THE FIRST SHOT
1005 Words
Glass rained down like crystal snowflakes as Aria hit the floor, heart slamming against her ribs. The bullet had shattered the sliding door, embedding itself in the wall just inches above where her head had been.
She didn’t scream.
She couldn’t.
Every muscle was frozen, adrenaline locking her in place.
A second passed. Then another.
Move, Aria.
She scrambled to her feet, barefoot and shaking, the silk robe flaring as she dashed away from the balcony. She slammed the bedroom door shut and grabbed the phone off the nightstand.
Damien’s number was already on speed dial.
“Pick up, pick up, pick—”
He answered on the second ring. “Aria?”
“There’s a shooter!” she gasped. “Someone just fired at me from a rooftop. I’m—”
“I’m on my way.”
He didn’t ask questions. He didn’t curse. Just hung up and left the sound of burning tires in her ear.
Within minutes, the penthouse was swarming with security.
Men in black tactical gear moved through the space like shadows — clearing rooms, locking down windows, sweeping for threats.
Damien arrived seconds later, his suit jacket gone, shirt sleeves rolled up, and a fury in his eyes that Aria had never seen before.
“Where is she?” he barked.
She stepped out of the hallway, wrapped in a blanket one of the guards had thrown over her.
Damien crossed the distance in three strides and grabbed her shoulders, eyes scanning her like he expected blood.
“Are you hurt?”
She shook her head. “I’m fine. Just… shaken.”
His jaw tightened, but he nodded. Then he turned to one of the security heads.
“Talk to me.”
“We’ve reviewed the footage. One shot. High-caliber. Distance was about three hundred meters — rooftop to rooftop. The shooter’s already gone. Clean extraction.”
“Any ID?”
“Not yet. No prints. No traces. Professional hit.”
Damien’s hand dropped from Aria’s shoulder. He turned toward the shattered glass, staring at the hole in the wall with cold calculation.
“Get eyes on that building. I want the entire block swept. Pull satellite backups. No one breathes until I have a name.”
“Yes, sir.”
The team moved quickly. Efficient. Loyal.
But Aria couldn’t stop shaking.
“Why me?” she asked, voice barely above a whisper. “Why would someone shoot at me?”
Damien didn’t answer immediately.
Instead, he walked to the minibar, poured two fingers of scotch, and handed it to her.
“Drink.”
“I don’t want—”
“It’ll help.”
She took it with trembling hands and drank. It burned all the way down.
Finally, he spoke. “You were never the target before. Now you are.”
Her brows furrowed. “Because of the gala?”
He nodded once. “You were seen. Photographed. Everyone now knows you’re my wife. That makes you vulnerable.”
“Is this what your life is always like?” she asked. “Guns and threats and strangers sneaking into bathrooms?”
He didn’t deny it.
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“I did.” He looked at her. “You just didn’t believe me.”
Silence stretched between them.
Then Aria whispered, “Who wants me dead?”
Damien's expression darkened. “The better question is—who wants to send me a message?”
She blinked. “You think this was a warning?”
“If they wanted you dead, Aria, you would be.”
The truth of that sank in.
This is just the beginning.
Damien ran a hand through his hair. “From now on, you don’t go anywhere alone. No walks, no meetings, no random trips to the store. You don’t leave this building without me or a security detail.”
She exhaled shakily. “I didn’t sign up for this.”
He looked at her, something unreadable in his eyes. “You signed a contract. Clause 9: Personal safety is at the discretion of the primary spouse.”
“I thought that clause was about press appearances.”
“It covers more than cameras.”
She turned away, heart racing with more than just fear. “This marriage is starting to feel like a prison.”
“It’s a fortress,” he corrected. “And right now, it’s the only thing keeping you alive.”
A knock came at the door. One of the security agents entered with a tablet. “Sir. We pulled satellite feeds. We have a lead.”
Damien took the tablet, scanned it, and cursed under his breath.
“What is it?” Aria asked.
He hesitated. “The shooter was seen entering a black SUV parked three blocks away. The plate was registered to Langford Enterprises.”
She blinked. “Juliette?”
“She wouldn’t pull the trigger herself,” he muttered. “But her family’s not above sending a message. Especially if they think I replaced her with someone… disposable.”
“I’m not disposable.”
His gaze met hers. “I know.”
There was something in the way he said it. Like he wasn’t just defending her — he was realizing it for himself.
But the moment passed.
He handed the tablet back. “Keep digging. I want names, not just companies.”
The agent nodded and left.
Damien turned to Aria. “You’ll stay in the guest suite tonight. It's got steel shutters and panic access. Just until we know more.”
“And tomorrow?”
He paused. “Tomorrow we go on the offensive.”
She looked at him. “What does that mean?”
But before he could answer, the lights in the penthouse flickered—then died.
Total blackout.
A beat of silence.
Then, the security system let out a long, slow beep.
Manual override engaged.
Damien froze. “That’s not supposed to be possible.”
Then came the sound.
Footsteps.
From inside the penthouse.
End of Chapter Five
- Writer
