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Chapter 6 — Knives Behind Glass
The office they assigned Aria was elegant, but not welcoming.
Glass walls, sharp angles, a sweeping view of the city that glittered with wealth and indifference. Everything in Luxe Group felt designed to remind you your position could be taken — not earned.
Aria set her files down.
She didn't sit.
People watched her from outside the transparent walls.
Pretending to walk by.
Pretending not to stare.
She didn't acknowledge them.
She could feel hunger in their eyes — not admiration, but anticipation.
They were waiting for her to fall.
She opened her laptop, fingers steady, mind sharpening.
Her body remembered how to move under pressure — as if stress was not an obstacle, but home.
She began mapping the restructuring proposal.
Data. Market behavior. Competitor trajectories.
Her thoughts flowed in precise, silent rhythm.
The quiet didn't last.
The door opened without a knock.
Vivienne.
Of course.
Her heels clicked like a countdown across the polished floor. She leaned against Aria's desk — too close — like someone claiming territory.
"You really think the board is impressed with you?" Vivienne asked.
Her tone was pleasant.
Her eyes were knives.
Aria didn't look up. "Yes."
Vivienne's smile twitched.
A small crack of irritation.
"I should warn you," she said, examining her nails. "Directors who tried to bypass me before didn't last long."
"I'm not bypassing you," Aria replied calmly.
"I'm replacing you."
The air changed.
Vivienne's expression flickered — quick, like a flame hitting oxygen.
"You don't understand the world you've stepped into," Vivienne whispered. "This company isn't business. It's blood. Families, alliances, debts. Adrian didn't build this. He inherited a kingdom of wolves."
Aria finally looked up — slowly.
"I know wolves," she said.
Her voice was quiet.
Dangerously quiet.
"And I don't fear them."
Vivienne laughed — but the sound lacked confidence now.
"You think Adrian will protect you?" she asked.
"Aria… Adrian destroys everything he touches."
Aria's eyes sharpened.
"That includes you?"
Vivienne's breath caught — barely — but Aria saw it.
She always saw the weak points.
"Be careful," Vivienne said, backing away.
"Some things you don't survive twice."
Aria didn't answer.
Vivienne left — not victorious, not defeated.
Disrupted.
Aria sat down slowly.
Her hands were steady.
Her heartbeat was not.
Because Vivienne had spoken a truth Aria already knew.
Survival leaves a mark.
A scent.
Wolves recognize their own.
And Adrian Locke…
He wasn't just cold.
He was broken in a way that only someone who had shattered before could recognize.
Aria wasn't afraid of him.
She was afraid that she understood him.
---
Hours later, the board had cleared out for the day. Most employees were gone. The sun dipped low, bleeding amber light into the office halls.
Aria walked toward the elevators, exhaustion settling into her bones.
But at the end of the corridor, a figure stood leaning against the wall.
Adrian.
Waiting.
No tie.
Sleeves rolled.
Hair slightly undone — the kind of undone that only happens when someone has spent a long day fighting wars no one sees.
His eyes met hers.
Not cold.
Not soft.
Simply watching.
"You didn't call security on Vivienne," Adrian said.
Aria stepped closer. "Did you expect me to?"
"No," he said. "But I wondered how you'd respond."
His voice wasn't dismissive.
It wasn't flattering either.
It was curious.
As if he had spent the day thinking about her.
Aria didn't look away. "She thinks she knows you."
"She knows a version of me," Adrian replied.
"The version I needed to be."
Aria studied his expression.
He was telling the truth.
And avoiding something else behind it.
"What version is that?" she asked quietly.
"A shield," he said.
"A weapon. A warning."
Their eyes held.
Too long.
Too close.
Too real.
Aria's breath shifted. "And what are you without it?"
A flicker.
A shadow.
Something like pain.
"Not someone who survives," he said.
Silence.
Not heavy — intimate.
The elevator arrived.
Neither moved.
The air between them pulled tight — not like magnetism, but gravity.
Two bodies orbiting the same wound.
Aria stepped into the elevator first.
Adrian followed.
The doors closed.
No escape.
His presence filled the small space — quiet, steady, overwhelming.
Aria didn't look up.
But she felt him turn toward her.
"You didn't flinch today," he said.
"I don't flinch."
"You were being tested."
"I know."
"You were alone."
A pause.
Then Aria lifted her head.
"No," she said softly.
"I'm never alone. Not really."
His brows lowered, just slightly, as if the meaning brushed too close to something buried.
"Who are you, Aria?" he asked.
Her pulse tightened — once — hard.
Not because she didn't have an answer.
But because she did.
And he couldn't know it.
Not yet.
Someone's voice.
A memory.
A hand gripping her wrist in the dark.
Run.
Don't look back.
The elevator chimed.
The doors opened.
She stepped out.
But his hand moved — not touching — just stopping the distance with his presence.
"Aria."
She paused.
Adrian's voice was quiet.
Controlled.
But different now.
"Whatever you're running from," he said,
"It will find you here."
Aria didn't turn around.
When she spoke, her voice was glass — clear, sharp, unbreakable.
"I'm not running, Adrian."
She walked forward.
I'm preparing.
And behind her,
Adrian watched her go.
Not with suspicion.
With recognition.
Because he understood something now.
They were the same.
And that was the danger.