?Chapter 3 Beginning of something new

                                        

                                              
ARIA POV
The Voss estate was nothing short of a fortress  all glass and stone perched high above the city, like a god watching the mortals below. Aria had only seen homes like this in magazines. Now she was folding towels in one.
She shouldn't be here.
Not in this house.
Not in this world.
Not under his roof.
But she was. Because survival sometimes looked like silence. And comfort sometimes looked like a cold eyed stranger who said, "You'll stay here. No rent. Just work."
Dominic Voss didn't do kindness. Not without a reason.
Aria didn't know what his reason was yet, but she'd learned enough from her past to know that nothing and no one came without a cost.
She was wiping down the marble kitchen counters when he walked in that morning dressed in a charcoal suit, no tie, collar open just enough to reveal the edge of the tattoo that peeked along his neck.
That ink whispered of violence. Of hi온라인카지노게임. Of a man who had done things he didn't speak of.
But Aria just nodded. "Good morning."
He looked at her like he was trying to solve a puzzle with half the pieces missing. "You slept?"
"Barely." She reached for her mug. "Your walls echo."
"They're supposed to," he said. "Keeps people from whispering lies."
She blinked. "Is that a problem for you?"
He didn't answer. Just studied her like he was cataloging her every word, every movement.
"I have a list for you," he finally said, placing a sleek black notebook on the counter. "Your tasks for the day. Don't skip meals. Don't lock any doors. And if someone knocks who isn't me don't open it."
Her spine stiffened. "Should I be worried about something?"
Dominic's gaze didn't waver. "You're safe here."
But his tone made it sound like safety was conditional.
Later, Aria stood in front of the window in the room he'd given her big enough to hold the life she was trying to rebuild. One suitcase in the closet. Her ultrasound photo tucked inside a worn paperback on the nightstand.
You're safe here.
Why didn't it feel like it?
And yet something about him about the quiet way he noticed when her hands trembled or how he made sure she always had food, without asking made it harder to hate him. He never asked about the baby, never asked about the father.
But she'd caught him once, staring at her when he thought she wasn't looking.
Like she was something precious he had no right to touch.
⸻
That night, she found him in his private study, staring out over the city. His jacket was gone, shirt sleeves rolled up, hands braced on the window frame.
She hesitated. "Your 8 p.m. call is waiting on the line."
He didn't move. "Do you believe in second chances, Aria?"
She frowned. "I don't think I've ever had a first one."
He turned then, slowly. "I meant for people like me."
She held his gaze. "You mean people who buy power to hide what they've done?"
He almost smiled. Almost.
Then he said, quietly, "You should be afraid of me."
And she answered, just as softly, "I already am."
But neither of them looked away.