Morning came quietly, as if the world itself was afraid to disturb the Steel mansion.
Soft light filtered through the curtains, painting gentle shadows across the bedroom. Ariana stirred first. For a brief moment, she forgot everything — the tension, the fear, the flash of light from the night before.
Then she felt it.
Warmth.
A steady presence beside her.
Damian was still there.
He hadn't left.
He sat against the headboard, jacket discarded, sleeves rolled up, one arm resting protectively behind her. His eyes were open, alert — he hadn't slept much, if at all.
Ariana turned slowly. "You stayed up all night…"
"Yes," he said simply.
"You didn't have to."
"I wanted to."
Her chest tightened at the quiet certainty in his voice.
She pushed herself up slightly, studying him. There was no anger on his face this morning. No cold authority. Just a man who had chosen to stay awake to make sure the woman beside him breathed safely through the night.
"Did they say who it was?" she asked gently.
"A hired scout," Damian replied. "Nothing more."
That was a lie.
Or at least… not the full truth.
But she didn't push.
Instead, she reached out and rested her hand over his.
"Thank you," she said softly. "For protecting me."
His fingers closed around hers immediately.
"I will always protect you."
The words weren't dramatic.
They were a promise.
Downstairs, the mansion was unusually quiet. Staff moved carefully, speaking in hushed tones. News traveled fast within these walls — not details, never details — but feelings.
Something had happened.
Something serious.
Mrs. Rowan stood near the dining table, pretending to straighten flowers for the third time. The butler paused when Damian entered with Ariana beside him.
They both froze for half a second.
Damian Steel was guiding his wife by the hand.
Not commanding.
Not rushing.
Guiding.
"Breakfast," Damian said calmly. "Together."
"Yes, sir," the staff replied in unison, still stunned.
Ariana noticed it this time — the way people watched them, the way the air shifted when Damian was gentle instead of feared.
She leaned closer to him. "They're staring."
"They always do," he replied. Then, softer, "Ignore them."
After breakfast, Damian didn't leave for work.
That alone shocked the household.
Instead, he followed Ariana into the smaller sitting room where sunlight poured in through tall windows. She picked up her sketchpad hesitantly.
"I was thinking… maybe I could draw today," she said. "It helps me feel normal."
He nodded. "I'll stay here."
"You don't have to watch me."
"I know."
He sat anyway.
Ariana smiled faintly and began to draw.
For the first time, she didn't draw him as a silhouette.
She drew his hands.
Strong.
Scarred.
Steady.
Hands that commanded empires…
And held her like she was something precious.
Damian watched quietly, unaware that with every stroke of her pencil, she was capturing the part of him the world would never see.
Somewhere far from the mansion, a message was delivered.
Three words.
Stand down. Permanently.
Whoever had been watching Ariana would never come near her again.
Back in the sunlight, Ariana looked up from her sketch.
"Damian?"
"Yes?"
"You don't scare me," she said suddenly.
His eyes narrowed slightly. "You should be afraid of my world."
"Maybe," she replied. "But I'm not afraid of you."
For a long moment, he said nothing.
Then he stood, crossed the room, and rested his forehead gently against hers.
"Good," he said quietly.
"Because I belong to you more than that world ever will."
And for the first time since the danger began creeping closer, Ariana felt something stronger than fear.
She felt safe.