CHAPTER TWO — THE MAN WHO WOULD BREAK HER OPEN
1746 Words
Warmth washed over Ariella the moment she stepped back into the ballroom. The music, the lights, the heat of bodies and perfume—it all clashed violently against the icy panic still trapped inside her chest. She tightened Damien’s coat around herself, grateful for the weight of it. It steadied her. Calmed her. Hid how violently she was shaking.
Damien walked beside her, slower than before, keeping his stride matched to hers. He didn’t hover, but he stayed close enough that she felt shielded. Protected. And somehow that made her throat tighten.
“Are you sure you’re alright?” he asked again once they reached a quieter corner of the room.
Ariella forced a smile. “I’m fine. I just… needed some air and I got cold.”
Damien studied her, brow slightly furrowed. He wasn’t convinced. She knew it.
But instead of interrogating her, he simply offered her a glass of water and stood silently while she drank. The simple patience in his presence was disarming.
“I’m Damien, by the way,” he said softly.
She looked up at him. “Ariella.”
“I know.” His lips curved slightly. “It would be hard not to know after a performance like that.”
Her cheeks warmed. “It was nothing special.”
“It was exceptional,” Damien countered. “You play with emotion. Not technique alone. There’s a difference.”
Her breath caught in her throat.
He noticed that?
No one ever described her music like that—not even her father. People usually said she was impressive, or talented, or shocking for her age, but never… seen.
She swallowed. “Thank you.”
Damien tilted his head, observing her again. “Are you sure nothing else happened outside?”
Her fingers tightened around the glass.
She could still feel the hand over her mouth. The arms dragging her. The stranger’s voice cutting through the night.
She couldn’t tell him. Not here. Not yet. Not when the fear was still raw.
So she repeated, “I’m fine.”
Damien didn’t push further. Instead, he offered a small nod, the kind that said:
I’ll wait for you to tell me when you’re ready.
A gesture so gentle it made her eyes sting.
She looked away, blinking fast.
Before she could say anything else, the shrill voice of Gina sliced through the air.
“Ariella! There you are!”
Ariella stiffened. The warmth she felt evaporated instantly.
Gina sashayed toward them in a glittering silver dress, perfect from hair to heels. But her eyes—icy green and sharp—fell first on Damien. And widened.
“Oh,” she said, tone dripping honey. “I see you’re not alone. Hello.”
Damien gave a polite nod. “Good evening.”
Gina nearly melted. “I’m Gina Hart,” she introduced, leaning forward a little too eagerly. “Ariella’s older sister.”
Stepsister, Ariella corrected silently.
Damien’s expression remained unreadable. “Pleasure to meet you.”
Gina smiled like she’d already chosen their wedding colors. “And you are…?”
“A friend,” Damien replied simply.
That single word hit Ariella harder than it should have—warm, surprising, welcome. But to Gina, it was an invitation.
“Well, I hope you’re planning on staying. We have plenty of wonderful people here tonight.”
Damien offered a polite but distant smile. “I was actually about to get Ariella something warm to drink. Excuse me.”
His hand brushed Ariella’s back—light, respectful—and he walked off.
Gina watched him go with a spark of irritation. “Where on earth did you find someone like him?”
Ariella shrugged. “He offered his coat.”
“Of course he did,” Gina muttered. Then her eyes narrowed. “Why were you outside? Mother looked for you.”
Mother. The word always soured in Ariella’s mouth.
“I needed fresh air,” Ariella replied.
Gina crossed her arms. “You shouldn’t wander off. People will talk.”
“I don’t care if people talk.”
“Well I do,” Gina snapped. Then she lowered her voice. “You embarrassed Mother earlier.”
Ariella blinked. “By playing the piano?”
“You know she hates when you show off.”
Ariella’s heart sank. “I wasn’t showing off. Father wanted me to play.”
Gina leaned closer. “You always take the spotlight.”
Ariella’s chest tightened. “I didn’t ask for it.”
“But you enjoy it. Don’t you?”
Ariella looked away. Her throat felt thick, suffocated.
Before she could answer, Damien returned holding two cups. He handed one to her gently.
“Hot chocolate. They had a stand outside.”
Her eyes softened. “Thank you.”
She took a sip—and warmth bloomed across her chest. She realized suddenly how cold she still was.
Damien noticed. “You’re shaking.”
She lowered the cup quickly.
Gina watched them, eyes flickering with envy. “Well, Ariella, don’t stay out too late. Mother wants a word.”
With one last glare at Damien, Gina turned and walked away.
