Chapter 7 Registered Marriage

Aria's POV

The morning after my confrontation with Sophia, I felt remarkably liberated. For the first time since the shooting incident, I breathed easier, as if a heavy weight had been lifted from my shoulders. Last night's conversation had made me realize how much power I'd given Liam and Sophia over my emotions.

I'd spent too long allowing myself to be their victim. No more.

With this newfound clarity, I decided to indulge in something I hadn't done in weeks—playing the piano. Music had always been my sanctuary, a world where nothing existed except the keys beneath my fingers and the melodies they created.

I was deeply immersed in Chopin's Nocturne when my phone rang. Without checking the caller ID, I answered with irritation.

"Sophia, you're certainly persistent, aren't you?" I said sharply. "If you're so amazing, why don't you get Liam to marry you today!"

There was a brief silence, then a deep, masculine voice responded. "Miss Jones, it's me."

The unexpected sound of Aiden Carter's voice startled me so badly that my hand crashed onto the piano keys, creating a discordant noise that sent birds scattering from the nearby trees.

"Mr. Carter?" I stammered, mortified by my mistake.

"I'm outside your house, Miss Jones."

I hurried to the window and pulled back the curtain.Sure enough, a sleek black Bentley was parked in our circular driveway. Aiden Carter stood beside it, phone to his ear, looking up at my window with those penetrating eyes.

"Did you need something, Mr. Carter?" I asked, though the answer was already painfully clear. "Listen, about yesterday, I can explain—"

But what exactly could I explain?That my impulsive proposal had been nothing more than a desperate attempt to get back at Liam?

As I prepared to speak, I realized how unfair I'd been. Despite my outlandish proposal, Aiden Carter had taken me seriously—more seriously than I'd taken myself.

"So Miss Jones was just playing games with me, is that it?" His voice carried a dangerous edge that made my skin prickle.

"No, that's not it," I denied quickly. "I'll be right down."

I hurried to the elevator, my thoughts racing. Of all the reckless things I'd ever done, proposing marriage to Aiden Carter definitely earned a top spot.But what I couldn't understand was… why did he say yes?

In my haste to reach the front door, I stepped awkwardly off the final stair and felt my ankle twist beneath me. I let out a small cry as pain shot up my leg, and I began to fall forward, bracing for impact.

In an instant, strong arms wrapped around me, stopping my descent. I found myself pulled against a solid chest, the scent of expensive cologne filling my senses. Looking up, I met Aiden Carter's intense gaze only inches from my face.

His features were even more striking up close—the sharp jawline, sculpted cheekbones, and those piercing blue eyes that seemed to see right through me. A slight furrow formed between his brows as he assessed me, one powerful arm supporting my back while the other swept beneath my knees, lifting me effortlessly.

"Are you hurt?" he asked, his voice low and commanding.

I couldn't speak. I'd never been this close to him before, never fully appreciated the raw power that radiated from him. Unlike Liam's polished charm, Aiden Carter possessed something more primal—an authority that made my pulse quicken in a way I'd never experienced before.

"Miss Jones?" he repeated, this time more pointedly.

I blinked, startled by the second question, and immediately heat rushed to my cheeks as I realized I'd been openly staring at him like a love-struck teenager.

"I—no, I'm fine," I stammered, quickly looking away. "You can put me down. I can walk."

"Clearly you can't," Aiden replied, not bothering to set me down as he carried me toward the living room. "Is this how you always start your mornings? By injuring yourself?"

There was a hint of amusement in his voice that caught me completely off guard. Aiden Carter—making jokes? This was so contrary to everything I'd ever heard about him that I found myself momentarily speechless. The man who terrified boardrooms and crushed business rivals actually had a sense of humor?

Aiden carried me to the living room with ease, his strong arms making me feel weightless and, strangely, protected. He set me down gently on the sofa, kneeling before me with an intensity that made my breath catch.

"Let me see," he said, his voice commanding yet somehow gentle.

When his fingers touched my ankle, I felt an unexpected jolt of electricity race up my leg. His touch was clinical yet intimate—firm, confident hands examining the injury with expert precision. I couldn't help but notice how different this felt from any time Liam had touched me. Aiden's hands were larger, rougher at the edges—hands that had worked and built an empire.

As he rotated my ankle carefully, his brows furrowed in concentration, I found myself studying the planes of his face, the way his dark hair fell slightly forward as he bent over my foot. There was something mesmerizing about watching Aiden Carter—a man known for his ruthless business tactics—handle me with such care.

