My Wife Now.

ARIA'S POV

His hand rested just behind my back, not quite touching just hovering there with practiced poise. Everything with Kane was always calculated.

We descended the grand staircase like two perfectly sculpted mannequins on display.

At the entrance, the limousine waited.

And then the chaos began.

Flashes burst like tiny explosions. The moment the doors opened, we were swallowed by the frenzy.

Reporters' voices clashed like a choir of vultures, mics jutted toward us like weapons, and bodyguards swarmed around us in tight formation.

I kept my face steady. Kane did too.

But then inside the car, everything softened. Not emotionally—just acoustically.

He sat beside me in that damned white suit, like sin wrapped in virtue, and stared out the opposite window.

I leaned against my own window, forehead resting on the cool glass. I still hadn’t forgiven myself for almost breaking down earlier. Over a color, a flipping suit, a damned memory.

Oh how pathetic.

If white could disarm me, what would happen when I saw Zane and Sibil?

Would I fold in front of them? Would they see the cracks in my skin, the old blood beneath my nails?

I rubbed at my temple. A headache brewed behind my eyes.

Without a word, I leaned forward and popped open the minibar, fingers curling around a glass bottle.

"Care for one?" I asked without looking at him.

A pause...then he nodded.

I poured two. We sipped in silence.

Then I cleared my throat and tilted my head toward him. "You know..." I said, tone dry, "usually I don’t have to ask my clients what to expect at these little charades. It’s supposed to be in the brief."

He turned slightly toward me, still impassive. "Expect anything" he replied.

"Helpful" muttered, then took another sip. "And who’s going to be there? Anyone worth making eye contact with?"

"Most of the core Callahan board..." he said. "Some family and few people who think they matter more than they actually do."

I nodded slowly, glass still pressed to my lips.

But that wasn’t the real question.

The real one was lodged in my throat. I swallowed hard. The alcohol burned a little on the way down.

Then I exhaled, and before I could stop myself I blurted "Is Zane going to be there?"

"Yes."

My heart dropped, like something important I couldn’t retrieve anymore.

My stomach flipped literally, that nauseating roll of dread, memories spiraling behind my eyes.

I closed them, just for a second.

⁠•⁠•⁠

KANE'S POV

The dress looked better on her than I’d imagined when I picked it. An emerald bold dress, it matched her eyes.

Her insistence on no white had amused me more than it should’ve. Though frankly, she would’ve looked just as stunning in a white floral gown—if not more. But I followed instructions...this is business anyways.

But then she almost fainted.

Because I wore white.

That… was a new one.

I’ve known high-strung women, sure. I’ve entertained flings with actresses, heiresses, women with ten-step skincare routines and God complexes. But I’ve never had one try to collapse over my wardrobe.

And now I had to live with her for a full week. Not just live but appear beside her, parade her, play husband.

To a woman who, frankly, talks too damn much for someone claiming to be "professional."

Compliments are unnecessary; they invite expectation...she didn’t need to know I noticed.

No makeup, now that surprised me. In this world, it’s a weapon. Most women use it as shield. She walked out bare-faced, confident and defiant like she wanted to be studied, not adorned.

And then she asked about Zane.

The moment she did, the air shifted, I felt it. Like she’d been holding her breath this entire time and finally cracked open the seal.

"Yes" I answered.

She stiffened, it was subtle, but I caught it. Her grip tightened around her glass... And then—mask.

That carefully rehearsed, stoic expression, as if my answer hadn’t rattled something in her ribcage.

For someone hired to be untouchable, she’s got a lot of buried fire.

The moment the limo door opened, the sound hit us like a wave—shutters clicking, voices rising, that chaotic hum of flashing cameras and greedy questions. New York’s elite, as always, feeding on the spectacle.

I stepped out first, unfazed. I’d done this more times than I could count.

