Aria was halfway through a vintage rom-com, a bowl of caramel popcorn balanced on her lap, when her bedroom door slammed open. Damian filled the doorway like a storm front—jacket off, tie loosened, eyes hard.

“Stay away from Selene,” he said, voice clipped.

Aria hit pause, the movie freezing on a happily-ever-after kiss. She blinked up at him with exaggerated innocence. “Selene?” A slow smile curved her lips. “Who is Selene, husband of mine?”

Damian’s jaw tightened. “Don’t play games with me.”

“Oh, but you barged into my room.” She set the popcorn aside and rose, silk robe trailing like smoke. “You storm in at midnight, no knock, no hello—just...