Chapter 292 - 293 If I actually want to know, I’ll ask my husband

Chapter 292: Chapter 293 If I actually want to know, I’ll ask my husband

Aria’s POV

I called Damian the second I was out the door.

Whatever irritation I’d been nursing all day—the cold shoulder, the silence, the two rings that had died out with no answer—none of it mattered anymore. All I could think about was him. Where he was. Whether he was hurt. Whether he was even conscious to know his phone was ringing at all.

He didn’t pick up.

I didn’t waste time being angry about it this time. I called Rick instead, my thumb jabbing the screen so hard I almost missed the button.

It connected on the second ring.

"Where’s Damian?" I didn’t bother with hello. I didn’t have the patience for it.

There was a pause on the other end—too long, too careful. I could practically hear Rick scrambling for the right lie.

"Aria, I—"

"Rick." My voice came out sharper than I meant it to, edged with something close to panic. "His phone is off. Yours was busy for twenty minutes. If something happened to him and you’re standing there deciding how much to tell me, I swear to God—"

"He’s fine," Rick said quickly. Too quickly. "He’s fine, I promise, it’s just—"

"Then tell me where he is."

Silence again. I could hear him breathing on the other end, weighing loyalty against the very real threat in my voice.

"If he’s hurt and you let me sit here not knowing," I said, low and shaking, "I will hold you personally responsible. Do you understand me?"

That did it. Rick caved, and thirty seconds later I had an address.

I don’t remember most of the drive. I remember running two lights I shouldn’t have.

I remember my hands were unsteady on the wheel the entire time, and my heart wouldn’t stop slamming against my ribs no matter how many times I told it to calm down.

I was furious and terrified in equal measure, and I couldn’t tell which feeling was driving the car and which one was along for the ride.

By the time I stepped out of the elevator, I was already bracing myself for the worst—blood, bruises, some rival Alpha’s handiwork.

I wasn’t ready for what I actually found.

A person was standing in the hallway, blocking the path to his door.

"...Damian?" His name came out of me on instinct, half question, half plea, before my eyes had even fully adjusted.

It wasn’t him.

It was Vanessa.

She was wearing nothing but a thin knit dress that looked entirely too comfortable for a hallway at eleven at night, her hair loose and soft around her shoulders, her face bare of makeup in a way that somehow made her look even more delicate than usual.

Every furious, panicked thing I’d been holding onto since the phone rang out lodged itself in my throat.

"Aria." She said my name like she’d been expecting me. Like she’d rehearsed this. "You’re here for Damian?"

"What are you doing here?" The words came out flat, stunned. My brain was still catching up. Vanessa was supposed to be halfway across the world.

She didn’t answer that.

I didn’t wait for her to. My whole body went hot with the need to get past her, to get to that door, and I moved to push by—but her hand shot out and closed around my arm.

"Aria, why do you keep doing this to yourself?"

Her voice was soft, almost gentle, which somehow made it worse. "If you can’t accept him, just let him go. Hasn’t he already been hurt enough because of you?"

Something in me went white-hot.

I yanked my arm free and my hand was already rising before I fully registered I meant to slap her.

She didn’t flinch. She didn’t even move.

She just tipped her chin up and waited, eyes half-closed, like she wanted it. Like my hand across her face would prove every ugly thing she’d just said.

I made my palm stop, inches from her cheek.

I don’t know how long I stood there, arm trembling in the air, before I made myself lower it.

The fury didn’t leave. It just found a colder shape.

"You want me to hit you," I said, and I heard my own voice come out steady, almost amused, "because it would make you feel like you mattered. I’m not going to give you that. I don’t hate you enough to hit you, Vanessa. Honestly? I just feel sorry for you."

"Sorry for me?" Her composure cracked, just slightly, color rising in her cheeks. "You’re the one who knows this marriage is falling apart and you’re still here. Damian’s already given up on you. Isn’t that what you’re doing right now—refusing to let go?"

I didn’t answer her. I turned and walked away, because there was nothing left to say to a woman who needed my husband’s rejection of me to feel like she’d won something.

"Aria! Don’t you want to know why I’m here? I’ll tell you—Damian doesn’t want to see you right now!"

Her voice chased me down the hallway. I didn’t stop.

"Why you’re here isn’t my business," I said without turning around. "If I actually want to know, I’ll ask my husband."

I heard her start to say something else behind me, but I was already too far gone to care.