Chapter 103: Chapter 102: The Morning After
ARIA’S POV
The alarm shrieking at 5 AM felt like a personal attack.
Aria groaned, reaching blindly for her phone to silence it, and immediately regretted the movement.
Pain. Everywhere.
Her head pounded with the mother of all hangovers. Her mouth tasted like something had died in it. Her muscles ached like she’d run a marathon. And there was a strange soreness between her thighs that made her freeze mid-reach.
What the hell?
She forced her eyes open, squinting against the weak morning light filtering through her curtains. She was in her bed. In her pajamas....wait, no. She was wearing yesterday’s bra and panties but nothing else.
When had she undressed? She didn’t remember undressing.
Actually, she didn’t remember much of anything after... after...
The bar. Morrison’s Bar. She’d been drinking with Sarah and the others from work. She remembered wine. Lots of wine. Then vodka. Then...
Her memory cut off like a film with missing reels.
She sat up slowly, her head swimming, and tried to piece together the night.
She remembered talking to Marcus at the bar. Remembered ordering another drink. Remembered feeling dizzy and heading toward the bathroom.
And then... nothing. Just fragments. Flashes of sensation without context.
Warmth. Hands. A voice saying something she couldn’t quite remember.
The feeling of....
She shook her head, immediately regretting it as pain spiked behind her eyes.
Focus. What happened after the bathroom?
She looked down at herself. Her bra was slightly askew. There was a faint red mark on her collarbone that looked suspiciously like....
No. That couldn’t be right.
She stood on shaking legs and stumbled to her tiny bathroom, flipping on the light and looking in the mirror.
The mark on her collarbone was definitely a hickey. And there was another one, fainter, just above her left breast.
Her lips looked swollen, like she’d been kissed. Hard.
"What the fuck?" she whispered to her reflection.
She tried to remember. Tried to force her alcohol-soaked brain to replay the missing hours.
Had someone....had she....
No. She wouldn’t have. She couldn’t have. The only man she wanted was Damien, and he’d made it very clear that there was nothing physical between them anymore.
Right?
But then why did her body feel like it had been thoroughly used? Why did she ache in places that only ached when...
A flash of memory hit her. Strong hands gripping her hips. A deep voice saying mine. The feeling of fingers inside her....
She gasped, gripping the edge of the sink.
Had she hooked up with someone at the bar? Some random stranger while drunk out of her mind?
The thought made her stomach turn. She wasn’t that person. Had never been that person. Even drunk, even lonely, she wouldn’t....
Her phone buzzed from the bedroom. She went back, picked it up with trembling hands.
A text from her mother: Good morning, baby girl. How are you feeling? You were very drunk last night when you came home.
Aria typed back: Terrible. Worst hangover of my life. Mama, do you know how I got home? I can’t remember.
The response came quickly: A man brought you. Carried you upstairs. Put you to bed. Very gentle with you.
Aria’s heart stopped. What man? Did you see him?
No. I only heard his voice from my room. But he sounded concerned about you. Made sure you were safe before he left.
Did he say anything?
Just thank you when I thanked him for bringing you home. And then.... A pause. I told him to be careful with your heart. And he said he was trying.
The words sent a chill through her.
Be careful with your heart. Why would her mother say that to a stranger? Unless...
Unless it wasn’t a stranger.
Mama, was it Damien? Was it my boss?
Another pause. Then: I don’t know, baby. I didn’t see him. But whoever it was, he cared enough to make sure you got home safely. That’s what matters.
Aria sat on the edge of her bed, her mind racing.
If Damien had brought her home, if he’d been the one to put her to bed, then maybe....
Maybe those flashes of memory were real. Maybe it had been his hands on her body. His voice in her ear. His fingers inside her.
But why couldn’t she remember? Why were there only fragments, sensations without context?
She looked at the clock. 6:15 AM. She needed to shower, get ready, be at the office by 7:45.
Face him. Work beside him. Pretend everything was normal.
All while wondering if they’d....if he’d....
She didn’t even know what to wonder. What to think. What to feel.
The shower helped with the physical hangover but did nothing for her confusion. She dressed carefully....black slacks, cream blouse, her hair in a professional bun. Trying to look put-together even though she felt like she was falling apart.
Her mother was in the kitchen making coffee when Aria emerged.
"You look terrible," Mei said with characteristic honesty.
