Chapter 317: Folding Like a Cheap Lawn Chair

The moment the end credits began to roll across the massive theater screen, the audience erupted into a deafening, echoing standing ovation.

Aria stood up from her plush velvet seat, flashing a brilliant, perfectly poised smile for the cameras stationed around the aisles. The applause washed over her, warm and validating. She had done it. She had watched her own face on a fifty-foot screen, delivering a performance that completely wiped away the stigma of her past. She wasn’t just a pretty face or a billionaire’s accessory; she was actually good at her job.

But as the house lights flickered fully on and the networking frenzy began to brew in the aisles, Aria felt her social battery instantly drop to zero.

She leaned into Damien’s side, keeping her smile pinned in place. "I want to go home."

Damien didn’t hesitate. He placed a hand on her lower back and navigated her through the swarming crowd, seamlessly dodging two producers and a very persistent lifestyle blogger.

Within ten minutes, they had slipped out a discreet side exit and were back in the cabin of the Maybach.

Coco and Zoe collapsed into the opposite bench seats, exhausted but vibrating with post-premiere adrenaline.

"I am never wearing leather pants for four hours straight ever again," Coco groaned, aggressively massaging his calves. "My circulation is officially cut off."

"It was worth it," Zoe grinned, her thumbs flying across her iPad screen. "Aria, you are currently trending at number one, two, and five on Twitter. The timeline is a bloodbath, and Bella is getting roasted alive. Listen to this comment: ’Bella wearing beige to the premiere is so fitting because that’s exactly what her personality tastes like.’"

Aria burst into a relaxed laugh, kicking her black Louboutins off and tucking her bare feet under the red silk of her skirt.

"I don’t think I have the energy for the afterparty," Aria admitted, leaning her head back against the headrest. "There’s going to be so much industry small talk, and my cheeks already hurt from fake-smiling."

"Say less," Zoe agreed instantly, locking her iPad. "I am totally skipping too. Coco and I are going to order two massive pizzas to my apartment and spend the rest of the night reading hate comments about Lucas Sinclair on Reddit."

"A perfect Friday night," Coco sighed happily.

The Maybach smoothly navigated the Manhattan traffic, pulling up to Zoe’s apartment building twenty minutes later. Zoe and Coco scrambled out of the car, waving wildly before disappearing through the lobby doors.

The car door clicked shut.

The driver merged back onto the street, heading for Sinclair Tower. With a soft, mechanical hum, the opaque privacy partition glided up, sealing the back of the cabin off from the front.

The sudden silence in the backseat was incredibly loud.

Aria stared out the tinted window at the passing city lights, hyper-aware of the man sitting right next to her. They had barely had a moment alone since the foyer incident earlier that evening.

Damien didn’t waste a second of their newfound privacy.

He gripped her waist, and effortlessly pulled her across the leather seats onto his lap.

Aria gasped, her hands instinctively flying up to rest flat against his white shirt as she straddled his thighs.

"So," Damien murmured. "Are we having the angry make-up sex right now in the car, or are we waiting until we get back to the penthouse?"

Aria’s face instantly flooded with a bright shade of red.

"I didn’t mean that!" Aria stuttered, her voice pitching up defensively as she tried to scramble backward. "I meant we need to talk! Like mature adults! It was a slip of the tongue!"

"You’re a terrible liar," Damien chuckled softly.

He didn’t let her move away. He wrapped one arm around her lower back, holding her flush against his torso. He leaned forward and pressed a hot kiss to the sensitive skin just beneath her ear.

Aria let out a breathless moan, her head falling back completely on instinct.

His lips trailed down the column of her neck, his teeth grazing her collarbone. At the same time, his free hand moved to the side of her waist, his long fingers searching for the zipper of the black satin corset to loosen the tight garment.

He felt along the side seam. Nothing.

Damien frowned slightly against her skin. He slid his hand to the back of the corset, searching the spine. Still nothing.

He pulled back, looking down at the complex, draped layers of red silk and sheer black ribbon.

"How do you get out of this?" Damien asked, genuine confusion lacing his deep voice.

"You don’t," Aria panted, her chest heaving as she tried to catch her breath. "Coco literally stitched me into it. There are no zippers. It’s held together by industrial-strength fashion tape, twenty hidden safety pins, and a needle and thread. If you pull too hard, the entire thing is going to unravel into a pile of scraps."

Damien stared at the dress, his jaw ticking in frustration. He gently tugged at a piece of the red silk, but the double-sided tape didn’t budge a single millimeter.

Aria took a deep breath, pushing her hands firmly against his shoulders to create a few inches of space between them.

"Damien, wait," Aria said, her voice dropping the playful, flustered tone and settling into something far more serious.

Damien paused, his hands resting lightly on her hips. He looked up at her, instantly reading the shift in her demeanor.

"We actually do need to talk," Aria told him, looking into his golden eyes. "We can’t keep doing this. I don’t want a marriage where we just sweep massive trust issues under the rug the second things get physical. Sex is a great temporary fix, but it doesn’t solve the fact that you lied to me. I want a healthy relationship, Damien. I need us to communicate."

"You’re right," Damien agreed softly.

He removed his hands from her waist, letting her shift her weight comfortably on his lap.

He leaned back against the plush leather seat. The cabin was warm, the adrenaline of the evening finally catching up to him.

Damien reached up with one hand and tugged his bowtie loose, letting the black silk hang untied around his neck. He unfastened the top three buttons of his white shirt, exposing the tanned column of his throat and the hard lines of his collarbones.

He let out an exhale, running his hand through his silver hair. The motion left the silver strands messy, tousled, and falling across his forehead.

He rested his hand on his thigh, looking at her. "Okay," Damien murmured, his voice gentle. "Let’s talk."

Aria stared at him.

Her brain completely flatlined.

She opened her mouth, but no words came out.

She couldn’t form a single, coherent thought because she was too busy staring at the man sitting underneath her.

He looked so incredibly hot, so effortlessly masculine, and the fact that he was looking at her with such undivided attention was doing wild things to her nervous system.

Her mouth went bone-dry. Her thighs involuntarily clenched.

’We are doing healthy communication!’ Aria’s brain screamed frantically. ’Speak! Use words!’

Damien tilted his head slightly, his brow furrowing in mild concern when she didn’t speak.

"Aria?" he prompted softly. "What is it?"

Aria stared at the exposed skin of his chest. She looked at his lips.

She lasted exactly three more seconds.

"Fuck it," Aria blurted out. "We’ll talk after."

She didn’t give him a second to react.

Aria lunged forward, throwing her arms around his neck, and crashed her mouth onto his.

Damien let out a surprised grunt against her lips, his hands instinctively flying up to catch her waist as she threw her entire body weight against him. The surprise lasted less than a heartbeat before he took over the kiss entirely, his tongue sweeping into her mouth with a ravenous heat that swallowed her breathless moan.

So much for healthy communication.