Fire and Ice
853 Words
The alarm shrieked far too early.
Aria groaned, dragging the blanket over her head. For one blissful moment she forgot where she was—until the faint scent of sandalwood and the memory of whiskey-dark eyes slammed into her.
Damian’s house. Damian’s rules. Damian’s smug face.
She sat up with a groan. No amount of hot showers would wash off the humiliation of being his “guest.” Worse, she had to see him again at the office today. Rivals by day. Roommates by night. If there was a hell worse than this, Aria couldn’t imagine it.
She dressed in her sharpest navy suit, painted on her confidence with eyeliner and lipstick, and marched downstairs.
Of course, he was already there.
Damian sat at the kitchen island, crisp white shirt, dark slacks, sipping coffee like he had been born with power in his veins. His gaze flicked up the moment she entered, lingering for a fraction too long before curving into that infuriating smile.
“Morning, princess.”
Her jaw tightened. “Don’t call me that.”
“Why not? You look the part.” His eyes swept over her deliberately, then back to her face. “All polished, sharp edges. Like a blade wrapped in silk.”
Her pulse stuttered. She hated that his words could slip beneath her armor so easily. She reached for a mug, determined to ignore him.
“Sleep well?” he asked, voice casual but laced with something heavier.
Aria didn’t look at him. “I would have, if I didn’t hear footsteps pacing at two a.m.”
He chuckled low. “Couldn’t sleep either. Must be the company.”
She slammed the coffee pot back into place. “Don’t flatter yourself.”
“Oh, I don’t need to. You do that for me every time you glare at me like I’ve stolen your soul.”
Her temper flared. “You haven’t stolen anything.”
Damian leaned forward, resting his elbows on the counter, eyes gleaming. “Haven’t I?”
The air between them crackled. She grabbed her coffee and fled before she did something reckless—like lean across the counter and kiss the smirk off his mouth.
---
At the office, things weren’t any easier.
The boardroom still carried the echo of her defeat from the night before. Every congratulatory remark thrown Damian’s way twisted deeper into her pride. She forced herself to focus, scribbling notes, avoiding his gaze.
But of course, he noticed. Damian always noticed.
“You’re quiet today,” he murmured when the meeting adjourned, leaning down so only she could hear.
“I’m trying to avoid saying something that will get me fired,” she snapped, gathering her papers.
His smirk deepened. “Say it anyway. I’d like to hear what keeps you up at night.”
She shoved past him, heat rising in her cheeks. The nerve of him.
All day, he was everywhere. In the hallways, in the elevator, standing too close in the copy room. Every encounter was a battle of wills, every glance a challenge. And every second of it reminded her that she was fighting more than just a rival.
She was fighting herself.
By the time she returned to his house that evening, exhaustion weighed heavy on her shoulders. She wanted nothing more than to collapse in her room, lock the door, and forget Damian Hale existed.
But fate, as always, had other plans.
“Hungry?” His voice floated from the living room as she slipped off her heels.
“No,” she lied.
“Good,” he said, appearing in the doorway with a glass of red wine. “Because I told the chef to make enough for two.”
Aria groaned. “Do you ever stop controlling everything?”
Damian’s gaze darkened, his smirk fading into something sharper. “Control is what keeps the world from falling apart, Carter. Maybe you should try it sometime.”
Her breath caught at the intensity in his voice. For a moment, she saw past the arrogance, past the smirk, into the man beneath. A man who carried shadows she didn’t understand.
She looked away quickly. “I’d rather keep my soul intact.”
“You assume you still have it,” he murmured, brushing past her on his way to the dining room.
The accidental touch of his shoulder against hers sent a jolt through her, stealing her breath. She hated it. Hated him. Hated the way her body betrayed her every time he was near.
Dinner was another battle. His smirk. Her sarcasm. The way their eyes met across the table and refused to let go. By the end, Aria fled again, retreating to the only sanctuary she had left—her room.
But later that night, lying in the dark, she couldn’t block out the sound of his low laugh drifting down the hall. Couldn’t silence the memory of his eyes burning into hers. Couldn’t ignore the terrifying truth building inside her chest.
She hated Damian Hale.
She wanted Damian Hale.
And if she wasn’t careful, hate wouldn’t be enough to save her.
- Writer