"I feel terrible." Aria accepted the coffee gratefully. "Mama, I need you to tell me everything you remember about last night. Every detail."
Mei studied her. "You really don’t remember?"
"I remember the bar. I remember drinking too much. And then....nothing. Just waking up in my bed this morning with..." She stopped, unable to say it.
"With marks on your body," Mei finished quietly. "I saw them when I checked on you this morning."
Aria’s face flamed. "So something did happen."
"It appears so." Mei’s expression was gentle but worried. "Baby girl, I heard him bring you home around 11 PM. He was very careful with you. Carried you up four flights of stairs. I heard him asking you where your room was. Heard him putting you to bed."
"Did you hear anything else?"
"I heard him say something. Very quietly. I almost didn’t catch it." Mei paused. "He said, ’I still love you. God help me, I still love you.’"
The words hit Aria like a physical blow.
I still love you.
Damien. It had been Damien. He’d brought her home. Put her to bed. And said....
Tears burned behind her eyes.
"And then what happened?"
"Then he left. I called out to thank him. We exchanged a few words. And then he was gone." Mei moved closer, took Aria’s hand. "Whatever happened between you two last night...he was gentle. He was careful. He made sure you were safe. That tells me something."
"It tells me he took advantage of me while I was drunk," Aria said, her voice bitter. "It tells me he did things to me that I can’t even remember and then left me to wake up confused and wondering what the hell happened."
"Or," Mei said firmly, "it tells you that he’s still fighting his feelings for you. That he’s breaking just like you’re breaking. That last night, his control finally cracked."
"But I can’t remember!" The frustration exploded out of her. "I can’t remember what happened! I have these...these flashes. Sensations. But no context. No clear memories. Just my body telling me something happened and my mind having no idea what."
"Then you ask him."
"I can’t ask him! What am I supposed to say? ’Hey, did we have sex last night while I was blackout drunk?’ That’s..." She stopped. "Wait. Did we have sex? Could we have? Would he have...."
"I don’t know, baby. Only you and he know what happened in that car before he brought you home."
Car. The word triggered another flash of memory.
Leather seats. The smell of his cologne. Hands on her thighs. The feeling of....
"I need to go," Aria said abruptly, setting down her coffee. "I need to get to work."
"Aria, maybe you should take a sick day. You’re in no condition to—"
"I can’t. I won’t." She grabbed her bag, her coat. "I have to see him. Have to figure out what happened. Even if I can’t remember, maybe....maybe I can read it in his face. In the way he looks at me."
"And if he won’t tell you? If he pretends nothing happened?"
"Then I’ll endure it. Like I’ve been enduring everything else."
She kissed her mother’s cheek and headed for the door.
"Aria," Mei called after her. "Whatever you find out...whatever happened....remember that you love him. And he loves you. Sometimes that’s enough. Even when everything else is broken."
Aria nodded, not trusting her voice, and left.
The subway ride to Manhattan was torture. Every movement reminded her of the soreness between her thighs. Every jostle sent pain through her head. Every minute brought her closer to facing Damien and whatever truth awaited her.
She arrived at Blackwood Enterprises at 7:40 AM....five minutes early, as always. The building felt different this morning. More intimidating. Like it held secrets she wasn’t ready to face.
The elevator ride to the 47th floor felt endless.
When the doors opened, she stepped out and immediately felt it....that awareness that prickled along her spine whenever he was near.
He was already here. Already in his office.
She could see him through the glass walls, standing by his window, his back to the floor. His posture was tense, his shoulders tight.
Like he was bracing for something.
Aria made her way to her desk, set down her bag, and tried to steady her breathing.
She needed to prepare his coffee. Needed to follow their routine. Needed to act normal even though nothing about this felt normal.
She was heading for the break room when his voice stopped her.
"Aria."
She turned. He was standing in his office doorway, looking at her with an expression she couldn’t quite read.
Not cold. Not distant. Something else. Something that made her breath catch.
"My office. Now."
It wasn’t a request.
She followed him inside, her heart pounding, and closed the door behind her.
The moment the door clicked shut, the air between them changed. Became charged. Heavy with everything unsaid.
Damien moved to stand in front of his desk, his eyes never leaving hers.
"How are you feeling?" he asked, his voice carefully neutral.
"Like I got hit by a truck." She tried to keep her tone light, professional. "Too much to drink last night."
"I noticed."
Silence. He was watching her, waiting for something.
