REVENGE MADE ME HIS

Chapter 11 : The one that troubles

She had just stepped out of Victor’s office, the steel taste of self-control still on her tongue. The conversation inside had been short, sharp, and suffocating. Every second in that room with him had scraped at the edges of her composure. She kept her face serene when she wanted to spit venom, her hands still when they ached to clench into fists. Walking away was like slipping free of a vise, though the imprint of it still pressed against her ribs.

The executive corridor stretched ahead of her — all polished marble floors, sleek glass walls, and strategically placed bursts of greenery in minimalist vases. It was the kind of hallway that spoke of money without needing to try. Her heels clicked against the stone with the precision of a metronome, each step measured, purposeful.

She didn’t get far.

“Clarke! My favorite not-fan.”

The voice cut through the quiet like a stone skipping across still water — loud, teasing, impossible to ignore.

Aria closed her eyes for the briefest second. Her lips pressed into a fine line before she schooled them into something resembling neutrality. She already knew who it was.

When she turned, Nate Thorne was sauntering toward her as if the entire hallway existed solely to showcase him. His stride was lazy but calculated, his hands shoved deep into the pockets of a designer jacket that probably cost more than her apartment’s yearly rent. The cut of it was perfect, the dark fabric catching the light in subtle, expensive ways. His hair was the kind of mess only the rich could afford — artfully tousled, as if a stylist had spent an hour making it look like he’d just rolled out of bed.

“What are you doing here?” she asked, her tone flat enough to make it clear she wasn’t interested in conversation.

“Visiting my dear old dad,” Nate replied smoothly. He winked, his mouth curving into a grin that was all charm and no sincerity. “And now, lucky for you, you get me instead.”

“Lucky isn’t the word I’d use,” she said, shifting her bag higher on her shoulder.

His grin widened, teeth bright under the soft, expensive lighting. “Careful, or I’ll think you don’t like me.”

“I don’t like you.”

He laughed as if she’d just told him the most flattering thing he’d ever heard. “See, now you’re just flirting.”

Her brows lifted a fraction, but she didn’t bother dignifying that with a verbal response. People like Nate thrived on reactions, and she wasn’t about to hand him one.

Before she could pivot away, a soft chime came from the far end of the corridor. The elevator doors slid open with a smooth, expensive whisper.

And Dominic stepped out.

Her breath stalled for half a second. His gaze found her instantly, as if the crowding of the space, the sharp suits, the polished surroundings, all blurred out the second she came into view. His eyes swept over her with precision, and then they shifted — to Nate.

The change in his expression was instantaneous. His jaw tightened, the easy neutrality of his features sharpening into something darker.

Nate noticed too, and his smirk deepened in the way a child’s might when they spotted a bruise worth poking. “Uh-oh,” he drawled. “Big brother’s here. Guess I’ll have to save my charm for later.”

He moved past her with the kind of languid confidence that dared people to stop him. As he passed, he let his gaze linger on her, a silent provocation, and then deliberately bumped Dominic’s shoulder — not hard enough to be an accident, but not quite enough to start a scene.

Dominic didn’t flinch, but the tension in his stance sharpened like a blade.

“Don’t scowl too hard, Dom,” Nate tossed over his shoulder as he strolled away. “You’ll wrinkle.”

The faint scent of his cologne — expensive, layered, unmistakably male — trailed behind him like a signature. Trouble disguised as a scent.

He disappeared around the corner, leaving the air behind him charged.

Aria stood in the middle of it, her pulse steady, though her mind was already rearranging itself for whatever came next. Dominic was still watching her. And in that silence, in that long, deliberate look, she could feel the weight of all the things he wasn’t saying.