The sun hadn't even climbed halfway into the sky when the doorbell rang.
Aria, still in her robe, padded barefoot across the living room of Damien's penthouse. The sleek, cold floors echoed under her steps, a constant reminder that this place no matter how spacious or beautiful wasn't home. It was his.
When she opened the door, a woman held a long black box and an envelope. She was polished, efficient, and completely expressionless.
"From Mr. Blackwood," the woman said, handing both items over. You're expected tonight at 7 PM sharp."
Before Aria could even ask what it was, the woman had already turned and walked away, her heels clicking crisply down the hallway.
Aria shut the door slowly, staring at the items in her hand.
She opened the envelope first.
BLACKWOOD INDUSTRIES ANNUAL CHARITY GALA
Location: The Glass House
Time: 8:00 PM
Dress Code: Black Tie
She placed the envelope on the kitchen counter, then opened the black box.
Inside was a gown. Deep emerald green. Silk. Floor-length. The kind of dress that clung to you like a second skin. She reached in and pulled it out, the material falling like water between her fingers.
There was a small card nestled in the folds.
"You're representing us now. Look the part. – D."
Aria rolled her eyes. There was no please, no would you kindly, just Damien in his usual bossy, emotionally vacant tone.
She tossed the note aside and took the dress to her room. As she moved through the apartment, she caught herself in his apartment, not hers. It still didn't feel right living there. Everything was too white, too quiet, too sterile.
But this was her life now.
That afternoon, she stood in front of the mirror in the Guest bathroom, staring at her reflection.
The dress fit like it was tailored just for her. The color made her skin glow and her eyes stand out like polished hazel stones. Her dark curls were pinned up loosely, with a few strands framing her face. She had chosen a deep berry lipstick and just enough eyeliner to hide the exhaustion beneath her eyes.
She didn't look like herself.
She looked like someone pretending to be someone else.
At exactly 6:45 PM, she heard the front door open and close.
Damien.
He didn't knock. He never did. He just came and went as he pleased because, like everything else in their agreement, it belonged to him.
He was already in his tux, looking like a GQ cover come to life. Sharp jawline, neatly styled hair, watch gleaming under the soft light.
When she stepped out, his eyes paused on her.
For a moment, he didn't speak. He just looked at her. Not with the cold calculation she was used to but with something else. Something unreadable.
"You'll do," he finally said.
Aria raised a brow. "High praise."
He smirked. "Let's just get through tonight."
"Right. Smile, wave, pretend we're in love."
His gaze darkened slightly. "Don't just pretend. Convince them."
"And if they ask where we're living?"
He met her eyes. "You're living here. With me."
"In your house."
"In our house," he corrected smoothly.
She didn't respond.
The venue was breathtaking. A modern palace of glass and steel perched above the city, glittering under the evening sky. The valet opened her door and cameras flashed instantly.
Damien stepped out first, adjusted his cufflinks, then turned and offered his hand.
"Showtime," he said quietly.
She took his hand.
Paparazzi swarmed like bees, calling their names. The flashbulbs were relentless. Aria's smile was small but steady, rehearsed in the mirror for days like this.
"Damien, over here!"
"Aria, is it true you're the reason Blackwood's stocks are soaring?"
"Is the wedding this year or next?"
He kept his hand on the small of her back, fingers splayed like a silent claim. She hated that it felt… warm. It made her feel less alone, even for a second.
Inside, the gala was alive with glittering gowns, crisp tuxedos, champagne towers, and shallow conversation.
People turned when they entered. Faces lit up. Whispers followed.
Damien greeted the important guests. CEOs, politicians, and celebrity investors with ease. He introduced her as his fiancée, never once stumbling over the word.
She played her part flawlessly.
Until—
"Theo Voss?" someone said behind her.
Aria froze.
She turned slowly and there he was.
Her brother.
Wearing a dark grey suit, hair pushed back, but face… stormy.
They locked eyes across the room.
He hadn't seen her since she signed the engagement contract. Since she moved in with the man who destroyed their family business. Since she chose this arrangement.
His jaw clenched. He looked like he might walk toward her.
He didn't.
He turned and walked away.
Later, Damien found her standing alone by the glass railing, overlooking the skyline. The city sparkled beneath them, and her mask had finally slipped.
"He was here," she said quietly.
"I know," Damien replied.
"He hates me."
"He thinks you betrayed him."
"I did betray him," Aria said
Damien studied her for a moment. "And what about me, Aria? Do you hate me too?"
She looked over at him, caught off guard by the question. His voice wasn't cold. It was something else. Something tired.
"I don't know what I feel for you," she admitted. "I'm too busy trying to survive this circus."
He moved closer, his hand brushing hers against the railing.
"We'll survive it. You and me."
She didn't answer.
Instead, she asked, "What are the sleeping arrangements going to be like after tonight?"
He didn't blink. "Separate rooms. Unless you want otherwise."
"I don't."
He nodded. "No problem."
"And what about…" she hesitated, eyes flicking to his. "Sex?"
He tilted his head slightly. "Do you think I'd force that?"
"No. I just think people are going to expect it. And if it ever comes up."
