expanding. I should have been grateful. Instead, as I stepped inside, a sharp awareness slithered down my spine.

I didn’t belong here.

The room was bathed in golden light, the faint scent of fresh roses lingering in the air. But beneath the floral sweetness, something richer lurked—money, power, exclusivity. It dripped from the silk-draped furniture, the gold-trimmed mirrors, the towering shelves filled with books that probably hadn’t been touched in years.

But none of it was as overwhelming as her.

Serena Lancaster. The celebrity model.

She didn’t just belong in this world—she ruled it.

She was the kind of beautiful that made people worship her—tall, elegant, with high cheekbones and full lips that belonged on billboards. Her silk robe barely covered her tanned legs as she lounged across a velvet chaise, scrolling through her phone with effortless boredom.

I adjusted the tray in my hands, steadying my breath. Just get through this. Serve the tea and leave.

I placed the tray on the glass coffee table. “Your tea, Miss.”

A slow, dramatic sigh.

“Finally.” Serena didn’t bother looking at me, just lifted the delicate porcelain cup and took a sip. Then, just as quickly, her lips curled in distaste.

“It’s too hot.”

I pressed my lips together, careful to keep my expression neutral.

“Would you like me to let it cool for a moment?” I asked politely.

That got her attention. Her icy blue eyes flicked up, assessing me the way one might a stain on designer fabric. Slowly, a smirk formed.

“Oh, don’t be clever.” She waved a hand lazily. “Just bring me another one. And this time, try not to mess it up.”

My fingers curled into a fist, nails digging into my palm. Breathe, Aria. Smile. Walk away.

But just as I turned, the double doors swung open.

And suddenly—the air changed.

A ripple of energy. A shift in gravity.

I didn’t have to look to know who had just walked in.

But when I did, the sight still stole my breath.

Damian Blackwood.

Tall. Dark. Lethal. He didn’t just walk—he commanded the space, his broad shoulders stretching the fabric of his tailored suit in all the right places. 

And Serena? Serena lit up like a damn chandelier.

She was on her feet in an instant, her earlier boredom forgotten as she practically glided across the room.

“Damian.” Her voice was smooth as honey, thick with something I didn’t want to name.

Then, right in front of me, she placed a hand on his chest—familiar, claiming.

And Damian… let her.

His large hand slid around her waist, pulling her in effortlessly, like it was second nature. Like he had done it a thousand times before.

A slow, easy smile played on his lips as she tipped her head up—waiting.

Then, right there, in front of me, Damian bent down and captured her lips in a kiss.

She let out a soft, pleased moan, fingers curling into his jacket as if she had every right to own him.

My stomach twisted.

Who is she to him?

I shouldn’t care.

I shouldn’t feel this strange, sharp twist in my stomach, this ridiculous sense of jealousy.

But I did.