ARIA'S POV
I watched in horror as I stood frozen in place, the security guards became more forceful, dragging Kane off Zane like animals fighting in a pit.
Kane’s expression was murderous, his chest heaving, lip bloodied, while Zane still wore that smug, infuriating smirk even as his face reddened from the blows. The cameras were still clicking, still feeding.
My body trembled. I didn’t even realize I was crying until I felt the hot streams slide down my cheeks. The room was a cacophony of shoutings, flashes, chaos...but I could hear my heartbeat, loud and sickening in my ears.
And then she appeared...Sibil.
That cruel, serpentine smile slithered onto her lips as she stood in front of me. I blinked, disoriented, just trying to reach Kane, to stop this madness when she shoved me hard.
I gasped. My heel twisted and I stumbled backwards, too stunned to even lift my arms, and hit the ground with a painful thud. For a moment, I couldn’t breathe. The humiliation burned hotter than the ache in my bones. Laughter, gasps, more camera flashes, my pulse roared in my ears.
Everything slowed to a stop.
Kane, in the corner of my eye, broke free again—this time not at Zane, but at the damn reporter. One clean, ruthless punch to the man’s jaw sent him sprawling. A sharp gasp echoed through the room.
Then Kane turned to me.
His expression changed instantly, no longer fury, but panic, concern. He dropped to his knees beside me.
"Hey, hey, I've got you" his voice cracked. "It's okay"
I couldn’t move. I was trembling so violently it felt like my body was trying to tear itself apart. The entire room, the world, spun. My fingers dug into the fabric of my dress. Kane’s hands were steady and warm.
And then I was in his arms.
Lifted effortlessly, bridal-style. His scent enveloped me. His arms were like anchors, and suddenly I wasn’t weightless...for some reason, I felt safe.
But only physically.
Inside, I was breaking.
I didn’t feel the chaos anymore. Just his arms, tight around me, shielding me from the blinding flashes and the snarling questions that chased us like vultures to a carcass.
The security guards closed in, a moving wall, keeping the frenzy back as Kane led us out. His steps were heavy, sharp with purpose, and I clung to him.
Then the door opened and I was lowered gently into the limousine. I barely felt the leather under me—just the numbness, the hollow ache clawing at my insides. Kane slid in beside me and shut the door. The second it clicked shut, silence fell.
A thick, padded silence that made the screaming from outside seem like a fever dream.
He didn’t speak... I didn’t look at him.
He opened the drawer beside him and took out a bottle of water, unscrewed the cap, and offered it to me. My hands shook as I took it. The cold plastic grounded me for a second, then I drank. Long gulps, like it might rinse out the memory of Sibil’s shove, Zane’s voice, the contracts thrown like filth.
When the bottle was empty, I leaned my head against the window, my breath fogging up the glass. Everything inside me was shattered glass. Warmth was all I felt when his hand rested on my thigh.
I turned to him.
He didn’t meet my eyes. "I’m sorry..." he murmured, his voice low and strained. "I didn’t mean for it to go that far."
I didn’t know what to say. My eyes fell to the side of his face all bruised, split lip, dried blood. His knuckles were scraped raw.
Guilt hit me like a wave. I hated that he was hurt, I hated that he had to fight for me, I hated that I wasn’t strong enough to stop any of it.
I stared again at his bruised face, my throat tightening around a scream I didn’t let out. His lip was busted, blood crusted at the corner, a smear along his jaw. His knuckles looked worse—raw, angry red and swollen. I wondered if they throbbed. I wondered if he could even feel them because I could and my chest ached with every breath.
He had fought for me.
He had brawled for me. In front of cameras...in front of the world.
And for what?
Because Zane had shattered whatever thin veil of dignity I had left.
Because Sibil shoved me like I was garbage.
Because those blown-up pages of my contract—the one I never thought anyone would ever lay eyes on were now public property.
My heart twisted in my chest. I felt small, exposed. Like everyone had seen inside me and decided it was something rotten.
How did he even look at me now?
I leaned harder against the window, trying to find comfort in the cold. I hated the way my eyes burned, I hated that I’d cried.
Zane had made sure of it.
