Bound to the triplets

Chapter 2 - The Wolf in the Tower

Aria Point Of View

The office was enormous, made of glass and stone, and the light that fills it feels alive. Sunlight poured over a table that looked like a river, hitting the brushed edges of steel fixtures and turning them into lines of fire. Compared to the lower floors, which maintained a cool and sterile atmosphere, the air here felt warmer. It smelt like cedar and smoke, something green and sharp like crushed rosemary, and heat is underneath it all. It fills my lungs and makes my heart race until it starts to stutter.

And then I saw him.

Damian Veyric.

At first, his back was to me as he stood by the window. The fabric of his tailored suit stretched in clean, sharp lines, and his broad shoulders made a sharp outline against the skyline. The color is black, which is darker than midnight and absorbs light instead of bouncing it back. His posture was a study in control straight, still, but fluid, like a man who has never once needed to justify his place in a room.

The world got smaller as he turned around.

He strikes in a way that makes you feel uneasy instead of calm. Dark hair, almost black, combed back from a strong forehead. His jaw is sharp, like it was carved by a sculptor who didn't know how to be kind. His eyes, oh, his eyes, are a cold steel gray that could cut through armor. But when they look at me, something flickers behind them. For a moment, they get softer, but then they get sharper again, like a blade being tested.

He's younger than I thought, maybe thirty, but he doesn't look young at all. He carries the weight of someone who has seen and done more than most people could handle.

"Ms. Wynter." His voice is deep and smooth, but it has an edge of authority. It vibrates through the air, and I can feel it humming in my chest. "Welcome."

"Thank you ... Mr. Veyric." I said, I tried to swallow, but my throat is too dry.

He looked at me in silence, not with lust or even curiosity, but with an eye for detail. It is the kind of look that metaphorically strips away all your clothes and reveals every flaw you were previously unaware of. My skin prickles under it, and goosebumps rise even though warmth is rushing through my veins.

I make myself breathe and think about something boring, like the shine of the stone table, the sound of the city outside the window, or the faint tick of a clock on the wall. Anything but those eyes.

"You've met Dana," he says, his words short and to the point. "She says you did a good job with the situation."

"I did my best," I say, hesitating slightly. My voice sounds small in the room but steady. His mouth curves, but not into a smile. It looks more like he's saying "yes." Then he moves closer.

The air changes.

I can smell him now, not just the cedar and smoke that were in the room, but something warmer and more like him. It makes me feel drunk, a hint of musk, and a grounding earthiness that wraps around me before I can stop it. I can feel my heart racing, so I hold my bag tighter to keep my hands from shaking.

"Your best." He says softly, His eyes get sharper again. "That remains to be seen."

His tone isn't arrogant, the kind of confidence that doesn't need to show off. He is a strong man and he has never had to doubt his strength.

For a moment, I hate him for it. But I still catch it, even though it's cold.

The briefest slip.

It’s in the way his gaze lingers a heartbeat too long on the scar at my wrist before quickly looking back at my face. It's not anger that makes his jaw tighten, it's something more like restraint. His aura is heavy and commanding, and it pushes against mine, but I can feel protection underneath it. A strong, primal pull wraps invisible threads around my chest.

My heart skips.

It's not possible. It doesn't make sense. It's…..

"Sit," he says, pointing to the chair across from him.

The word hits me harder than it should. My knees weaken, but I do what I'm told and sit down in the cool leather chair. He moves like a predator as he sits down across from me and quickly unbuttons his jacket. Every movement is planned, precise, and purposeful.

"You've read about this company," he says, his gaze locking mine, making it impossible to look away "Tell me why you want to be a part of it."

The question is straightforward. My answer should be practiced and professional. But the air between us hums, alive, and pulls on me like an unseen current. I'm sure he can hear my heart pounding.

"I want a chance to start over," I say before I can stop myself. The words come out raw and unpolished, like a truth instead of a plan. I can't breathe because I realize what I've said. His eyes change in some way. The steel melts, but not into warmth yet. It melts into something like recognition. For just a second, his jaw relaxes, and when he leans forward, the smell of him fills the room.

"Start over," he says again, this time in a low voice. "That's risky... in this city."

I feel a shiver run down my spine. His words are a warning, but they sound like a promise. There is something in my chest that I don't want to name.

I clear my throat and make myself look him in the eye.

"Risk can be good. That's how some of the best stories start.” He replies, His brow rises, sharp as a knife. "Or end in flames." I can't help but laugh nervously.

"At least it would be something to remember. Who wants an ending that isn't exciting?”

Something like amusement pulls at the corner of his mouth for a split second, but it goes away just as fast.

"Be careful, Ms. Wynter. People who enter this tower don't always get to pick how their story ends.”

My stomach hurts. He leans back like nothing strange has been spoken, but the words hang in the air between us, heavy and unnerving, like a dare I don't want to take.

I make myself look away and move my focus to the city outside the window, where glass towers and steel bridges shine in the sun. But even then, I can feel him. His presence is thick and warm, drawing me back to him.