Page 17 of The Billionaire’s Contract Bride

“Nothing about my history belongs to you yet.”

“Yet,” he repeated softly.

Aria realized her error a second too late.

Damien’s gaze drifted over her features, lingering on her mouth. “For absolute clarity, Aria: I will never strike you in anger.”

“How reassuring.” Her voice was flat, even if her eyes followed his hungry gaze and she bit her lip.

“It wasn’t meant to reassure you. If pain ever exists between us, it will be because you asked for it.”

The implication hit her like a physical force. Heat flushed beneath her skin, immediate and humiliating.

Damien caught it instantly.

“You’re sick,” she whispered.

“Perhaps,” his voice dropped to a dark purr. “But I am not confused about the difference between surrender and theft.”

Before she could process the moment, the wall monitor chimed sharply. The pulsing green light shifted to a steady amber.

Aria spun toward the screen, immediately forgetting the previous tension. “What does that mean?”

The door opened before Damien could reply. Dr. Patel stepped inside, pulling off his surgical cap. Heavy exhaustion shadowed his eyes.

Aria forgot the contract, the money, and the man beside her. “My mother?”

“The procedure is complete.”

The room seemed to tilt. “Is she alive?”

“She is,” Dr. Patel said, offering a faint smile. “The surgery was complex, but we repaired the arterial damage. The next twenty-four hours are critical, but if she remains stable, we can begin discussing long-term recovery.”

Aria’s knees buckled.

This time, Damien didn’t grab her. He stood close enough to catch her if she fell, but he waited, forcing her to find her own footing.

Aria gripped the edge of the glass table until the wave of dizziness passed. “Can I see her?”

“Once she’s transferred to the ICU, a nurse will guide you.” Dr. Patel turned to Damien. “Mr. Blackthorne, your direct authorization saved her. Another hour of delay would have changed the outcome.”

Another hour.

Aria turned to look at Damien. He had greenlit the emergency surgery before she signed a single document. Before her surrender was guaranteed.

“Thank you,” she said, her throat raw.

Damien’s expression remained carved of ice. “Do not thank me for a transaction you have not yet executed.”

Dr. Patel looked between them, sensed the tension, and quickly excused himself.

The door clicked shut.

Aria looked down at the shredded pieces of Clause Thirty-One on the table.

“Remove it from the master file,” she said.

“You are in no position to dictate terms.”