He didn't just want to destroy my reputation—he wanted to strip me to the bone, piece by piece, in front of a world already eager to mock me.
And Kane... Kane had stepped in, took punches and threw them all for me.
I didn’t understand him. Not really.
But when his hand landed on my thigh, that shaky, grounding weight—my body stilled.
I turned, searching his face.
His voice wasn't cold this time. It was… tired and somewhat regretful. Like the words cost him something.
He didn’t mean for it to go that far?
But it had. It had gone way past the line. And yet I wasn’t angry at him. I wasn’t angry at his fists, or his bloodied lip. I wasn’t even angry at myself anymore.
I was just…so fucking tired.
Tired of fighting battles I didn’t start. Of being painted as unstable, desperate, manipulative. Tired of wondering if people would ever see me as more than the scars Zane left behind.
But Kane… he didn’t look at me like that.
And maybe, just maybe, that meant I wasn’t as broken as they tried to convince me I was.
••
KANE'S POV
I couldn’t breathe properly. Not since that bastard walked into the room with his smug face and those damn papers.
I should’ve anticipated it, Zane’s always been ten steps ahead when it comes to cruelty. He’s surgical with it. But this… this wasn’t just an attack it was war.
And I let it happen.
I let her get blindsided like that.
My jaw still throbbed from the punches. My knuckles were burning raw, and yet none of that compared to the way Aria looked when those papers hit the floor. Like the ground had disappeared beneath her feet. Like she’d fallen into something cold and inescapable.
The image kept replaying in my head, over and over, taunting me.
It made my blood boil again. I wanted to go back and strangle him.
No, I wanted to fucking bury him alive.
But then I looked at her. Slumped beside me in the car, curled into the door like she could disappear into it.
And all the rage faded.
What took its place was shame, I mean she didn’t deserve any of this. Not the lies, not the headlines and definitely not the humiliation.
And I—
I didn’t protect her...not fast enough.
"I'm sorry," I said before I could stop myself. It sounded pathetic and Incomplete. But it was all I had.
When we reached the penthouse, she jumped out the moment the car stopped, her heels barely touching the ground as she rushed inside.
I followed, calling her name once. But she was gone behind her door before I even made it up the stairs.
Then I heard it, her sobs. Muffled, but loud enough as I stared at the door, feeling like I had no right to knock—
But I did anyway.
A single knock.
Nothing.
Then another. "Aria… I’m sorry."
"Please leave me alone.." she whimpered through the door. It cracked my chest open.
"I can’t.." I said, stepping closer, leaning against the door "Atleast not right now."
Silence.
"Open the door." She didn't respond.
"Aria.." I said again, this time firmer, through gritted teeth.
A beat passed and then… the soft click of the lock.
The door creaked open and she stood there.
I'd stood there, useless, listening to her cry behind that locked door those raw, heart-wrenching sobs that made my fists clench at my sides. Each one stabbed at something inside me I didn’t even know I had. I’ve heard people cry before. I’ve watched them break, seen the aftermath, walked away from messes I didn’t create—but this… this was something else.
This wasn’t a mess I could ignore. And now seeing her, just...made it worse.
I don’t get involved. That’s my rule. I build, I control, I command. But this woman…
She’d stormed into my plan like a hurricane and now she was crumbling behind this door, and it was my fault.
And I swear to God, I lost it.
She looked like a ghost of herself, her eyes swollen, mascara streaked like war paint, lips trembling like she was about to speak but didn’t know how. Her chin quivered, and she just stared at me like she didn’t even recognize the man in front of her.
My chest tightened, no words could fix this, no apology could undo what happened in that room.
But I could give her this.
I stepped in and wrapped my arms around her without thinking, like it was instinct, like I had to.
And the second I did, she collapsed against me, she didn't hesitate...just her weight falling into mine as if her legs no longer worked.
Her arms wrapped around my waist, clutching at my shirt, her fingers digging in like I was the only thing tethering her to the ground. Her body shook with the kind of sobs that come from the soul, the kind you don’t even try to stop because they’re too big, too heavy.
I pressed my palm to the back of her head, gently, letting my fingers glide through her hair as she cried into my chest.
"I’ve got you..." I whispered.
Because for once, I actually meant it.