"Thank you," she finally said. "For....for making sure I got home safely. My mother told me someone brought me home. I assume that was you?"
"It was."
"I don’t...." She stopped, embarrassed. "I don’t remember much after the bathroom. The alcohol....I had too much. And everything’s kind of....fuzzy."
Something flickered in his eyes. Relief? Satisfaction? She couldn’t tell.
"That’s not surprising. You were very drunk. Dangerously so."
"Did...." She forced herself to ask. "Did something happen? Between us? Because I woke up this morning and my body feels...." She couldn’t finish. Couldn’t say it out loud.
His jaw tightened. "What does your body feel like, Aria?"
The question was loaded. Dangerous.
"Used," she whispered. "Like something happened that I can’t remember. And I have these....these marks. And I just need to know. Did we...did you...."
"No." The word was firm, final. "I didn’t fuck you, if that’s what you’re asking. You were drunk. I would never..." He stopped, his hands clenching into fists. "You were drunk and I took you home. That’s all."
But it wasn’t all. She could see it in his eyes. In the way his jaw was clenched. In the tension radiating from his body.
"Then why do I feel like this? Why do I have marks on my body? Why can’t I remember anything?"
"Because you drank yourself into oblivion and passed out in my car. I had to carry you to your apartment. Put you to bed. Maybe you got the marks from..." He gestured vaguely. "From stumbling around the bar. From falling. I don’t know."
He was lying. She knew he was lying.
But she also knew he wasn’t going to tell her the truth.
"Okay," she said quietly. "If you say nothing happened, then nothing happened."
"Nothing happened."
The lie hung between them, heavy and obvious.
"Is there anything else?" she asked. "Or can I go prepare your coffee?"
For a moment, she thought he was going to say something. Confess. Tell her the truth.
Instead: "That’s all. And Aria?"
"Yes?"
"Don’t drink like that again. You put yourself in danger. If I hadn’t been there to take you home, if someone else had found you in that condition...." His voice was rough. "Don’t do it again."
"Yes, sir."
She left his office, her mind spinning, her body aching with questions that had no answers.
*********
The rest of the morning passed in a strange, tense fog.
Aria went through her routine mechanically. Coffee prepared perfectly. Calendar managed flawlessly. Documents organized with meticulous care.
But every movement reminded her of the soreness. Every time she looked up, she caught Damien watching her through the glass walls with an expression that was part guilt, part hunger, part something she couldn’t identify.
And throughout it all, flashes of memory kept surfacing. Fragments that didn’t make sense without context.
The feeling of hands on her hips. A voice commanding ride me. The sensation of pleasure so intense it bordered on pain. The taste of....
She shook her head, trying to clear it.
By 10 AM, she’d convinced herself she was going crazy. That the marks on her body were from stumbling drunk and the memories were dreams or fantasies or alcohol-induced hallucinations.
By noon, she wasn’t sure of anything anymore.
Emma stopped by her desk during lunch. "Hey, how are you feeling? You left the bar pretty early last night."
"Early?" Aria blinked. "What time did I leave?"
"Around nine? Maybe nine-thirty? You were pretty drunk. I saw you heading toward the bathroom and then I didn’t see you again. I figured you’d gone home."
Nine or nine-thirty. But her mother said she’d been brought home around eleven.
What had happened in those missing hours?
"Did you see who I left with?" Aria asked carefully.
"No, sorry. It was crowded and I was talking to the CFO about....wait." Emma’s eyes widened. "Oh my god. Did you hook up with someone? Is that why you’re asking?"
"No! I just....I can’t remember and I’m trying to piece together the night."
"Well, whoever you left with, I hope they were hot." Emma winked and walked away, leaving Aria more confused than ever.
At 2 PM, her phone buzzed with a text from an unknown number.
She opened it, her heart racing.
Stop trying to remember. Some things are better left forgotten. - D
She stared at the message, her hands shaking.
He’d texted her. Actually texted her. For the first time since that initial summons back to work.
And he was telling her to stop trying to remember.
Which meant there was something to remember. Something he didn’t want her to know.
She looked up, through the glass walls, and found him watching her. His expression was dark, intense, unreadable.
Their eyes locked.
And in that moment, Aria knew with absolute certainty: something had happened last night. Something he’d done to her. Something he didn’t want her to remember.
The question was: what?
And more importantly: did she really want to know?
