Chapter 39: Chapter 39 Under His Protection
Aria’s POV
I’d seen him commanding before. I’d seen him dangerous. But this—this was something else entirely.
He looked like a king preparing to pass judgment. And the sentence was death.
His black-gray eyes were fixed on Mr. Turner’s hand still wrapped around my wrist, and the fury in them was so cold it burned.
The air itself seemed to bow under the weight of his presence.
The three investors went dead silent. Mr. Turner’s hand fell away from my wrist like I’d burned him. All three men dropped to their knees so fast I heard bones crack against the floor.
"Your Majesty," Mr. Sterling gasped, his forehead nearly touching the ground. "We didn’t—please—"
Damian didn’t acknowledge them. He crossed the room in three long strides and positioned himself between me and the investors, his hand gentle on my arm even as death radiated from every line of his body.
"Aria," he said, his voice terrifyingly calm. "Are you hurt?"
The contrast between his tone with me and the absolute menace he projected at the three men was staggering.
"I’m fine," I managed.
Damian’s jaw tightened. Only then did he turn his attention to the men still prostrate on the floor.
"Rick."
A second man appeared in the doorway. Damian’s Beta. He held a tablet and wore an expression of professional disdain.
"Yes, Alpha King?"
The title made the three investors whimper.
"These gentlemen," Damian said, the word dripping with contempt, "represent which firms?"
"Nexus Capital, Sterling Investments, and Turner Holdings, Your Majesty." Rick’s tone was perfectly neutral. "Do you wish to impose sanctions on their packs?"
"No!" Mr. Sterling’s voice cracked. "Your Majesty, please—we didn’t know—"
"You didn’t know that Miss Smith wears my ring?" Each word was quiet. Precise. More terrifying than any shout. "Or you didn’t know that touching what belongs to the Crown is treason?"
Mr. Turner was shaking so hard his teeth chattered. "Your Majesty, I swear—"
"Swear what? That you didn’t touch what’s mine?"
The possessiveness in his voice sent shivers down my spine.
"Perhaps," Damian continued, voice dropping lower, "you should be seeking Miss Smith’s forgiveness. Not mine."
All three men turned to me, suddenly terrified.
"Miss Smith, please—"
"We didn’t mean—"
I let them grovel for exactly thirty seconds. Then I held up my hand.
"I’ll forgive you," I said clearly. "On one condition. You sign my contract. Full funding. Terms as revised by His Majesty’s Beta. And you never speak of tonight—or my connection to the Crown—to anyone. Understood?"
"Yes!" They chorused like children.
"Yes, what?" Damian’s voice was silk over steel.
"Yes, Miss Smith!" Mr. Sterling practically shouted.
Rick produced the contract and new terms with impressive efficiency. The revised numbers were significantly better than my original proposal. Within minutes, all three signatures were on the document, the men’s hands shaking so badly they could barely hold the pens.
Damian took the signed contract and handed it to me with a gentleness that contrasted sharply with the lethal authority radiating from him.
"Anything else?" he asked.
I looked at the three men, now standing by the destroyed door and clearly desperate to escape.
"No."
They fled.
The moment they were gone, the adrenaline holding me together snapped. The room tilted. My legs gave out.
Strong arms caught me before I hit the floor.
"I’ve got you," Damian murmured against my hair, his voice completely different now—warm, concerned, gentle.
And as the world went fuzzy around the edges, the last thing I felt was the steady warmth of him holding me close.
Safe.
Finally, completely safe.
---
Damian’s POV
I carried Aria all the way to my car.
Rick rushed ahead to open the door, but before he could follow us in, I stopped him with a sharp command.
"You’re not coming with us. Give those three bastards’ Packs a lesson they won’t forget."
"Yes, Your Majesty."
Rick understood perfectly. Aria might have agreed to let them go, but I sure as hell hadn’t.
The back seat was spacious enough, and I tried to lay her down on the opposite side. But her fingers were locked tight around my collar, her weight pressing against me.
I lifted my hand halfway, debating whether to pry her off. After a long moment, I decided against it.
She reeked of alcohol mixed with her natural scent—something warm and intoxicating. Yet somehow she slept peacefully in my arms, her breathing steady and strong, those soft lips slightly parted.
How much did she drink?
I frowned, my gloved hand gently tilting her chin up so I could see her face properly.
"You’re sleeping awfully soundly for someone who just drank herself half to death," I murmured. "Drinking that much, weren’t you afraid something would happen?"
I didn’t expect an answer. But then her voice came out, slurred and barely coherent.
"With you here... scared, but not scared anymore..."
The realization that she’d pressed so intimately against my chest made my voice drop dangerously low. "You’re not asleep?"
"I was really tired... couldn’t even keep my eyes open..." She tilted her head back, eyes still closed, but a faint smile tugged at her lips. "Don’t know how you found me, Mr. Blackwood... but with you here, I knew... nobody could hurt me anymore..."
"Just wanted to rest for a bit..."
The alcohol had stripped away her filters completely. She was saying whatever crossed her mind, no logic or coherence.
But her meaning was crystal clear.
Something shifted in my chest. She really did trust me.
Then her word—"hurt"—hit me, and guilt followed. "I came too late."
"Not late... just right." She licked her dry lips, voice hazy. "I finished everything I needed to... perfect timing to rest."
"Rest? Here with me?"
"Mm-hmm."
It was just a casual question, but she’d answered so drowsily, so naturally.
I almost wanted to laugh.
Watching her drunk and defenseless, not quite as sharp as usual—it was almost... cute.
My phone buzzed. A video from Rick.
He was handling the situation with those investors, but when he’d pulled the security footage, he’d discovered they’d treated Aria even worse than I’d thought. Forcing drinks down her throat, verbal harassment, the works.
I glanced at Aria, now curled into a ball on the seat, slowly sliding down like she might melt into it entirely. I wasn’t sure if she was asleep or not.
I put in my earphones and watched the footage.
My expression darkened with every passing second.
I ripped out the earphones and texted Rick four words: "Handle it. Completely."
"Aria."
I put my phone down and called her name, my voice cold.
After a long pause, she made a quiet "mm" sound.
"Come here," I commanded.
Her body shifted slightly, like she was trying to sit up but couldn’t quite manage it. She made some soft, incoherent noises—whether words or just sounds, I couldn’t tell.
"Aria, the Crescent Moon Pack treated you like garbage. Why didn’t you tell me?"
I knew full well she probably couldn’t process a single thing I was saying right now. Hell, she might not even be hearing me properly.
Sure enough, she just hummed again.
"If you don’t want people pushing you around, stop acting like you can handle everything alone. Is it really that hard to lean on someone?"
I’d told her before—anything she needed, all she had to do was ask.
One phone call. That’s all it would have taken. Whatever funding she needed, I could have provided ten times over.
Those investors, anyone—nobody would have dared touch her.
Then I remembered. Aria grew up in foster care. She’d been alone her entire life, relying on no one but herself.
Maybe that was what made her different.
Everyone else who got close to me wanted something. Expected something. But not her.
She asked for nothing.
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