The CEO's Rejected Wife And Secret Heir novel Chapter 129

Chapter 129: Chapter 129: Relieved

Aria pov

"I feel relieved," Damien said. "Relieved that the truth came out, that justice was done, and that my family can move forward safely."

"Are you two officially back together?"

"We’re partners," I said, squeezing Damien’s hand. "In business, in parenting, and yes—in life. What happened with Ms. Clarke only made us stronger."

"Any message for others who might be facing similar situations?"

"Yes." I looked directly at the cameras. "If someone you love is assaulted—whether it’s physical, sexual, or otherwise—believe them. Support them. Fight for them. Don’t let anyone victim-blame or suggest they somehow deserved it. What happened to Damien was assault, plain and simple. And survivors deserve support, not suspicion."

*********

Later that night, after Noah was in bed, Damien and I sat on the penthouse balcony with wine and the city lights stretched before us.

"You fought for me," he said quietly. "During that trial, every day—you fought for me like I was worth fighting for."

"You are worth fighting for." I leaned against him. "You’re my partner. My family. Of course I fought for you."

"Family." His voice was filled with wonder. "You called me family."

"You are family." I looked up at him. "You, me, Noah—we’re a family. Messy and complicated and still figuring things out, but a family nonetheless."

"I like the sound of that." He kissed the top of my head. "My family."

"Our family," I corrected.

"Our family," he echoed.

We sat in comfortable silence, watching the city. Somewhere out there, Vivian was hiding. Marcus was plotting. Enemies were circling. But right now, at this moment, we’d won. We’d protected our family. We’d stand together against an attack and come out stronger.

And that—that felt like everything.

"Damien?" I said after a while.

"Yeah?"

"Thank you."

"For what?"

"For being someone worth fighting for." I smiled at him. "For becoming the man I always hoped you could be."

"Thank you for seeing that potential," he said softly. "For believing I could change when I didn’t believe it myself."

"Always." I kissed him gently. "I’ll always believe in you."

He deepened the kiss, his hand sliding into my hair, pulling me closer as heat flooded through me instantly.

"Wait" I pulled back slightly, breathless. "You’re not that strong yet. You need to recover."

"Since we’re on the topic of recovery..." Damien’s voice dropped to that dangerous register. His large hand glided down the curve of my side, fingers splaying possessively over my hip as he pressed forward. I felt the thick, insistent length of him already straining against the fabric of his trousers, hot and heavy against my lower belly. His icy blue eyes darkened his pupils, blown wide with raw intent. "I’m more than fully recovered. And in case you forgot—you still owe you the ending that was denied in that damn hospital room."

A breathy laugh slipped from me despite the sudden heat pooling low in my core. "Okay, but don’t overdo it, you are still recovering."

He answered with a slow, predatory smile that made my thighs clench. "Watch me."

I stepped back deliberately, holding his gaze, letting him feel every second of the tease. My fingers found the top button of my silk blouse. One by one I worked them free, the fabric parting to reveal the black lace bra beneath—simple, elegant, chosen. His breathing grew audibly rougher with each inch of exposed flesh. When the blouse slid off my shoulders and pooled at my feet, his jaw ticked.

Next came the skirt. I turned slightly, giving him the view of my ass as I eased the zipper down, inch by torturous inch. The material whispered over my hips and fell. I stepped out of it, then hooked my thumbs into the lace of my panties and drew them slowly down my legs, bending just enough to make him growl low in his throat.

I straightened, completely bare now except for the city lights painting golden streaks across my skin. No bra. No panties. Just me—taller, sharper, unafraid.

"Aria..." His voice cracked on my name.

I closed the distance again, sinking gracefully to my knees between his spread thighs. My hands went to his belt first—slow, deliberate, metal clinking softly. Then the button. The zipper. I tugged his trousers and briefs down just enough to free him.

His cock sprang up, thick and flushed dark, the head already glistening. I wrapped my fingers around the base—he was so hard the vein along the underside pulsed against my palm—and leaned in.The first swipe of my tongue over the slit drew a hissed curse from him.

I took my time, licking long, wet stripes from root to tip, savoring the salty taste of him, the way his thighs trembled under my forearms. When I finally wrapped my lips around the head and sucked, his head dropped back against the chair, a guttural "Fuck" tearing from his throat.

I took him deeper, hollowing my cheeks, tongue swirling around the sensitive ridge. His hands flew to my hair—not forcing, but gripping like he needed an anchor. I bobbed slowly at first, then faster, letting him hit the back of my throat on every downstroke until my eyes watered and saliva slicked my chin.

He was close—I could feel it in the way his abs clenched, the way his hips jerked involuntarily. Right as his breathing turned ragged and broken, he yanked me off with a desperate sound.

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