Damien Roth's penthouse wasn't a home. It was a fortress sculpted from silence, steel, and staggering wealth. Every square inch gleamed with icy perfection. No fingerprints. No warmth. No life.
And now, Aria belonged to it.
She stood stiff in the massive living room, taking in the modern art she couldn't name, the wall-length windows that stared out at a cold, disinterested city, and the man who owned it all—the man she had just married under false pretenses.
"Your room is down the hall to the right," Damien said, his voice like polished granite. "We keep separate spaces."
His words weren't cruel. Just detached.
He turned and walked away, expecting her to follow like a shadow. She did.
They stopped outside a door taller than any she'd ever seen. He opened it.
Inside was a suite larger than her entire apartment. A king-size bed. Silk sheets. A chandelier glittered above like a threat. An en-suite bathroom, marble-clad and pristine. A closet lined with designer clothes in her size.
A setup for a perfect lie.
"So... no honeymoon?" she asked lightly.
He didn't turn. "This isn't a romance. It's a business arrangement. You'll attend events. Smile when I say. Speak only when needed. And under no circumstance do you make mistakes."
Her pulse quickened. "What kind of mistake would that be?"
He turned slowly. His eyes found hers—and for the first time, she saw them clearly: emotionless, analytical, yet somehow terrifyingly intimate.
"A mistake," he said, "is forgetting who you are in this house."
A cold silence fell between them.
Then he left.
Aria sank onto the edge of the bed, hands trembling. She'd done it. She was trapped inside the belly of the beast.
Julian's face flashed in her mind. Pale. Weak. Waiting.
This was all for him.
She rose, walked to the closet, and opened it. Rows of labels she'd never afford. Each outfit is a costume. A mask. A weapon.
She dressed quickly for dinner—a gown blacker than sin and twice as tight. Her new life had begun.
But her instincts whispered something else:
Watch him. He's already watching you.
Dinner was a quiet affair.
Damien didn't eat much. He didn't talk much. He simply watched her.
Aria kept her posture perfect, her words few. She laughed when required. Responded like Lena Monroe would.
"You're different from the others," he said suddenly.
She blinked. "Others?"
"The ones who auditioned for this role. Most were actresses. Some are desperate. None as composed."
She swallowed. "And yet you chose me."
He didn't smile. "Yes. You know why?"
"Because I'm discreet?"
"Because you're dangerous."
Her heart skipped. "Excuse me?"
His eyes pinned her in place. "You're hiding something. I just haven't decided what."
He stood, leaving his wine untouched. "Goodnight, Mrs. Roth."
And just like that, he vanished.
Alone again, Aria pulled out her burner phone from the lining of her purse.
A message blinked:
Julian stable. Needs deposit by Friday. Urgent.
She logged into the Roth Industries private app.
$500,000 had been transferred into her account.
She wired $80,000 to the hospital immediately.
Julian was safe. For now.
But Aria? She'd just stepped into a lion's den. And the lion had cold eyes that missed nothing.