6. Chapter Six

Chapter Six

Aria

I wake up to the sound of my own breathing, shallow and uneven, like my lungs have forgotten how to function. The room is too bright, the sunlight streaming through the curtains is too harsh for my pounding head. It takes me a moment to realize where I am.

My bed. My room. I’m home.

The soft, familiar scent of lavender lingers in the air, and for a moment, I let myself sink into it, let it wrap around me like a safety net. But then reality comes crashing back, and the comfort is gone.

There’s a weight in my chest, heavy and suffocating, and I can’t tell if it’s anger, shame, or something worse. I clutch at the blanket, and the fabric is rough against my skin. Maybe this will somehow erase what happened.

The door burst open, and before I can react, Maeve, my maid, rushes in. Her face is pale, her wide eyes glistening with tears as she throws herself down at my bedside.

“You’re awake!” she exclaims, her voice trembling. “Oh, Miss Aria, we were so worried!”

I blink at her, still caught in the fog of my thoughts.

“Are you okay?” She grabs my hand, holding it tightly like she’s afraid I might disappear again. “Do you have any idea what you’ve put us through? What I’ve been through? We thought… we thought…” Her voice cracks, and she swipes angrily at her tears.

I stare at her, trying to find the words to calm her down, but nothing comes. I can’t seem to form a coherent sentence. All I can think about is the ache in my chest, the way it feels like something inside me has cracked wide open.

Maeve takes my silence as an invitation to continue her tirade.

“How could they take you like that? What kind of monsters kidnap an innocent woman? And why didn’t you fight back?” Her voice rises with every question. “You’re lucky to be alive! Who knows what they—”

“Maeve.” My voice is hoarse, barely above a whisper.

She freezes, her gaze snapping to mine, and her expression softens. “Oh, Miss Aria.”

I swallow hard, forcing the lump in my throat down. “I’m fine.”

The words taste like lies, but I don’t know what else to say.

Maeve’s grip on my hand tightens, her eyes scanning my face. “Are you sure? Did they… did they hurt you?”

Her voice is small now, and I can see the worst-case scenarios playing out in her mind.

I shake my head. “No. They didn’t hurt me.”

It’s not entirely true. My body isn’t bruised or broken, but there’s a pain I can’t explain, cutting through me like glass.

Maeve exhales a shaky breath, but her relief is short-lived. Her gaze sharpens, and she stands abruptly. “I’m telling your father you’re awake.”

“No!” I grab her wrist, my fingers digging into her skin. “Don’t. Please.”

Her eyes widen, and for a moment, she looks scared. Of me.

“Miss Aria…”

“I’m fine,” I repeat. “There’s no need to call father yet.”

But it’s too late. Before either of us can say another word, the door swings open again, and my father walks in, as commanding as ever.

Maeve pulls away from me, mumbling something about fetching tea, and scurries out of the room.

My father’s gaze lands on me, and the stern lines of his face soften ever so slightly. He crosses the room in a few long strides and sits down at the edge of my bed, his hand reaching out to touch my forehead like he used to when I was a child.

“You’re warm,” he says. “How are you feeling?”

“I’m fine,” I answer automatically.

His eyes narrow, and his expression hardens. “Did they hurt you?”

“No.”

“Are you sure?” His voice sharpens, and I can see the storm brewing behind his eyes. “Because if those barbarians laid so much as a finger on you—”

“They didn’t,” I cut him off. “Nothing happened. I’m fine.”

His jaw tightens, and he looks away for a moment, his hands clenching into fists on his lap. When he speaks again, his voice is low.

“I’ll kill them,” he mutters. “Every last one of them. That Alpha and his pack of animals—they’ll pay for this. They’ll pay for taking you, for even thinking they could touch you.”

I want to argue, to tell him to let it go, but the words die in my throat. What could I possibly say? That the man he’s so eager to destroy didn’t hurt me? That he was gentle, kind, even? That he made me feel something I can’t even begin to understand? That I was writhing on his bed begging for more?

My chest tightens, and a tear slips down my cheek before I can stop it.

“Aria?” My father’s hand reach for mine. “What is it? Did they—”

“I’m fine,” I say quickly, swiping at my cheek. “I’m just tired.”

He doesn’t look convinced, but he doesn’t push.

“How did I get here?” I ask.