"It doesn't happen unless you want it to," he said firmly.
Her face flushed, not from embarrassment, but from the strange knot tightening in her stomach.
"Good," she whispered.
They stood in silence for a while, pretending not to feel the weight of the lie they were living. Pretending not to notice how close they'd become.
Back at the penthouse, the silence was heavier than usual.
Damien took off his jacket, loosened his tie, and disappeared into the Guest room he'd claimed as his own. Aria, still in the emerald dress, stepped out onto the balcony alone.
The city blinked beneath her, full of people chasing power, pretending to be something they weren't.
Just like her.
Just like him.
She finally exhaled and whispered to herself
"First showdown. A lifetime to go."
Aria hadn't even changed out of the green dress when she noticed the cold breeze, not from the balcony, but from inside the penthouse.
She turned, still barefoot, and saw her.
Camille.
Damien's PA.
She was standing in the hallway, clutching a file and iPad like she owned the place. Her makeup was perfectly intact, her tight navy dress hugging every curve, and her eyes blue, sharp, and unforgiving. Locked onto Aria with thinly veiled disdain.
"Didn't realize you were still up," Camille said, voice clipped.
"I live here now," Aria replied, keeping her tone even.
"For now," Camille muttered under her breath as she walked past.
Aria frowned, turning to watch her move into Damien's study without knocking.
For a moment, she stood still. Then, she walked to her room, but instead of closing the door, she leaned slightly back and listened.
Muffled voices. Low, heated.
Camille: "You didn't tell me she'd be living here full-time."
Damien: "It's none of your business."
Camille: "You've been in my bed for six months, Damien."
A pause.
Camille: "You said you hated her."
Damien: "I never said I loved her."
Aria's stomach dropped.
Camille: "So what is this? A game? A show?"
Damien: "It's a contract. It's work."
Camille scoffed. "You're good at pretending. Just don't forget who you come back to when the show's over."
There was a harsh silence, followed by the sound of Camille's heels on the tile again, this time storming toward the front door.
Aria darted back into her room, quietly shutting the door behind her just as Camille passed. Her heart thundered in her chest.
So it was true.
Damien was sleeping with his PA.
And now, Aria was part of some triangle she never agreed to.
The next morning, Aria stepped into the kitchen wearing Damien's oversized sweatshirt and a pair of leggings. It wasn't intentional it was the only clean thing she could grab after a night of tossing and turning.
Camille was already there, flipping through her tablet and sipping black coffee like she lived there.
Aria didn't bother with small talk. She walked to the fridge, poured herself some juice, and sat across the marble island.
Camille didn't even look up.
"Don't get too comfortable," she said, voice like ice. "You're temporary."
Aria smiled tightly. "So are most people in Damien's bed."
Camille's eyes snapped up.
Camille: "Excuse me?"
Aria: "You heard me."
Camille stood, slowly, and placed both hands on the counter between them. "You might have a ring, but I know him better than you ever will."
Aria leaned forward. "Then you should know what he values most is control. And trust me he doesn't like it when people try to bully his decisions."
The two women locked eyes. The tension was thick. Heavy.
Just then, Damien walked in still drying his hair with a towel, dressed in casual black sweats and a tight shirt.
He froze when he saw the two of them.
Aria turned to him, softening her voice just enough. "Morning, fiancé."
Damien blinked. "Morning."
Camille clenched her jaw. "I'll see you at the office."
She stormed out, slamming the door behind her.
Damien let out a long breath. "What the hell happened?"
Aria sipped her juice. "You tell me."
He paused, the towel now limp in his hand.
"How much did you hear?"
"Enough."
He ran a hand through his hair. "It was over before you moved in."
Aria: "That doesn't make it better."
Damien: "I didn't expect you to care."
Aria stood, placing her glass in the sink. "I don't care. But she does. And that's a problem. Because if your baggage starts messing with the terms of our agreement, I get dragged down with you."
Damien stepped closer. "I'll handle Camille."
Aria: "You'd better."
She turned to leave, then stopped.
"Next time you sleep with someone, maybe don't make her your assistant."
He opened his mouth, but she didn't wait for a reply.
Later that day, Aria walked into the home office Damien had told her she could use. A stack of press materials for their upcoming public appearances sat on the desk. Photoshoots. Interviews. Magazines. Red carpet events.
Every page had "Mr. and Mrs. Blackwood" written across it like they were already legally bound.
It felt like a bad joke.
But she had agreed to this. She'd signed the contract. She'd told herself this was just for the company, for her family, for the life she was trying to rebuild.
So why did it sting?
Why did the sound of Camille's voice in Damien's study feel like a crack in the foundation of something she didn't even want?
Why did the words you said you hated her loop over and over again in her head?
She sat down at the desk and stared at the photos of them together. She and Damien, smiling, in love, flawless.
The camera never captured the truth.
Not the lies.
Not the betrayal.
Not the distance.
Not the look in his eyes when Camille said You've been in my bed.
Her phone buzzed.
Damien: "Dinner at 8. We need to be seen together. Wear something nice."
She stared at the screen.
