Page 9 of The Billionaire’s Contract Bride

“Is that a warning?”

“It’s the closest thing to kindness anyone in his employ can safely offer you.”

Before she could question him further, Lucien took the bags and stepped into the elevator, holding the door. “Your mother doesn’t have time.”

Aria followed.

Damien was waiting in the spacious back seat of the sedan. He had removed his suit jacket and loosened his tie, but the minor adjustments did nothing to make him appear less dangerous.

The dark interior seemed built around him—black leather, tinted glass, and heavy silence.

His eyes tracked her wet hair, her trembling hands, and the single tear she had failed to wipe away.

“Get in.”

She remained on the curb. “Did you have me fired?”

“Your mother is in intensive care.”

“Answer me.”

“Not here.”

“Then I’m not going anywhere with you.”

Damien leaned forward, resting his forearms on his knees, his gray eyes pinning her in place. “You have spent your entire life mistaking stubbornness for strength,” he said smoothly. “Tonight, that stubbornness will cost your mother the hours she doesn’t have.”

Aria wanted to strike him. More terrifyingly, a part of her wanted to collapse into the terrifying certainty he projected.

She climbed inside.

The doors locked automatically with a quiet click. Aria’s head snapped toward the panel. “Unlock it.”

“Child locks,” Damien said, not moving. “The press can be persistent.”

“Unlock the door.”

“We’re moving.”

The car pulled seamlessly into traffic.

Aria gripped the pendant on her necklace as the other gripped the edge of the seat. “Unlock the door, Damien.”

He held her gaze for a beat before pressing a control on his armrest. The lock disengaged.

“If you wish to step out into moving traffic, you are free to do so,” he said softly. “But do not pretend I am holding you captive when fear is what keeps you in that seat.”

The brutal accuracy of the statement landed like a physical blow. Aria hated him for seeing right through her—and hated herself for staying.

Damien reached toward her left hand.

She flinched back. “Don’t touch me.”

He paused. Without a word, he pulled a folded linen handkerchief from his breast pocket and placed it on the seat between them.

Only then did Aria notice the crimson streak running down her palm. A staple on the cardboard box had gouged her skin.

“You’re bleeding,” he said.