Chapter Four: Line He Pretends Not to Cross
1103 Words
Aria realised something the moment they returned to the penthouse.
Dominic Blackwood did not like losing control.
The doors slid shut behind them, sealing out the noise of the gala, the cameras, the questions, the carefully curated smiles. The silence rushed in immediately, thick and heavy, as if the walls themselves were listening.
Neither of them spoke.
Aria slipped off her heels first, setting them neatly by the door, her movements deliberate, measured. Her feet ached, her shoulders tense from hours of pretending, from standing too close to a man who felt increasingly less like a stranger.
Dominic loosened his tie slowly. Too slowly.
She watched him without meaning to. The way his fingers worked the fabric. The way his jaw tightened as if he were holding something back. When he finally shrugged out of his jacket and draped it over a chair, the movement was sharp, controlled, restrained.
“You handled yourself well,” he said at last.
She glanced at him. “Is that a compliment?”
“It’s an observation.”
She huffed softly. “You froze tonight.”
His eyes snapped to hers. “I don’t freeze.”
“You did,” she said, calm but certain. “When they asked why you loved me.”
The word lingered between them, dangerous and uninvited.
Dominic turned away, walking toward the windows, his back to her. “You shouldn’t improvise like that again.”
“If I hadn’t,” she replied, following him, “they would’ve known something was wrong.”
Silence stretched.
He stared out over the city, hands braced against the glass. The lights below reflected faintly in the sharp lines of his face.
“You crossed a line,” he said.
She stopped a few feet behind him. “No. I saved you.”
He exhaled slowly. “This arrangement works because it’s controlled.”
“And you think you control everything,” she said softly.
He turned then, eyes dark, expression unreadable. “I control what matters.”
Her pulse jumped. “And do I matter?”
The question escaped before she could stop it.
The air shifted.
Dominic looked at her for a long moment, something unreadable flickering beneath the surface of his calm. Then his face closed off again.
“You’re tired,” he said. “Get some rest.”
Dismissal.
She bristled, heat flaring in her chest. “You don’t get to shut me down when the conversation gets uncomfortable.”
“I get to end conversations that lead nowhere.”
“Or conversations you don’t want to have.”
He stepped closer. Not touching. Just close enough.
“You’re here because of a contract,” he said quietly. “Don’t forget that.”
Her chin lifted. “I haven’t. But contracts don’t explain why you looked ready to tear a man apart when he wouldn’t stop staring at me.”
A beat.
Then another.
Dominic’s jaw tightened.
“That,” he said slowly, “was irritation.”
“Liar.”
The word hung in the air, bold and dangerous.
For a split second, she thought he might explode.
Instead, he laughed. Low. Soft. Controlled.
“You’re playing a dangerous game,” he murmured.
“So are you,” she shot back. “You’re pretending this doesn’t affect you.”
His gaze dropped briefly to her lips.
“Go to bed, Aria.”
The way he said her name made her stomach twist.
She turned away before she could say something she couldn’t take back.
She dreamed of him.
Not his face.
Not his voice.
His hands.
She woke with her heart racing, breath uneven, sheets twisted around her legs. The dream faded quickly, leaving behind only heat and frustration and the uncomfortable awareness that she had crossed a line all on her own.
Morning came too fast.
She found him in the kitchen again, as if this penthouse existed on his schedule alone. He wore a dark shirt, sleeves rolled, phone pressed to his ear, voice low and firm as he spoke Spanish into the receiver.
The sound surprised her.
It softened him.
He ended the call and turned, eyes landing on her instantly.
“You understand Spanish?” he asked.
“A little,” she replied. “Enough to know you were threatening someone.”
A corner of his mouth lifted. “Good ear.”
They fell into a strange rhythm over the next few days.
Breakfast together. Separate work hours. Shared evenings that felt like pauses between battles neither of them wanted to fight. Public appearances followed. Lunches with board members. Meetings where Dominic’s hand rested possessively on her knee beneath the table, unseen but unmistakable.
Each touch lingered a second too long.
Each glance held too much.
Then came Julian Cross.
He was charming in a way Dominic was not. Warm smiles. Easy laughter. A billionaire with a reputation for excess and indulgence. He noticed Aria immediately at a luncheon, his attention unapologetic.
“And who is this?” Julian asked, eyes lighting up. “Dominic, you’ve been hiding treasures.”
Dominic’s arm tightened around her waist.
“This is my fiancée,” he said flatly.
Julian’s smile only widened. “Lucky man.”
Aria felt it then.
The shift.
Dominic didn’t smile. Didn’t relax. His entire body went rigid, as if Julian’s interest had flipped some internal switch.
Julian kept talking. Complimenting her. Asking questions Dominic answered for her, his voice clipped, impatient.
When Julian’s hand brushed hers lightly as he laughed, Dominic stepped between them without hesitation.
“We’re leaving,” Dominic said.
Outside, Aria rounded on him. “What was that?”
“He was disrespectful.”
“He was flirting,” she corrected. “And you didn’t like it.”
His eyes burned into hers. “No one touches what’s mine.”
The words hit her like a slap.
“I’m not yours,” she said quietly.
He froze.
The realisation seemed to hit him at the same time it hit her.
Dominic stepped back, control snapping back into place like armour.
“This arrangement is blurring boundaries,” he said. “We need distance.”
Her chest tightened. “You don’t get to claim me and then pretend it means nothing.”
“I didn’t claim you,” he said coldly.
“You did,” she replied. “And now you’re scared of what it means.”
Silence.
Heavy. Charged.
Dominic looked at her like she was a problem he couldn’t solve.
“Go inside,” he said finally.
She didn’t move.
Something had shifted between them.
And neither of them could undo it.
- Writer
