Chapter 4

The vanity mirror in the penthouse suite was framed by soft, golden lights that made Aara look like a stranger to herself. The girl who had been scrubbing ink off her fingers in a cramped printing press forty-eight hours ago was gone. In her place was a woman draped in silver silk, her hair pinned up in a sophisticated chignon that exposed the elegant line of her neck.

On that neck sat a diamond necklace that cost more than her father’s life saving surgery. It felt like a cold, heavy shackle.

Stop fidgeting, Damian’s voice came from the doorway.

He was dressed in a midnight-blue tuxedo that made him look like a dark god. He walked toward her, his reflection looming over hers in the glass. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a pair of matching diamond earrings. Without asking, he leaned down, his fingers brushing against her earlobe as he fastened them.

His touch sent a traitorous spark through her. Aara hated how her body reacted to him how her pulse quickened whenever he stepped into her personal space.

"Tonight is the Founders' Gala," Damian murmured, his breath ghosting over her skin. My grandmother, Lady Catherine Thorne, will be there. She has the eyes of a hawk and the heart of a winter storm. If she suspects for one second that this marriage is a sham, the contract is void, and your father’s funding disappears. Do you understand?

Aara looked at his reflection, her eyes defiant. I’m an artist, Damian. I’ve spent my life studying how to capture emotions. I can fake a smile. But don't expect me to like it.

Damian’s grip on her shoulder tightened slightly. " don't need you to like it. I need you to be perfect.

The Gala was held at the Metropolitan Museum of Art. As they stepped out of the black Maybach, a wall of camera flashes blinded Aara. The paparazzi screamed Damian’s name, their lenses hungry for a glimpse of the "Mystery Bride" the tabloids had been whispering about all day.

Damian slipped a possessive arm around her waist, pulling her flush against his side. Smile, Aara, he whispered through gritted teeth as he nodded to the cameras.

Inside, the air was thick with the scent of lilies and the smell of old money. Men in tailored suits and women dripping in jewels turned their heads as they walked by. The whispers followed them like a trail of smoke.

Is that her?

"I heard she was a commoner."

"Look at the way she’s holding onto him. Clearly a gold digger."

Aara kept her head high, her nails digging into her palms. She felt like a specimen on display.

At the center of the room, seated on a velvet chair that looked like a throne, was Lady Catherine Thorne. She was eighty years old, with silver hair pulled back so tight it looked painful, and eyes that were the same icy blue as Damian’s.

Grandmother, Damian said, bowing his head slightly. I’d like you to meet my wife, Aara.

The old woman didn't stand. She didn't even smile. She picked up a pair of spectacles and peered at Aara as if she were a smudge of dirt on an expensive rug.

So, Lady Catherine said, her voice like cracking parchment. This is the girl who managed to trap the most elusive bachelor in New York. Tell me, dear, what is your family name? I don't recognize your face from any of the social registries.

My family doesn't have a 'name' in your circles, Lady Catherine, Aara said, her voice steady despite the hammer of her heart. My father ran a printing press. We worked for what we had.

A collective gasp went up from the socialites standing nearby. Damian’s arm on her waist stiffened.

A printer? Catherine sneered, her lip curling. How charmingly... industrial. I suppose you found the transition to diamonds quite easy, then? Most girls of your 'background' find the taste of wealth very addictive.

This was it. The moment of "Face-Slapping" the readers were waiting for.

Aara didn't flinch. She stepped forward, out of Damian’s shadow, and looked the matriarch directly in the eyes.

The diamonds are beautiful, Lady Catherine, but they’re just stones. I spent my life surrounded by ink and paper things that actually carry meaning and history. My father taught me that a person’s value isn't measured by their bank account, but by their word. I’m here because I keep my promises.

The room went silent. No one spoke to Lady Catherine Thorne like that. Damian stepped forward, but before he could intervene, the old woman let out a dry, sharp cackle.

She has claws, Catherine said, looking at Damian. I thought you’d picked a mouse, but you’ve brought home a cat. Good. You’ll need those claws to survive this family, girl.

Catherine waved a hand, dismissing them, but her eyes lingered on Aara with a new, dangerous curiosity.

As they walked away toward the balcony, away from the prying eyes, Damian spun Aara around. The shadows of the terrace hid them from the crowd. His eyes were burning, but it wasn't with anger. It was something else something that looked like admiration.

You’re insane, he hissed, his hand coming up to rest on the stone pillar behind her head. "No one talks to her like that.

I told you, Aara breathed, her chest heaving. I won't be your puppet.

Damian leaned in, his face inches from hers. The moonlight caught the sharp angles of his jaw. For a moment, the cold CEO was gone, and there was just a man looking at a woman who had surprised him.

"You’re a fire hazard, Aara Vance," he whispered.

It’s Aara Thorne now, isn't it? she countered, her voice a challenge.

Damian didn't answer with words. He reached out, his hand sliding into her hair, and for a second, Aara thought he was going to kiss her. The tension between them was so thick it was a living thing. Her breath hitched, her lips parting instinctively.

Just as his lips were about to touch hers, his phone buzzed. The spell broke.

Damian stepped back, his mask sliding back into place. He checked the screen, his expression darkening. We have to go. There’s been a complication with the merger. My security will take you back to the penthouse.

Damian? she called out as he turned to leave.

He stopped, looking back over his shoulder.

"Is the money still going to the hospital?"

He stared at her for a long beat. "Every cent. Just make sure you stay in that cage I built for you, Aara. The world out here is much hungrier than I am."

He disappeared into the crowd, leaving Aara alone on the balcony. She looked down at her diamond ring. It didn't feel like a handcuff anymore. It felt like a weapon.