Page 86 of Rescuing Aria
“You think because you didn’t lay a hand on her, that makes you innocent?” I meet his gaze, steady and cold. “You broke into her life. Ripped away her safety. Turned her into a bargaining chip in a game she never agreed to play.”
His expression doesn’t change—but I see it. That flicker of regret behind the eyes.
“You don’t get to say you haven’thurther. Or whatever the hell you’re telling yourself to sleep at night.”
Silence stretches, taut and thin.
I lean forward as much as the restraints allow, voice low and sharp.
“What you did leaves bruises no one can see. That’s still harm. That’s still violence.”
The sheer audacity of it makes my jaw clench. Heat sparks low in my chest—not panic, not fear. Rage. Controlled. Contained. But rising.
I shift in the chair, just enough for Wolfe to notice. Not aggression. Not yet. Just a quiet signal: you’re not safe here either.
“You keep using her as leverage,” I say, voice flat. “Don’t pretend that’s not harm.”
“You assume I want to hurt her. I don’t.” Wolfe’s mouth curves, but there’s no pleasure in it. “I want to free her. From him. From the lie she’s living.”
Something in his tone raises the hair on my arms. Not the threat I expected. There’s bitterness there, yes, but also what sounds like genuine concern.
“What do you want?” I test the restraints subtly. Professional grade, properly applied. No give in the metal, no weakness in the chair legs. Those who secured me knew what they were doing.
“I want the truth.” Wolfe stands, straightening his suit jacket. “And for Aria to hear it.”
“Truth? What the fuck does that mean?”
He moves to a small table, tucked in the corner of the room. Pours water from a crystal decanter into a glass. Returns and holds it to my lips. I hesitate, then drink. No point refusing hydration. If he wanted me dead, I’d be dead already.
The water is cold and clean, washing away some of the chemical aftertaste from the sedative.
“You believe you understand what’s happening here.” He sets the glass aside. “A criminal taking revenge on his half-brother. A kidnapping motivated by greed or power or simple malice.”
“Enlighten me.”
“Marcus stole something precious from me many years ago.” Wolfe’s smile is all teeth, his eyes cold and unreadable. “Before Aria was born. I’m simply reclaiming what’s mine.” There’s a curve to his mouth, but his eyes stay flat—empty of anything human. The smile is hollow, as if his face remembers the motion even when he doesn’t feel it.
“Aria isn’t property.”
“No.”
Something flashes across his face—genuine emotion breaking through the controlled exterior. Pain, perhaps. Or grief. “She’s not, but she is family. More than Marcus deserves.”
He turns away, adjusting the cuffs of his shirt like the conversation hasn’t cracked open something raw beneath his practiced calm. Then—like flipping a switch—the warmth drains from his voice.
Wolfe paces toward the door, hand resting briefly on the frame. He doesn’t turn back.
“You know, you don’t have to stay involved.” He glances over his shoulder, gaze flicking over me. Calculating. Cold. “You could walk away. No chains. No threat. Just—freedom.”
He lets the word hang in the air like bait.
“Leave this to Marcus and me. Let Aria decide what matters most without your influence.”
I lift my head. Say nothing. Just watch him.
A slow breath cools the fire building in my chest. He wants to frame this as mercy. A noble out. Pretend he’s offering peace.
But it’s nothing more than manipulation. Smoke dressed as virtue.