“You were found in your hotel room,” he answers clipped. “Unconscious. We brought you back here as soon as we could.”

Hotel room. The words feel wrong.

Bane’s face flashes in my mind, his dark and unreadable eyes, his soft and searing touch.

This was a mistake… A stupid mistake. His voice repeats in my head.

I take a shaky breath, forcing the words away. “I see.”

“They had no right to take you,” he mutters, more to himself than to me. He clenches his hand into a fist on his knee. “Those fucking animals. Barbarians. I’ll make them pay for this. Every one of them.”

“Don’t,” I say, surprising both of us with the firmness in my voice.

His eyes snap to mine.

“Don’t?”

“I mean…” I pause, then tighten my hold on the duvet. “It’s not worth it. They let me go. I’m here. I’m safe. Just let it go.”

His expression hardens, and a crack appears in the polished mask he always wears. “Let it go?”

“Yes.”

The silence stretches for a while before he leans back slightly and braces his hands on his knees. “Why are you defending them?”

“I’m not.” The words come out too quickly, and I hate how defensive I sound. “I’m just trying to be rational.”

“Rational?” He shakes his head and laughs a bitter sound. “You think rationality works with people like them? Wolves, Aria. They’re savages. They don’t understand reason, only strength.”

I swallow hard, my throat suddenly dry. “Maybe they’re not as bad as you think.”

I instantly regret saying it as soon as the words leave my mouth. What do I know about Bane to assume he is not a savage? He slept with me and rejected me in the same breath .

“What’s that fuck is that supposed to mean?”

“It means…” I take a deep breath. “It means that maybe we’re not so different from them.”

His expression darkens, and he clenches his hands into a fist again. “What are you talking about?”

“Bane,” I begin. The name tastes foreign on my tongue, although I was screaming it until my voice turned hoarse a few days ago or was hours ago. “He… he told me some things. About you. About what you do.”

The words feel like they’re dragging out of me, but I force myself to meet his gaze.

His eyes flash in anger and disbelief. “And you believed him?”

“I didn’t say that.”

“You didn’t have to.”

“I just want to know, dad” I press on, ignoring the warning in his tone. “Is it true? Do you… do you handle drug shipments? Do you traffic people for money?”

His expression freezes, his body going unnaturally still.

“Where is this coming from?”

“I don’t know… I guess I’ve just… never thought about it. Or maybe I didn’t want to think about it. But I need to know.”

“Know what?” He yells. “You’re accusing me of something vile based on the words of an animal?”

“I’m not accusing you.”

“Then what are you doing?”

“I’m asking!” My voice cracks, but I press on. “I’m asking because I’ve lived my whole life surrounded by luxury, and I’ve never stopped to think about where it comes from. I’ve never stopped to wonder if people had to suffer for it. If people had to die.”

“Enough.” He stands abruptly.

“No.” I push myself up, ignoring the dizziness that threatens to pull me back down. “I deserve an answer. I deserve to know the truth.”

“The truth?” He laughs again. “The truth is that I’ve done everything for you. Everything I’ve built, everything I’ve sacrificed was for you. To give you this life.”

“That’s not an answer.”

“It’s the only one you’re getting.” His voice is cold now. My father has never used this tone with me.

I stare at him, my chest heaving. “Why can’t you just tell me the truth?”

“Because there’s nothing to tell!”

His outburst startles me, but I force myself to stand my ground.

“Do you really expect me to believe that?”

He leans in, his face inches from mine, his eyes blazing. “What I expect is for you to remember who you are. To remember who I am. I don’t answer to you, Aria. And I certainly don’t answer to him.”

“If you’re so innocent,” I say, “then why are you so defensive?”

He straightens, his jaw tightens, and for a moment, I think he might actually respond. But instead, he pulls out his phone, glances at the screen, and shoves it back into his pocket.

“I have a meeting,” he says curtly, already moving toward the door.

“That’s convenient,” I mutter, more to myself than to him.

He stops in the doorway, his hand resting on the frame, and looks back at me. “Don’t ever question me like this again.”

The door slams shut behind him, and I’m left standing in the middle of the room. My legs give out, and I sink back onto the bed. What did I do to have my entire life fall apart like this?

Two months later

“Miss Aria, wake up! Breakfast is ready!” Maeve’s voice cuts through my dream, sharp and clear.