For a moment, neither Ariella nor Damien spoke.
Then Damien said, “Do they always talk to you like that?”
Ariella’s breath hitched. She wasn’t used to anyone noticing. Or caring.
“They’re just… protective,” she whispered.
He arched a brow. “That’s not what that looked like.”
Ariella swallowed hard and stepped back. The instinct to hide kicked in—deep, familiar, automatic.
“Thank you for the drink,” she said quickly. “I should go back to my father.”
Damien studied her. His voice softened. “Ariella… you don’t have to pretend with me.”
Her chest tightened painfully.
Why did those words feel like a c***k forming in the walls she’d built all her life?
“I’m not pretending,” she lied.
He didn’t call her out. He just held her gaze long enough to make her feel completely exposed.
“Ariella?” Charles Hart’s voice boomed from across the ballroom.
Ariella jerked. Damien stepped aside, letting her father approach.
Charles gave Damien a curt nod before turning to his daughter. “Where have you been? Some investors wanted to compliment your playing.”
“Sorry, Father,” Ariella murmured.
He frowned at Damien’s coat around her shoulders. “Why are you wearing—”
“I was cold,” she said quickly, handing the coat back to Damien before her father could question it further.
Damien took it silently, expression unreadable.
Her father sighed. “Ophelia wants you to greet the guests properly. Come.”
He walked ahead without waiting for her.
Ariella glanced at Damien one more time.
He gave her a small nod. Almost a promise.
I’m still here.
But she forced a smile, whispered “Thank you again,” and followed her father into the sea of glittering strangers.
For the rest of the evening, the gala blurred around her. She smiled when instructed. Spoke politely. Let people praise her. Let Gina stand taller beside her. Let Ophelia touch her arm in fake affection.
But her mind kept replaying two moments:
The stranger’s shadowed face disappearing into the night.
And Damien’s voice saying:
You don’t have to pretend with me.
—
By the time the gala ended and the final guests drifted out into the snowy Paris night, Ariella felt drained. Her heels clicked softly against the marble as she slipped away from her family and toward the staircase that led upstairs.
“Ariella.”
She turned.
Damien stood near the entrance, coat over his arm, watching her like he’d been waiting for the right moment.
Her breath caught. “You’re still here.”
His lips curved. “I told you I’d stay until you looked okay.”
The words hit her like warmth spreading through frost.
“You really don’t have to worry,” she murmured.
His eyes softened. “You’re shaking again.”
She looked down at her trembling hands—hadn’t even realized.
Damien stepped closer, lowering his voice.
“Ariella… something happened outside. Didn’t it?”
Her heart thudded.
“I…” She swallowed. “I can’t talk about it.”
He didn’t look frustrated. He didn’t push. He simply nodded once.
“Then talk about something else,” he said gently. “Talk to me about… anything.”
Her throat tightened unexpectedly.
Nobody ever asked her that.
Nobody ever asked her to talk unless it was about pleasing others.
Suddenly she whispered, “My mother…”
Damien waited.
“She… died when I was young. I never met her.”
He said nothing, letting her continue.
“They don’t talk about her. Not in front of Ophelia.” Ariella looked down. “Sometimes I don’t even know if she was real. Like she’s just a story I made up.”
Damien’s jaw tightened, as if her pain physically bothered him.
“I’m sorry,” he said quietly.
She blinked. “Why?”
“Because you deserved a mother who stayed in your story. Not one you have to guess about.”
Her breath trembled.
For a moment, the pain she always kept buried rose to the surface—raw, sharp, crushing.
She whispered, “I don’t know why I’m telling you this.”
“Because you need to,” Damien replied.
Ariella’s eyes shimmered. “Why do you care?”
His expression stilled. Deepened.
“Because you look like someone who’s been alone for a very long time.”
Ariella swallowed, chest tightening so hard it hurt.
He stepped back slightly, giving her space—not crowding her, not pushing her, but not leaving either.
“Get some rest,” he said softly. “And if you ever need air again… don’t go alone.”
Before she could respond, he gently placed his coat back over her shoulders—this time deliberately.
A gesture that felt like a promise.
Then he walked out into the cold night, disappearing through the grand doors.
Ariella clutched the coat close, heart pounding.
Somewhere in Paris, a shadowed stranger watched from the rooftops—eyes locked on the mansion.
And inside her chest, something dangerous and warm had begun to grow.
Not from her rescuer.
Not from her family.
But from the man who saw her when no one else did.
Damien Voss.
The man who would one day destroy her…
and save her.
---
- Writer
