CHAPTER 5: THE WEDDING

The judge's office was sterile and small. Nothing like a wedding, everything like a transaction.

Damian wore a dark suit that was probably worth more than a car. Aria wore a white dress that Marie had somehow procured overnight. There were no flowers, no music, no witnesses except the judge and his assistant.

"You understand this is a legal marriage?" the judge asked, looking over his glasses. "Not a ceremony or a performance. This is binding."

"We understand," Damian said.

Aria nodded, not trusting her voice.

The vows were standard. The kind of thing people said every day without thinking. *To have and to hold. For richer or poorer. In sickness and in health.*

Except nothing about this was standard.

When it came time to kiss, Damian hesitated. Just for a moment. Then he pulled her close and kissed her in a way that made her forget about the judge and the office and the fact that this was supposed to be fake.

He tasted like danger and possibility and all the things that had no business tasting good.

When he pulled back, his eyes were unreadable.

"Congratulations, Mr. and Mrs. Wolfe," the judge said.

The drive back to the penthouse was silent. Aria kept her hands folded in her lap, terrified that if she looked at Damian, he'd see something she wasn't ready to admit.

"Tonight," he said as they pulled up to the building, "there's a charity gala. We need to make our first appearance as a married couple."

"How is that possible? We literally just—"

"The story is that we got married in secret this morning. We wanted it to be intimate. Private. Something just for us." He said it like he believed it. "The public is going to want to see you. They're going to want to confirm that I'm actually capable of loving someone."

"And are you?" she asked quietly.

He didn't answer. He just got out of the car and offered her his hand.

The gala was at the Metropolitan Museum. Everyone important in Manhattan was there. The kind of people who had power and didn't need to announce it.

The moment they walked in, the room changed. The energy shifted. Every eye turned toward them.

Damian's hand on her back was possessive and public. He introduced her to people whose names she'd read in the business section of the Times. He told edited versions of their meeting story. He looked at her like she was the only person in the room.

And Aria played her part beautifully.

Until Ethan walked in.

Her ex-boyfriend was with someone else—a blonde woman in a designer dress who definitely wasn't Lena. He looked like he was trying to make a point. See? I'm moving on. I'm fine.

He didn't look fine. He looked terrified.

The moment he saw Aria, the blood drained from his face.

Damian felt her stiffen. His grip on her waist tightened almost imperceptibly.

"Don't," he whispered. "Don't give him the satisfaction of seeing you hurt."

So Aria smiled. She laughed at something Damian said. She danced with her new husband like a woman in love.

But she felt Ethan watching them. She felt the story he was constructing:

Aria moved on so fast. She doesn't even look sad.

The narrative was spinning. And Damian was orchestrating it perfectly.

Around midnight, a man approached them. He was older, distinguished, with the kind of face that had seen too much.

"Damian," he said warmly, though his eyes were calculating. "And this must be the new bride. Aria, is it?"

"Uncle Richard," Damian said, something cold sliding into his voice.

"What a surprise to see you here."

"I wouldn't miss your wedding celebration." He took Aria's hand, kissing it with old-fashioned charm that made her skin crawl.

"Beautiful woman. How did my nephew manage to win someone like you?"

"Luck," Aria said smoothly. "And persistence."

Richard's smile didn't reach his eyes.

"How wonderful. Damian, I wonder if I might speak with you privately? Business matter. It will only take a moment."

Damian hesitated. Aria could feel the tension in his body.

"Of course," he said finally. He squeezed Aria's waist. "Wait for me?"

She nodded, and he disappeared with his uncle.

Alone for the first time that night, Aria let out a breath she didn't know she'd been holding.

A woman appeared beside her—Damian's sister, Elena.

"Be careful," Elena said quietly. "With my brother. He's not what he seems."

"What is he, then?"

Elena studied her. "Are you really in love with him, or is this just a business arrangement?"

Aria's heart stopped. Could she tell? Was it that obvious?

"I don't know what you mean."

"You're wearing a four-million-dollar diamond," Elena said softly. "You got married two hours ago. And the way you look at Damian is either completely genuine love or absolutely brilliant acting. I'm trying to figure out which one is going to get you killed."

"Killed?"

"My family is complicated," Elena said. "And Damian's marriage to you has upset certain people who don't like being upset. My uncle Richard, specifically. He's been waiting for my brother to make a mistake. A wife is a vulnerability. A wife who he loves—or appears to love—is a weakness he can exploit."

Before Aria could respond, Damian reappeared.

"We're leaving," he said. His voice was taut with anger.

On the ride home, he explained:

"My uncle wants to buy out my shares in the company. He's leveraging family pressure. Suggesting that my marriage to you means I'm distracted."

"Are you? Distracted?"

Damian turned to look at her, and for a moment, his mask slipped. She saw something real underneath—fear, maybe, or obsession.

"That's the problem," he said quietly.

"I don't think I'm distracted enough. I think I'm exactly as distracted as he wants me to be. Which means he knew I'd get married. Which means someone told him about you."

"Someone in your inner circle?"

"Yes." He looked out the window at the city passing by.

"Which means I have a traitor. And I have to find out who, before they decide to kill you as leverage."

Aria's blood went cold. This wasn't theoretical anymore. This was real.

"What do we do?" she asked.

Damian reached over and took her hand. His grip was tight, almost painful.

"We make them believe," he said softly, "that I'm genuinely in love with you.

We make you so important, so integral to my life, that taking you out wouldn't destroy me—it would destroy them all."

"How do we do that?"

He pulled her closer. "We stop pretending."

He kissed her then, and it tasted like danger and inevitability. She could feel the tension in his jaw, the barely contained need, the way his hands gripped her waist like she might disappear. This wasn't the calculated kiss from the judge's office. This was a man losing control.”

When he pulled back, Aria realized the truth:

She wasn't playing a part anymore.

She was falling in love with her fake husband.

And that was going to destroy her.