I snap upright, my heart pounding like I just sprinted a marathon. What is wrong with me? What did I just dream about ?

The sheets are tangled around my legs, and my nightgown is damp against my skin.

“What the hell?” I mutter under my breath, raking a shaky hand through my hair. My body feels like it’s on fire, my cheeks burning with embarrassment, even though I’m the only one in the room. Why does he keep invading my dreams like this.

“Miss Aria?” Maeve’s voice comes again, and it is closer this time. A knock follows.

“I’m awake!” I call out, a little too sharply, and I wince at my own tone.

“Breakfast is ready whenever you are,” she says. I can almost hear the smile in her voice. “Take your time.”

Take my time? Sure. If only I could take back that dream while I’m at it.

I swing my legs over the side of the bed, the cool floor wakes me up fully as I bury my face in my hands. What is wrong with me? One time. One stupid, infuriating, toe-curling first time sex, and now he’s invading my subconscious like some dark, brooding parasite.

No. No way. This ends now. He didn't want me and I will not wallow in this.

I march to the bathroom, stripping off my nightgown as I go, and turn on the shower. The cold spray hits me like a slap in the face, but it does the trick. My thoughts slowly return to the present, and I scrub my skin like I can wash away the memory of his touch.

By the time I’m dressed and presentable, Maeve is waiting for me at the door.

“Good morning, Miss Aria.” She hands me a small tray with fresh tea. “Your father’s already left for the day.”

I pause, my hand tightening on the tray. “He left?”

Maeve nods. “He had some urgent business to attend to. He hasn’t left the house since…” She trails off, not needing to finish the sentence. Since the kidnapping.

My heart pounds for a different reason now. This is my chance.

“I’ll be down in a minute,” I say, forcing a smile.

Maeve hesitates for a moment before nodding and retreating toward the stairs.

The moment I hear her footsteps fade, I set the tray on the nearest table and turn toward my father’s office.

The hallway feels longer than usual, the polished wooden floors stretching out endlessly in front of me. I’ve passed by his office a thousand times before, and I have always respected the invisible boundary he’s drawn around it. But not today.

The door is dark and heavy, and the brass handle gleams when I see it up close. My hand trembles as I reach for it, and for a split second, I consider turning back. But then I remember the things Bane said.

My father wouldn’t lie to me. Would he?

The handle turns easily, and I slip inside, shutting the door behind me with a soft click.

The room is exactly how I imagined it would be. It's pristine, ordered and intimidating. There are shelves lining the walls, and they're filled with books that look more for show than actual reading. His desk sits in the center, a monolith of dark wood, its surface impossibly clean.

I start with the drawers, pulling them open one by one. Pens, papers, nothing out of the ordinary. I move to the cabinet behind his desk, flipping through the files there. Again, nothing.

My frustration grows with every empty drawer, every meaningless document I flip through. What am I even doing? I thought. Until my eyes land on the safe.

It’s tucked beneath the desk, partially hidden by the chair. I kneel in front of it and brush my fingers over the keypad.

It’s locked, of course. But what’s the code?

I try the first thing that comes to mind, my birthday. 0428.

The safe clicks open.

My heart stops for a moment before pounding so hard it feels like it might burst out of my chest. I pull the door open, and the first thing I see is a stack of papers. Letters. Pictures.

The pictures are what make my stomach churn.

Men, women, children. Bruised, broken, bleeding. A shipment log with numbers and dates, names scrawled in neat handwriting beneath the heading “Deliveries.”

I feel like I’m going to throw up.

My hands shake as I shove the papers back into the safe, slamming the door shut like that will somehow erase what I’ve seen.

This can’t be real. It can’t.

I stumble out of the office, my vision blurring as I make my way back to my room. The nausea intensifies with every step, and by the time I reach the bathroom, I’m already on my knees.

The vomit burns my throat, and tears sting my eyes, but I can’t stop. I clutch the edge of the toilet, my body heaving as my mind replays the images repeatedly.

When it’s finally over, I collapse against the cool tile floor, gasping for air. My hand brushes against something soft, and I glance down to see the edge of a pad peeking out from the cabinet beneath the sink.

My stomach twists for a different reason now.

I count the days in my head, my breath hitching when I realize the truth.

I’m late.

No. No, no, no.

This isn’t happening.

But deep down, I know.

And for the second time that morning, the tears come, and this time, I don’t try to stop them.