Then, with a sigh, she texted back:
Aria: "Sure. I'll bring the perfect fake smile too."
The car was silent, apart from the low hum of the engine and the occasional sound of Damien flipping through notifications on his phone.
Aria sat beside him in the back seat, her hands folded tightly in her lap. She wore a satin champagne-colored gown that fell off one shoulder. Simple, elegant, and just tight enough to say I belong here without actually believing it.
Damien looked up, finally noticing her stiffness.
"You're nervous," he said.
"I'm pretending to be madly in love with a man who's sleeping with his assistant. At a party full of his friends. In a house I don't belong in. Why would I be nervous?"
A small smirk played at the corner of his lips.
"You're good at pretending."
She didn't smile back. "So are you."
The rest of the ride was quiet.
The event wasn't small. Not even close.
It was a pre-wedding gathering thrown by Damien's godparents, close family friends who owned a vineyard outside the city. It was full of people Damien had grown up with, colleagues, elite investors, and wives in diamonds that cost more than Aria's entire wardrobe.
Everything smelled of rose water, aged wine, and money.
"Just smile and stay close," Damien whispered into her ear as they walked in together. "You're the bride-to-be. They're going to watch you."
She smiled. Not because of the warning, but because of how robotic it all was like clockwork.
They made their rounds. Aria shook hands, kissed cheeks, accepted compliments on her "natural beauty" and "classy style," while Damien played the role of doting fiancé with frightening ease.
It was all surface.
Until she met Vivienne.
Vivienne was different. She didn't offer a fake smile or a rehearsed compliment. She just… appeared beside Aria at the hors d'oeuvres table and asked if the shrimp puffs tasted like shrimp.
Aria blinked at her, then laughed. A real one.
Vivienne raised an eyebrow. "So you're the mysterious Aria. Damien's… what's the official term these days? Soulmate? Strategic partner? Savior of the Blackwood legacy?"
"Contractual obligation," Aria replied dryly.
Vivienne snorted. "Finally. Someone here with a spine."
Vivienne was the wife of one of Damien's oldest friends. Ethan Moreau, tech investor, luxury watch addict, and emotionally unavailable husband. She had a sharp mouth, bright eyes, and the kind of presence that filled a room effortlessly.
She leaned in, lowering her voice. "You're the first woman he's brought into this circle who doesn't act like she's auditioning for a crown."
"I think the crown comes with handcuffs," Aria muttered, sipping her drink.
Vivienne laughed again, then linked arms with her.
"Come with me. I'm going to introduce you to the other women. Not the Stepford Wives. The ones who know how the game works."
An hour later, Aria found herself on a sun-drenched balcony with Vivienne and two other women. Jana, a corporate lawyer with a biting sense of humor, and Riley, a former fashion editor turned vintage boutique owner.
They were blunt. Real. Maybe even a little jaded. But Aria felt seen for the first time all night.
Vivienne poured them all champagne.
"So," she said, "do you have a dress yet?"
Aria blinked. "For… the wedding?"
Vivienne raised a brow. "No, for your next court hearing. Yes, for the wedding."
Aria hesitated. "No. I haven't even thought about it."
Riley gasped. "You're marrying into the Blackwood name and you haven't started dress shopping?"
"It's… complicated." Aria said
Vivienne tilted her head. "Let me guess. He's controlling everything. Wants the venue, the designer, the theme, the music, the brand of damn napkins."
Aria: "Something like that."
Vivienne's expression softened. "Look, you don't need to love him. Hell, you don't even need to like him. But this wedding? This is yours, Aria. It's the only thing in this circus you can make yours."
Jana nodded. "Let the man have the boardroom. You take the aisle."
Something about that hit her differently.
Vivienne leaned closer. "Come shopping with us tomorrow. No pressure. Just dresses and champagne and brutally honest opinions."
Aria hesitated.
Then slowly nodded. "Okay."
Vivienne smiled. "Good. We're going to make you look like the kind of woman Damien wishes he had married on purpose."
That night, back at the penthouse, Aria stood on the balcony alone, heels off, makeup smudged, hair pulled into a loose knot.
Damien walked out behind her, tie undone, holding a glass of scotch.
"You did well tonight," he said.
Aria: "I'm not a show pony."
"Didn't say you were," Damien said
Aria turned to him. "Vivienne invited me to go dress shopping with her and some friends tomorrow."
He looked surprised. "You made friends?"
Aria: "Apparently."
He nodded slowly. "That's good."
She crossed her arms. "Will Camille be there?"
His jaw tensed. "No."
"Good. Because if she gives me one more look like I'm the stain on her designer bag, I'm going to return the favor."
Damien smirked, then stepped closer, his voice dropping. "You were the most beautiful woman in that room."
She rolled her eyes. "Spare me."
"I'm serious."
She looked up at him then. Really looked.
"What are you doing, Damien?"
He didn't answer.
Instead, he reached up, brushed a strand of hair behind her ear, and for a second, she thought he might kiss her.
But then he stepped back.
"Goodnight, Aria."
She watched him go, heart pounding in confusion.
And suddenly, she wasn't sure if this was all still pretend or if the game had changed.