(Aria’s POV)There are mornings when the world feels kind. When sunlight touches everything softly, when coffee smells like comfort, and silence feels like peace.This wasn’t one of those mornings.I woke to the sound of voices — not in the apartment, but outside it. Reporters. Cameras. A swarm of chaos that turned the quiet street below our building into something unrecognizable.For a few seconds, I thought I was dreaming. Then my phone began to buzz. Dozens of notifications, messages, missed calls.And one headline that made my stomach drop.“The Billionaire’s Bride: Love, Lies, and Leverage?”The article had my name in bold letters. It called me a mystery woman with no social background, a possible pawn in a strategic marriage, and worst of all — it questioned if I had “married into luxury” for money.I set the phone down before I could read more. My hands were shaking too badly anyway.The city outside felt louder now. I co
(Damon’s POV)Sleep didn’t come easily. It rarely did, but that night, it was impossible.Aria’s breathing was soft beside me, her hand resting lightly against my chest, as if she was holding me together even in her dreams. But I couldn’t stop replaying the look on her face — that mix of hurt and disbelief when she’d asked, “Why didn’t you tell me?”Because I didn’t know how. Because every time something feels too good to be real, I start waiting for the part where it all falls apart.That’s what fear does — it convinces you love is just another weakness waiting to be used against you.I stared at the ceiling, the glow from the city lights casting long shadows across the room. I’d spent years building a life made of control — numbers, decisions, power. It kept me untouchable. Until Aria.Now, every wall I’d built was cracking in ways I couldn’t stop.---By the time morning came, I’d already showered, dressed, and ma
(Aria’s POV)The morning sunlight always found a way to sneak through the curtains no matter how tightly I closed them. Usually, that golden light felt gentle — a quiet start to another peaceful day.But not today.Today, it felt harsh. Too bright. Too revealing.The first thing I noticed when I woke was that Damon wasn’t beside me. His side of the bed was cold. The second was the faint murmur of voices — low, hurried, coming from his office down the hall.I reached for my robe, wrapping it tightly around me as I padded barefoot across the marble floor. The air smelled faintly of coffee and something sharper — tension.The door to his office was slightly open. Through the narrow crack, I could see him — shoulders rigid, phone pressed to his ear, jaw clenched hard enough to break.“No,” he said sharply. “Pull it down. I don’t care who published it. Just make sure it’s gone.”A pause. Then, quieter: “Tell them if they want to writ
(Damon’s POV)I used to like mornings. They meant control — structure, purpose, routine. The world obeyed my schedule, my timing, my will.But lately, mornings had started to mean something else.Mornings meant waking to the faint scent of paint and vanilla. The sound of Aria humming softly in another room. The sight of her smile, half-asleep, framed in sunlight.And I hated how much I missed it the moment I stepped out the door.The elevator chimed softly as it descended, the city’s heartbeat waiting below. I adjusted my tie out of habit, but my reflection in the mirrored walls wasn’t the man I used to be. There was a softness around the edges now. A hesitation.Love had a way of making you both stronger and painfully fragile.By the time I reached the car, my phone was already buzzing. Andrew — my assistant, efficient as ever — was waiting outside with a folder tucked beneath his arm.“Morning, sir,” he greeted. “You’re due at Hale Indu
(Aria’s POV)The first thing I felt was warmth. Not the kind that came from sunlight, but from the steady rise and fall of Damon’s chest beneath my cheek. For a long moment, I just stayed there, still half asleep, listening to the quiet rhythm of his breathing. It was the sound of safety — a sound I didn’t know I’d been craving until it was right there beneath me.The fire had burned out sometime in the night, but the air between us still held its glow. My fingers were curled loosely in the fabric of his shirt. His arm was draped over me, heavy and protective even in sleep.I should have moved. I should have pulled away before the morning light reminded us of how close we’d allowed ourselves to be. But I didn’t want to move. Not yet.Because for the first time since the day we said I do, I wasn’t pretending.I tilted my head slightly, watching the faint lines of exhaustion on his face. He looked younger when he slept — softer.
(Damon’s POV)Morning came too softly for a man who hadn’t really slept. I’d spent most of the night in my study, replaying Aria’s voice in my head, the way she’d said she wasn’t afraid of ghosts. That should have made me feel relieved — or grateful — but all it did was twist something deeper in my chest.The truth was, I didn’t want her near the ghosts at all. I’d spent years burying them.When I finally walked upstairs, the house felt too still. Sunlight spilled across the hallway, warm and harmless, and yet every step I took carried the weight of everything I hadn’t said. Aria had faced Elena, and she’d come home steadier than I expected. That frightened me almost as much as the idea that she might not come home at all.I found her in the kitchen, barefoot, hair still damp from the shower, making coffee like it was the simplest thing in the world. She looked up when I entered, eyes soft, smile cautious but real.“Good morning,” sh