Chapter 7

ARIA

Marcus's ring sits discarded on the nightstand... cheap, tacky, and meaningless.

And I realize that in less than twelve hours, I've gone from broken and destroyed to engaged to one of the most powerful men in New York.

My phone buzzes in my purse across the room. It is probably Paige. Or worse, Vivienne, gloating about her victory.

I should get up. Get dressed and start this new, surreal chapter of my life.

But for just a moment, I let myself sit here in the quiet.

Processing what I've done.

What I've committed to.

I trace the edge of Dante's grandmother's ring with my thumb. The metal is warm on my skin, the diamond impossibly perfect.

"Mine now," Dante had said last night when he was inside me, making me come apart.

Now it's the ring that's his. The contract that's his, and me, who's his.

For one year, at least.

I slide out of bed with my unsteady legs. I could see my reflection in the mirror across the room, showing a woman I barely recognized. Hair tousled from sleep and sex. Marks on my neck and collarbone that will need concealer. The ring glittering on my finger.

I look thoroughly sexed and possessed.

Dangerous.

I like it.

A knock at the door interrupts my thoughts. A young woman in her mid-twenties enters, looking professional, and carrying several garment bags.

"Miss Sinclair? I'm Lily, Mr. Ashford's assistant." She smiles warmly, apparently unfazed by my nakedness. "I have several options for you. Mr. Ashford mentioned you'd need something appropriate for the announcement photos."

She lays out the garment bags on the bed, unzipping them to reveal designer clothes that probably cost more than my monthly rent.

"The ivory dress is Valentino," Lily explains. "Mr. Ashford thought it would photograph well. But there's also a navy Chanel and a black Dior if you prefer something more understated."

I stare at the clothe, and at this efficient young woman who's treating my naked presence in Dante's bedroom like it's completely normal.

This is my life now.

"The ivory," I hear myself say. "I'll wear the Valentino."

Lily's smile widens. "Excellent choice. Mr. Ashford will be pleased. The bathroom is through there if you'd like to shower first. I've laid out toiletries and makeup."

She leaves as efficiently as she arrived, and I'm alone again.

I walk to the bathroom.... which is, of course, as massive and luxurious as everything else in this penthouse. Marble everywhere. A shower big enough for six people. Heated floors.

The hot water feels like absolution as I step under the spray. Washing away the remnants of last night. Marcus's betrayal. My old life.

When I emerge, wrapped in a towel that's softer than anything I've ever owned, I catch sight of the Valentino dress.

It's beautiful. Sophisticated. The kind of dress that makes a statement.

The kind of dress an Ashford would wear.

I drop the towel and reach for it.

Time to become someone new.

Twenty minutes later, I'm dressed, made up, and looking at a version of myself I barely recognize.

The ivory dress fits like it was made for me—probably because knowing Dante, it was. My hair is styled in soft waves. My makeup is flawless but natural. The ring catches every bit of light.

I look like I belong in Dante's world.

Like I was always meant to be here.

The lie is so convincing, I almost believe it myself.

I take a breath, steady my nerves, and open the bedroom door.

Time to announce my engagement to the devil.

And watch my enemies burn.

I walked into the living room to find Dante waiting in the living room, seated in a leather chair that somehow looked more like a throne. He's on his phone, speaking in rapid Italian to someone about quarterly projections and market fluctuations. The ease with which he switches languages, the casual authority in his voice... It's intoxicating in a way I don't want to examine too closely.

He looks up when I enter, and whatever he's saying dies mid-sentence.

His eyes track over me slowly, taking in every detail of the Valentino dress, the styling, the ring glittering on my finger. The hunger in his gaze is unmistakable.

"Devo andare," he says into the phone, still looking at me. "Sì. Lunedì." He ends the call without waiting for a response.

"You look..." He stands, crossing to me in those long, predatory strides. "Perfect."

The word shouldn't affect me. But heat pools low in my belly as he circles me, examining me as though I'm his handiwork,... like I'm a sculpture he commissioned.

"The dress suits you better than I imagined." His hand comes to rest on my lower back, possessive and warm through the fabric. "You look like you were born to wear designer clothes and million-dollar jewelry."

"I look like I'm playing dress-up in someone else's life," I counter.

"No." His fingers tighten slightly on my back. "You look very much like mine."

Before I can respond to that loaded statement, voices echo from the foyer. Lily appears, followed by a small entourage...photographer, makeup artist, stylist, and someone who's probably here to make sure every detail is perfect for the Ashford family image.

"Mr. Ashford, we're ready when you are," the photographer says. He looks older and distinguished, like the kind of person who's probably photographed presidents and royalty.

"The terrace," Dante decides. "Natural light will be better."

He guides me through the penthouse to a wrap-around terrace I hadn't seen last night. Well, it's not like I was looking for it. The view is breathtaking... Central Park spread out below us like a green jewel, Manhattan glittering in every direction.

"We'll start with some formal shots," the photographer directs and positions us. "Mr. Ashford, if you could stand behind Miss Sinclair, hand on her waist..."

Dante moves into position, his body solid and warm against my back. His hand spans my waist easily and confidently.