"It's just a minor sprain," he concluded, his eyes meeting mine. "But you should stay off it for the rest of the day."

"Thank you, Mr. Carter," I managed to say, my voice barely above a whisper. "For catching me, and for... checking."

I suddenly became aware of several pairs of eyes watching us intently. Our household staff had gathered discreetly at various vantage points around the room, their curious gazes darting between Aiden and me. I could already imagine my father's interrogation when he returned—who was this man in our living room? Why was he touching his daughter's ankle? What exactly was happening between us?

Embarrassed, I quickly withdrew my foot from his grasp.

"Martha," I called to our housekeeper, who stepped forward immediately. "Could you please bring the first aid kit? I'd like to wrap this ankle."

"Of course, Miss Aria," she replied, hurrying away but not before giving Aiden another curious glance.

While Martha applied an herbal ointment and expertly wrapped my ankle, Aiden stood by the window, his imposing silhouette framed against the sunlight. He seemed lost in thought, occasionally checking his watch.

"Mr. Carter," I began once Martha had finished, "we—"Before I could finish, he bent down and effortlessly lifted me into his arms.

I let out a startled yelp, instinctively grabbing his shoulders.

"Aiden! Put me down—I can walk just fine!"

"You're not supposed to walk on it," he said matter-of-factly, already carrying me toward the door.

"I'm serious, put me down!" I wriggled in his arms, heat rising to my face—not just from embarrassment, but from the way he held me like it was the most natural thing in the world.

"Doctor's orders," he replied with infuriating calm, carrying me toward the door. "Stay off it for the rest of the day. That includes walking."

Before I could argue further, he had me in his car, instructing his driver to head downtown. It wasn't until we pulled up in front of the marriage registry office that I realized what was happening.

I wasn't ready. I wasn't sure I ever would be.But I didn't get the chance to protest—Aiden had already stepped out, circled the car, and swept me back into his arms before I could so much as open my mouth.

Inside, everything moved with surreal efficiency. Forms were signed, photographs were taken, and witnesses—whom Aiden had apparently arranged to be present—signed their names. Throughout it all, I felt like I was floating outside my body, watching myself go through motions I never thought I'd experience this way.

And then, just like that, it was done.

I sat in the back of his car, staring at the marriage certificate in disbelief. Had I really just married Aiden Carter—my ex-fiancé's greatest business rival—on what amounted to little more than a vengeful impulse?

"Is everything in order, Mrs. Carter?" Aiden's deep voice broke through my thoughts.

The unfamiliar title startled me so badly that the certificate slipped from my fingers, floating to the floor of the car. As I leaned forward to retrieve it, our hands met on the document, his covering mine completely. The warmth of his touch sent another unexpected shiver through me.

Looking up, I found his face much closer than I'd anticipated. I could see flecks of darker blue in his eyes, the slight shadow of stubble along his jaw. For a moment, neither of us moved away.

"The photograph came out well," he observed, his voice lower than before as he helped me straighten the certificate.

I glanced down at our official wedding photo. Surprisingly, we looked... compatible. I stood slightly angled toward him, my expression more serene than I felt, while he gazed directly at the camera with characteristic confidence. We appeared like a couple who had chosen each other deliberately, not two people entering a business arrangement disguised as marriage.

Back at my house, he carried me to my room despite my insistence that I could manage on my own. As he set me down on my bed, his closeness made my breath catch again.

"I'll give you a week to arrange your affairs,then I'll come for you."

Something in his phrasing sent a flutter through my stomach.

"Come for me?" I echoed.

He stepped closer, and I felt the mattress dip as he placed one hand beside me, leaning down until our faces were level.

"Yes, Mrs. Carter," he said, his voice dropping to a register that seemed to vibrate through my entire body. "In one week, you'll be moving into my home. As my wife."

His proximity was dizzying. I could smell his cologne again—cedar and something darker, more primal—and feel the slight warmth radiating from his body. He wasn't touching me, yet I felt surrounded by him.

"There's also someone I want you to meet," he added, his eyes never leaving mine.

"Who?" I breathed, finding it difficult to form even that single-syllable question.

"You'll see," he replied cryptically before turning to leave. At the doorway, he paused. "Rest that ankle, Mrs. Carter. I expect my wife to be fully recovered when she comes home."

With those words, he was gone, leaving me alone with a sprained ankle, a marriage certificate… and the overwhelming, surreal realization that I had just married my ex-fiancé's greatest rival.

I stared down at the document in my hands, the bold black letters of my new name printed clearly at the bottom.

Was this real?

I wasn't dreaming… was I?