CHAPTER 11 — THE SABOTAGE BEGINS

Arielle spent the day in the mansion trying to blend into the silence.

The staff still watched her like she was a stray animal Damian had accidentally dragged in. Eyes followed her through the halls, curious, distrustful, waiting for her to make one wrong move.

Her breathing incident at the gala had already become rumor. She’d overheard some maids whispering,

“She fainted. Embarrassing.”

“Mr. Blackwood had to carry her out.”

“She’s too fragile for him.”

Arielle closed the pantry door and leaned against it, pressing her palms into her eyes. Her chest felt tight again, not panic, just pressure.

There was no room to collapse in this house.

Not when she had Emma to save.

Not when the marriage wasn’t real.

Not when Damian himself was unpredictable, cold one moment, strangely attentive the next, then ice again.

She needed to stay invisible.

But the universe had other plans.

---

The crash began quietly, an echo of heels on marble.

Arielle straightened as the footsteps approached, confident and slow like a verdict being delivered.

Then she entered.

Tall, Gorgeous, Sharp cheekbones, A dress that dripped wealth and spite in equal measure, walked in like she own the place.

Valeria Moretti.

Damian’s ex.

Arielle recognized her from magazines, Italy’s fashion heiress, known for two things, ruthlessness and being the one woman Damian once publicly dated, she have done some research herself, even though her husband wasn't the one to talk about himself at least the Internet is there to her her in her pursuit.

Valeria’s gaze swept the living room and landed on Arielle.

“You’re the wife,” she said simply, as if labeling a stain.

Arielle stood straighter. “Yes. And you’re?”

“Someone who actually belongs here.”

Arielle felt the hit, but swallowed it. “Damian isn’t home.”

Valeria waved a manicured hand. “I’m not here to see him.”

She stepped closer, eyes narrowing as she studied Arielle like a flawed piece of merchandise.

“I saw the gala photos,” she said. “You looked… overwhelmed.”

Arielle forced a polite smile. “It was my first event.”

“And your last,” Valeria said casually. “Damian goes through phases, He’ll get bored, Soon.”

Arielle said nothing. Her pulse thudded in her ears.

Valeria leaned in, voice honeyed and sharp.

“You’re temporary. A prop. A placeholder. Don’t confuse yourself with the position you’re borrowing.”

Arielle’s heart stung, she's tired of this stuck up people telling her about about where she's supposed to be, but her voice remained even. “Whatever my position is… that’s between Damian and me.”

“Oh, darling,” Valeria whispered, “everything about Damian is everyone’s business. Especially the board.”

Arielle stiffened. “The board?”

Valeria smiled like a shark. “They want you gone even more than I do.”

Before Arielle could speak,

A male voice cut in.

“Well, well. Isn’t this a small world.”

Arielle turned.

A man stepped from the hallway, expensive suit, smug expression, eyes gleaming with calculation.

Graham Vexler.

One of Blackwood Corp’s most notorious board members. The one rumored to hate Damian the most.

Arielle’s stomach twisted.

Valeria glanced at Graham with familiarity that made her uneasy. They knew each other, too well.

“Arielle,” Graham said smoothly, “we’ve been discussing you.”

“That’s… flattering,” she said quietly.

“It wasn’t a compliment.” He smirked. “You’re a problem.”

Valeria folded her arms. “Damian’s weakness.”

“He has no weaknesses,” Arielle said quickly.

Graham chuckled. “You’re one. And to remove a weakness…” He paused. “You expose it.”

Arielle felt dread pool in her stomach. “What does that mean?”

“Welcome to the upper floor of society,” Valeria whispered. “Nothing stays hidden.”

Arielle opened her mouth to defend herself, then froze at the sound of footsteps behind her.

Damian.

He entered the room with the tension of a storm walking on legs.

His gaze cut instantly to Valeria, then to Graham, then lastly to Arielle, as if checking if she was harmed.

“What,” Damian said coldly, “are the two of you doing in my house?”

Valeria smiled sweetly. “Visiting.”

“Uninvited,” he replied.

Graham shrugged. “Board privileges.”

“This is my home,” Damian said, voice flat steel. “Not a boardroom. Leave.”

Valeria stepped closer. “You’ve changed.”

“I stopped tolerating parasites.”

She flinched, just barely.

Graham exhaled dramatically. “Since you’re so sensitive today, we’ll go. But Damian” His eyes flickered to Arielle. “You should be more careful about who you bring into this house, And this company.”

Arielle’s spine chilled.

Graham offered one last thin smile and left. Valeria followed, heels clicking like the ticking of a countdown.

As the door closed, silence crashed back into the room.

Damian turned to Arielle.

“Did they threaten you?” His voice quiet,

Arielle shook her head. “No. Not directly.”

His jaw tightened. “They will try something, Graham doesn’t attack without strategy.”

“And Valeria?” Arielle whispered.

Damian’s expression hardened. “Valeria is used to the world bending for her, She hates being replaced.”

Arielle swallowed. “I’m not replacing anyone.”

“You became something they can use,” Damian said. “That makes you a target.”

Arielle’s chest tightened. “Because I married you.”

“Yes.”

She wished he didn’t say it so simply.

She wished it didn’t feel… true.

Damian stepped closer, studying her with an unreadable intensity. “Stay inside the mansion until I say otherwise.”

“That sounds, controlling,” she whispered.

“It’s protective,” he corrected. “I won’t have them touching you.”

Her breath caught.

She hated that his words affected her.

She hated that he cared only because her safety kept the marriage functioning.

She hated even more that she couldn’t tell the difference anymore, and she hated him for causing everything.

Damian’s phone vibrated. He glanced at the screen, and for the first time since she’d met him, his expression changed.

Cold, Sharp, Deadly.

“What is it?” Arielle asked.

He didn’t answer.

He simply handed her the phone.

Her trembling fingers took it.

The screen showed dozens of notifications.

T*****r, I*******m, Blogs, Tabloids.

All flashing the same headline,

“Damian Blackwood’s Wife EXPOSED, Shocking Photos From Her Past Leak Online.”

Arielle’s heart dropped to her stomach.

She clicked one post.

And froze.

Pictures of her as a teenager.

Wearing tattered clothes.

Standing outside the old community center.

Carrying buckets of water.

Eating donated food.

Walking barefoot on sandy roads.

Captured by volunteers who’d passed through her neighborhood years ago.

Images that weren’t meant for the world.

Images she thought were gone forever.

Images framing her as,

“The billionaire’s wife who grew up in extreme poverty.”

“A charity case.”

“A scammer who married up.”

Arielle’s vision blurred.

Her breath cracked.

Damian said nothing, but the fury pouring off him was volcanic, silent, suffocating, lethal.

Arielle shook her head in disbelief. “No… no… this can’t…”

Damian’s voice finally emerged, low, murderous.

“They’ve declared war.”

Arielle dropped the phone as tears hit the marble floor.

Because this wasn’t just an attack.

It was a humiliation.

A public execution of her dignity.

A global reminder of the life she’d fought so hard to escape, a part of she wants to forget.

And as notifications continued buzzing across the floor,

Arielle realized,

Her past wasn’t just exposed.

It had become weaponized.