Aaria didn't come to work the next day.
Or the one after that.
The moment she stepped back into her apartment after the gala, she realized she couldn't breathe. Not with the memory of Rafael's voice in her ear, or the way her body had leaned into his touch without permission.
She didn't want to be one of those girls.
The ones who fell into powerful arms just because they were strong enough to catch them.
So she locked the doors, silenced her phone, and told herself she was safe now. Away from him.
But Rafael Viera wasn't the kind of man you could run from.
He didn't knock.
He didn't wait.
He arrived.
It was raining the night he showed up. The kind of storm that slammed against windows and cracked the sky open like it was punishing the earth.
Aaria had just stepped out of the shower when she heard the buzz of her apartment intercom.
She froze.
No one buzzed. No one visited her.
She wrapped a towel around herself and checked the screen.
Rafael.
Her blood turned to ice.
She didn't open the door.
He didn't leave.
Fifteen minutes passed. Then twenty.
When she finally cracked the door open a fraction, his figure stood just outside—drenched in rain, black coat glistening, jaw set in something unreadable.
"You've made your point," she said through the gap. "I needed space."
"You don't run from me."
"I'm not running," she lied. "I'm protecting myself."
"I am your protection."
Something in his voice broke past her defenses.
He wasn't angry.
He was something far more dangerous: calm.
"Let me in, Aaria."
She hesitated… then opened the door.
He stepped inside without waiting for permission, water dripping from his coat, but his eyes were only on her.
Then he noticed the towel.
And stopped breathing.
Aaria folded her arms tightly. "Say what you came to say and go."
He stepped closer. Not touching her. Just close enough that the air shifted between them.
"I came to tell you," he said, voice low, "that someone from your past is trying to find you. Someone you've blocked, but not buried."
Her heart stopped.
"How do you know that?"
"I made sure your past was sealed," he said. "So when someone tried to unseal it—I was notified."
"Who?" she whispered.
But she already knew.
The one person she never wanted to see again.
The one who wore the mask of family and the hands of a predator.
Rafael's gaze softened for the first time.
"I don't want you afraid. Not of him. Not of me. But if you want me to deal with it—"
"No," she said quickly, chest rising with panic. "No violence. I mean it, Rafael."
He didn't nod.
He didn't agree.
But he stepped closer, brushing his knuckles along her damp cheek.
"You say no with your lips, Aaria… but you haven't closed the door on me once."
She hated how true that was.
"You scare me," she whispered, voice cracking.
"Good," he said, his fingers resting just beneath her jaw. "Because fear means you feel. And feeling means I've already broken past the first fracture."
Then, slowly, he bent his head—and kissed the side of her throat.
Not her lips.
Not yet.
Just the pulse.
Where her heartbeat betrayed her.