Between Her Shithead And The Wrong Brother

Ariella's POV.

“You didn’t marry me for love. I didn’t expect you to,” Damon says, sliding the diamond cufflink through his sleeve. “But you will smile when it counts, and it counts now.”

He doesn't raise his voice. He never does. Damon’s the kind of man who could order a firing squad with a whisper and make you thank him for the bullet.

I stare at him from the chair, veil pinned, hands clenched in my lap. He doesn't even look at me. He adjusts the watch again, for the third time.”

“You’re unbelievable,” I mutter.

“Unbelievable?” His tone is dry. “Sweetheart, you’re the one marrying me.” I don’t correct him.

He walked towards me, lifted my chin with two fingers. Perhaps just to remind me who’s calling the shots.

“I could’ve let your father drown,” he says. “But I didn’t, do you know why?”

“So you could own me.”

He smiled mischievously, and his eyes slightly tightened. “Because I needed a wife who would understand loyalty.”

I slap his hand away. “You needed a pet.”

He straightens, adjusts his jacket as if the conversation bored him. “You keep forgetting what this is.”

I stand, step into his space. “And you keep pretending it’s a marriage.”

Damon leans in close enough for our foreheads to almost touch. “Play your part, Ariella. Or I promise, you’ll find out just how ugly this can get.”

He turns and walks out, leaving the scent of expensive perfume behind.

I don’t cry, nor did I scream, but I swallow. This isn’t the dress I think of wearing. Certainly, this isn't the man I want as my husband. And of course, this isn’t the life I want for myself, but it’s the life I chose. Or the one I was cornered into.

The event planners and servers are busy, moving with mechanical precision. I walk past them along the passage without anyone noticing me.

The guests don’t know I’m being auctioned in real time. They don’t know this smile is a cover-up. The ceremony is beautiful, but of course it should be.

Gold-draped aisles line the room, and classical strings play something soft and forgettable. Every seat is filled with power, wealth, or obligation.

Damon stood at the altar calmly. Every inch of him shows a display of control. His eyes didn’t search for me. They commanded as I walked toward him. Camera shutters fill the silence, and I realize I wasn’t a bride. I was a spectacle. When I take his hand, it’s colder than I remember.

“Perfect,” he whispers as we face the priest.

I say nothing.

The priest begins the ceremony, voice calm, practiced.

“…join together in holy matrimony…”

I stare at Damon’s profile, his jaw tight, his gaze locked straight ahead. He doesn’t glance at me. Doesn’t need to. He already owns me. Why admire the property?

“To have and to hold…My heartbeat skips. He sat there, third row, left side. One dressed in a dark suit with his tie slightly loose. Jaw beard unshaven, and his arms crossed. His eyes burned into mine like I lit the match. The face resembles someone, but isn't supposed to be here.

Three years since Paris. I mean, three years since that kiss. Three years since he disappeared from the family, the tabloids, my memory, almost.

And now he’s here.

Watching me marry his brother.

“Do you take this man…”

My throat closes.

I see Damon shift slightly, eyes flicking toward me for just a second. Sending a warning

I nod.

“Yes.”

The priest turns to him. “Do you take this woman…”

“I do,” Damon replies instantly.

Of course he does.

This is a merger for him. I’m the acquisition.

“You may now kiss the bride.”

He leans in. Not fast. Not slow. Just calculated.

As his lips touch mine, I force stillness.

But my eyes open for one second too long.

Jace hasn’t moved.

Not a muscle.

Just that look, like I betrayed him, even though he never asked me not to.

The reception starts like a political summit. Champagne, speeches and eyes watching every move.

Damon’s hand never leaves my back. A possessive gesture. A silent warning.

I play my part: the elegant bride, the perfect smile, the woman who just landed the most powerful man in the room.

But inside, my heart is a riot.

Every time I laugh, I feel Jace’s eyes somewhere in the room. Every time Damon leans in, I remember another man’s lips in the dark.

I excuse myself after the fifth toast. I slip onto the terrace like lightning.” There was silence between us. I tremble, breathing heavily. But I’m not alone. I turn, and he’s there. Jace doesn’t speak right away.

He just stares at me like I’m something in serious trouble.

“You showed up,” I say, voice low.

“I heard you were marrying a monster,” he replies. “Had to see it for myself.”

My breath catches.

He steps forward.

“I thought you left,” I say.

“You thought wrong.”

“What are you doing here, Jace?”

He shrugs. “Wondering how long it’ll take before you regret this.”

“I already do.”

He takes one more step. We’re inches apart now. The air shifts.

“You married him,” he says, voice sharp. “You chose him.”

“No. I chose survival.”

His jaw tenses. “You think Damon lets anything survive?”

I can’t look at him. The guilt’s already eating me alive. “Don’t stand there judging me. You have no idea what it’s like.”

He grabs my wrist firm enough to stop me. “I know exactly what it’s like, Ariella. He didn’t just ruin my life. He rewrote it. Now he’s writing yours in his ink.”

Silence takes over us. I trembled and breathed heavily. He is still holding me. He kissed my cheek. It immediately reawakened my memory.

I pull back, trembling. “We can’t do this,” I whisper.

He lets go. Steps back. But his voice is steady.

“Maybe not. But one day, you’ll look at him, and you’ll see what I saw years ago.”

I stare at him.

“And when that happens,” Jace says, walking away, “I won’t save you. I’ll burn with you.”

Back inside, Damon is already watching me and smiling. The kind of smile that says he knows everything.