Page 47 of The Billionaire’s Contract Bride

“They are reinforced triple-pane glass.”

“Then I’ll set something on fire.”

A long silence stretched beyond the door.

“Helena will remain inside with you,” Damien finally said.

“Send food,” Helena called out calmly from the sitting room sofa. “Threats always make people hungry.”

The electronic lock engaged with a sharp, heavy click.

Aria spent the next hour pacing the floorboards while Helena quietly poured green tea.

“He cannot do this,” Aria muttered, her blood boiling.

“He just did.”

“You are remarkably unhelpful, Helena.”

“I have always found facts far more useful than comfort.”

At noon, Dr. Patel called the suite’s secure line. Evelyn’s bloodwork revealed traces of a mild sedative that hadn’t been prescribed, but no lethality or poison. It was a message—a shot across the bow.

At twelve-fifteen, the electronic lock chimed and disengaged.

Damien didn’t return until long after sunset.

Aria found him in the kitchen, standing over the marble island with cold water running, washing blood from his hands. His white dress shirt was unbuttoned at the collar, one cuff soaked crimson, and a fresh cut split the skin across his knuckles.

“Whose blood is that?” she asked, stopping in the doorway.

He turned off the tap. “Not yours.”

“That doesn’t answer my question.”

“Then ask one whose answer you can tolerate.”

Aria stepped closer. “Did you kill someone?”

“No.”

Relief hit her chest too quickly. She hesitated before she spoke again. “Did you want to?”

“Yes.” Damien dried his hands on a dark towel. There was no remorse in his face—only a cold, exhausted precision. “The guard was paid to let someone near your mother. He claims he does not know who hired him.”

“And you beat him.”

“Lucien questioned him.”

“That isn’t a denial.”

“No.”

Aria looked down at his injured hand. “You could have called the police.”

“The police would have asked questions. I required answers.”

“Did you get them?”