His Presence Is A Debt

Chapter 4-Morning After

Aria woke to heat.

Damian’s arm was draped over her waist, heavy and possessive even in sleep. His chest pressed against her back. His breath was warm on her neck. For a second she forgot about the contract. About Mark. About the photo.

She forgot everything except how safe she felt when he held her like this. Like 5 years hadn’t happened. Like she was still 19 and his.

Damian’s hand moved. Slow. Lazy. His palm slid up her side under her dress, fingers splaying across her ribs. Not demanding. Just touching. Like he was reminding himself she was real.

Aria’s eyes fluttered closed. Her body betrayed her before her mind could catch up. She melted into him. Softened. Leaned back into his chest. Her lips parted on a quiet sigh.

“Good morning,” Damian murmured against her skin. His voice was rough with sleep. Intimate. Dangerous.

Aria turned in his arms. Her lips were inches from his. She could taste his breath. Mint and sleep and something darker. Her hands came up to his chest without permission.

For one second she thought he’d kiss her again. Like last night. Like he owned her.

Then he stopped.

Damian’s hand froze on her side. His eyes opened fully. Dark. Amused. Cold.

He looked down at her hands on his chest. Then back to her face. A slow, cruel smile curved his lips.

“Eager,” he said. Soft. Mocking. “So eager to be touched, Aria.”

Heat flooded her cheeks. She jerked back like he’d burned her. “I wasn’t—”

“Yes, you were.” His thumb brushed her bottom lip. The same thumb from last night. The one that made her shiver. “You melted into me. You sighed. You wanted it.”

Aria’s throat tightened. Shame burned under her skin. “You were touching me first.”

“And you liked it,” Damian said. He sat up on the edge of the bed, still fully dressed in black trousers and a white shirt from last night. Wrinkled now. Like he’d never slept. “You’re a slut for it, aren’t you? For any man’s hands?”

The word hit her like a slap. Slut. Her chest caved in.

“I’m not—” she whispered.

Damian stood. Turned his back to her. Adjusted his sleeves like she wasn’t naked under the covers and shaking. “Save it. I have meetings.”

The cold in his voice was worse than his anger last night. Last night he was fire. Today he was ice.

Aria pulled the sheet up to her chest. Her lips were still swollen from his kiss. Her body still remembered his hands. And he was calling her a slut for reacting to him.

Damian walked to the window. Hands in his pockets. City stretched behind him. He didn’t look at her when he spoke.

“I paid for your mother’s surgery,” he said. Flat. Business. “The hospital confirmed it this morning. She’s stable. Private room. Best care.”

Aria’s breath caught. Relief and fury at the same time. “You—thank you.”

“Don’t thank me,” he cut her off. “You’re free to stay at the hospital today. I’ve hired a caregiver. You can sleep there if you want.” He finally turned. His eyes were empty. “Be back here before 8PM. Rule five: You sleep in my bed every night. Unless I tell you otherwise.”

He walked out. Door closed behind him with a soft click that felt like a gunshot.

Aria sat on the bed for a long time. Staring at the empty space where he’d been. Warm. Then cold. Mine. Then slut.

She hated him. She wanted him. She didn’t know which was worse.

---

*Hospital. 6PM.*

Aria sat by her mother’s bed. Machines beeping. Her mother’s hand was warm in hers. Alive. Because of Damian.

“You’re safe now, Mama,” Aria whispered. Tears fell on her mother’s knuckles. “Someone’s paying for everything.”

She stayed until 7:30PM. Then she kissed her mother’s forehead and stood. The caregiver nodded. “I’ll watch her, dear. Go.”

Aria walked out of the hospital into Lagos traffic. Exhausted. Emotionally wrecked. The night air was heavy.

She reached for her phone to call Damian’s driver. Then stopped. She’d walk a bit. Clear her head. The car could meet her down the street.

She never made it.

Strong arms came from behind. A cloth pressed over her mouth. Sharp. Chemical. Her vision blurred. She tried to scream Damian’s name.

Darkness.

---

*Penthouse. 9PM.*

Damian stood in the marble foyer. Phone in his hand. Face like stone.

On the screen: one photo. Sent to his number from an unknown line.

Aria. On a hotel bed. Clothes intact. Hair messy. Mark’s arms around her again. Mark’s mouth near her ear. Smiling at the camera.

The caption underneath: “_She comes when I call. Always does.”

The air went arctic.

Damian’s knuckles went white around the phone. His jaw ticked. Once. Twice.

He didn’t throw the phone. He didn’t yell. He just stared at the photo. At her face. At Mark’s hands.

“Find her,” he said to his Subordinates.Voice low. Deadly. “Now.”