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Chapter 10
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2025-12-01 00:03:00The rehearsal dinner was a display of wealth so excessive it felt like violence.
The private atrium of the St. Regis hovered above the city, a glass cage filled with white roses, candlelight, and people who cost more than they were worth. The air smelled of expensive perfume and the metallic tang of ambition. Aria sat at the far end of the long table, gripping her napkin under the tablecloth until her fingers ached. She was wearing a silver dress. It was modest, high-necked, and long-sleeved, chosen specifically to make her disappear. But tonight, invisibility felt impossible. Because he was watching her. Damian sat at the head of the table, next to Cassandra. He wore a black suit that fit him like a second skin, tailored to emphasize the breadth of his shoulders and the dangerous stillness of his posture. He looked like a weapon sheat
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Forbidden By Her Sister's Husband Chapter 33
May in New York was supposed to be a season of rebirth. The magnolias were blooming in Central Park, dropping soft pink petals onto the pavement, and the air had finally lost its biting, winter edge. But for Aria Hale, May felt like a countdown to an execution. The date of the Vow Renewal was set for June 15th. Four weeks away. Every day was a fresh hell of logistics. Aria had become the unofficial wedding planner, the shadow secretary, the person who carried the binders and absorbed the stress so Cassandra could focus on “glowing.” Today was the venue walkthrough. Cassandra had rejected the idea of a garden party. “Too rustic,” she had declared. “I want God involved. It looks more expensive.” So they were at St. Jude’s Basilica. It was a cavernous, Gothic monstrosity of stone and stained glass in the Upper East Side. It was older than the city around it, a fortress of silence that smelled of b
Forbidden By Her Sister's Husband Chapter 32
The planning of the Vow Renewal was a slow, methodical execution.April bled into May. The city turned green, the air warming up, but Aria felt colder than ever. She spent her days in the basement archives and her evenings in the corporate apartment, surrounded by binders of white tulle samples and catering menus.She was building the altar for her own execution.Tik. Tik. Tik.The heavy steel watch on her wrist—Damian’s Christmas “gift”—counted down the seconds. It was too loose. It slid up and down her forearm, clinking against the glass table as she worked.It was 8:00 PM on a Thursday.Aria was in the apartment living room. Cassandra had sent over five different options for the renewal invitations.“Choose the best one,” Cassandra had texted. “I trust your boring taste. It’s ‘classy’.”Aria was comparing fonts.The electronic lock on the front door beeped.Beep. Whirrr.Aria didn’t
Forbidden By Her Sister's Husband Chapter 31
The flight back from London was a funeral procession at forty thousand feet.Aria sat in her seat, staring at the back of Damian’s head. He was working again, typing furiously, ignoring her existence. He hadn’t spoken to her since the car ride from the Savoy, where he had scrubbed her hand with a wet wipe like she was contaminated.She felt hollowed out. Used.He had dragged her across the ocean, locked her in a room, used her to unsettle a business rival, and now he was putting her back in the box until he needed her again.The plane descended. The gray skyline of New York rose up to meet them.Home, Aria thought bitterly. Or what passes for it.The wheels touched down with a screech of rubber. The jet taxied to the private hangar.Damian closed his laptop. He stood up, putting on his heavy wool coat.He walked over to Aria.He reached into his breast pocket. He pulled out her passport.He hel
Forbidden By Her Sister's Husband Chapter 30
The lock clicked at 2:14 AM.Aria heard it even through the fog of exhausted sleep. The sound was sharp, mechanical, and terrifyingly close.She bolted upright in bed, clutching the duvet to her chest. The room was pitch black, save for the sliver of golden light widening as the connecting door pushed open.Damian stood in the frame.He was a silhouette against the light of his suite. He had removed his jacket and tie. His white shirt was unbuttoned at the collar, gleaming in the dim light. He leaned against the doorframe, swaying slightly.He smelled of scotch, cigars, and the cold London night.“Damian?” Aria whispered, her heart hammering against her ribs.He didn’t answer. He walked into her room.He didn’t turn on the light. He moved through the shadows with the familiarity of a creature that hunted in the dark. He stopped at the foot of her bed.He stared at her.Aria shrank back against
Forbidden By Her Sister's Husband Chapter 29
The summons came at 6:00 AM on a Monday.Aria was asleep in the corporate apartment, curled under the heavy duvet, trying to ignore the gray light filtering through the curtains.Her phone buzzed. It wasn’t a text. It was a call.Cross Industries - Executive Office.She sat up, her heart hammering. She answered.“Miss Hale,” a crisp female voice said. It was Damian’s executive assistant, a woman named Sarah who terrified Aria almost as much as Damian did. “Mr. Cross requires your presence at the private airfield in Teterboro at 0800 hours.”Aria blinked, still half-asleep. “Teterboro? The airport?”“Pack a bag for five days,” Sarah continued, ignoring the question. “Business attire. Formal evening wear. And warm layers. London is cold.”“London?” Aria gasped. “I can’t go to London. I have classes. I have—”“The university has been notified of your absence,” Sarah cut her off. “Your professors have grant
Forbidden By Her Sister's Husband Chapter 28
The costume landed at Aria’s feet with a heavy, dusty thud.“Put it on,” Cassandra commanded. “And don’t complain. It’s vintage.”Aria looked down at the pile of fabric on the floor of the penthouse guest room. It wasn’t a ballgown. It wasn’t silk or satin or lace. It was a heavy, shapeless cloak made of gray velvet that looked like it had been cut from a theater curtain in the 19th century. Beside it lay a mask—a plain, featureless white porcelain half-mask that covered the eyes and nose, devoid of glitter, feathers, or expression.“It looks like a shroud,” Aria whispered, picking up the heavy velvet.“It’s a Domino,” Cassandra corrected, applying a layer of gold shimmer to her collarbones. “Very Venetian. Very mysterious. And most importantly, it blends in with the drapes.”She turned from the mirror, her eyes critical and cold.“Tonight is my twenty-ninth birthday, Aria. It is a Masquerade. The theme is ‘Gilded Age Decadence.’
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