Aria didn’t hesitate. She stepped out like she’d been born for this...elegant, composed, her chin lifted with that performance polish she wore like a shield. That green dress? It clung to her like second skin, every movement fluid and rehearsed, her smile was poised.

Then someone spoke.

"That’s Zane Callahan’s ex-wife."

It hit like a match to gasoline. Another voice picked it up...then another. And within seconds, it was the only thing anyone could hear.

"Zane Callahan’s ex-wife—"

"She was married to Zane—"

"Is that her?"

Their attention snapped onto her with a vicious intensity. Every camera turned, every mic lunged toward her mouth. They swarmed like they'd been starved for blood, and she just froze.

I saw it.

The pink bloom of embarrassment painted her cheeks. She tried to keep walking, but they boxed her in. Their words weren’t questions anymore; they were accusations.... y'know prods. Like she'd committed some sin simply by showing up.

And maybe she had.

Her shoulders dipped, not much, but enough. Her eyes flicked from flash to flash, mouth pressed into a tight, unreadable line. She wasn’t breathing right—short, sharp inhales like she was choking on the attention.

My security tried to step in. But they were seconds behind.

So I stepped in.

"Let’s be clear," I said, my voice slicing through the chaos. "Aria Callahan is no one’s ex. She is my wife now. Whatever fantasy you’ve all clung to—let it go."

Silence, then a low ripple of shifting attention.

That was all I needed.

The guards surged forward, surrounding her. She gasped, barely audible—but I heard it. Her chest rose sharply, and her eyes snapped to mine, startled. Like she hadn’t expected me to say it.

"Why marry your brother’s ex-wife?" a reporter shouted.

I glanced at him, calmly. "Because she upgraded."

The cameras flashed harder at that.

I slipped my hand behind her back, firm, guiding her forward. She moved, barely, her legs stiff like her knees didn’t trust her.

I didn’t look at her again.

I just walked, the guards tight around us. Reporters still screaming for a piece.

And Aria?

She was unraveling beneath that perfect smile.

•⁠•⁠

ARIA'S POV

The doors shut behind us with, sealing us into the quiet opulence of the event’s entrance hall. The low hum of voices, clinking glasses, and the occasional flash of a camera faded into the background, but the heat burning in my chest didn’t.

I turned to him sharply.

"What the hell was that?"

My heart was pounding from the rush outside, the flashes, the swarm, their voices — Zane Callahan’s ex-wife, like a label burned into my skin.

Kane didn’t blink, he just stood there, perfectly put together in that immaculate white suit.

"Why shouldn’t I have?" he said, voice flat, almost bored.

I stared at him. I mean really stared at him, like maybe if I looked hard enough, I’d find the screw loose behind his god-tier composure.

"Are you—? Do you even realize what you just did?" I hissed. Some people paused, eavesdropping, others pretending not to stare.

"This isn’t just some power move, Kane" I said, lowering my voice. "We have a contract, a fucking countdown. In less than seven days, this ends. So explain to me...how exactly do you plan to walk this back?"

He finally looked at me.. "Whether I spoke or not, your face would’ve been plastered on every magazine cover by dawn," he said.

I opened my mouth to reply, but he continued, calm and calculated.

"Now they know," he said. "Zane knows."

And just like that, my anger hit the wall.

His name still felt like bile in my mouth.

My fingers curled against the smooth fabric of my gown. I didn’t say anything for a second. I just turned my face away and adjusted the bodice of the dress like it mattered, like it could give me back even an inch of control.

I took a deep breath, then I nodded.

And maybe… maybe it was a good thing that Zane knew.

I inhaled slowly, squaring my shoulders, and allowing myself a small, fleeting smile. No one would take this moment away from me, not the cameras, not the whispers, and definitely not the ghost of a man I buried three years ago.

Slowly I slipped my hand into Kane’s, and we walked in together.

Besides...

Kane was richer, smarter. And God forgive me for admitting it—even better looking than Zane ever was. That alone should be enough for tonight.

That had to count for something.

That had to sting.