Semua Bab The billionaire's secret vow : Bab 1 - Bab 10

The sound of traffic filtered through the frosted windows of Aria Monroe's tiny floral shop in Brooklyn, mingling with the faint scent of fresh lavender and crushed eucalyptus. Outside, New York City moved with its usual rhythm—people rushing somewhere, horns blaring, a steady pulse that never faltered. But inside Fleur & Ivy, time had a way of softening. Everything was quiet, fragrant, alive. Aria tucked a sprig of baby’s breath into a bridal bouquet, phone wedged between her shoulder and ear. “Zara, no, I swear if you wear that dress, you’ll outshine the bride. Again.” Laughter burst through the line, warm and crackling. “Isn’t that the point? I'm Kidding. Mostly. Aria, you’re the only person I know who makes a Monday morning feel so good.” Aria smiled faintly, smoothing a petal with her thumb. “It’s chaos here. Mrs. Leary’s anniversary bouquet order got delivered to a funeral parlor. I’m one call away from a Yelp meltdown.” “You live for the drama,” Zara teased. “Anyway,

The drive from the chapel to Damian’s estate was steeped in silence so loud it rang in her ears. Outside the tinted car windows, the New York cityscape bled into suburbia and then into something else entirely—massive iron gates, manicured gardens, and a mansion that looked like it belonged to an empire, not a single man. The estate was located in the upper East side, Manhattan. It reminded Aria of those ancient palaces in European films—elegant, expensive, cold. Like the man who owned it. Damian hadn’t spoken a word since the ceremony. Not during the brief reception. Not during the drive. Not even as the staff greeted them at the entrance with tight smiles and murmured congratulations that sounded more like condolences. He simply walked ahead of her, his steps sharp, his back stiff beneath the fine cut of his designer suit. Aria followed. This was her life now. Inside, the house was cathedral-like: all white marble, chrome fixtures, and echoing silence. There were no family ph

Aria woke with a strange stillness hanging in the air. The side of the bed where Damian usually slept was rumpled, but when she reached out, the sheets were cold. He had been gone for hours. She sat up slowly, brushing her tangled hair from her face. Sunlight streamed through the tall windows of the bedroom, illuminating the elegant molding and muted tones of the walls. For a moment, she let herself forget where she was. Then the memory of yesterday—the rules, the tension, the locked door with Elena engraved on the plate—came rushing back like an icy wave. She climbed out of bed and made her way to the en-suite bathroom. After a long, hot shower and dressing in a soft floral dress that flowed just pat her mid thigh, she stepped into nude sandals and applied light makeup. She might be trapped in a cold marriage, but she refused to look like it. The scent of eggs and freshly brewed coffee led her downstairs. She paused at the foot of the grand staircase, took a breath, and then enter

The cold night air hit Aria like a slap as she rushed out of the grand, glittering ballroom. Her heels clicked against the marble steps as she descended, chest rising and falling with a silent fury. She stood just outside the entrance, wrapped in shadows, the sound of the music fading behind her. Her hands trembled as she clutched her purse tighter, blinking rapidly to push back the sting in her eyes. What was that? What had she just witnessed? Damian. Selene. And a f**king kiss. The image scorched her mind again—Selene’s perfectly painted lips pressing against Damian’s like it meant nothing. Like she meant nothing. Inside, the mood in the ballroom shifted. Damian pulled back roughly from Selene, wiping his mouth as if her touch disgusted him. “What the hell do you think you're doing?” Selene smiled, unfazed. “Oh, come on, Damian. Don’t pretend you didn’t miss me. We both know this... whatever this marriage is, it’s not real.” His jaw clenched. “My marriage is none of y

Monday morning crept in quietly, with a pale gray light filtering through the curtains. Aria reached across the bed instinctively, but her hand met cold sheets. Damian was gone. She sighed and pulled herself up. The lingering warmth from the night before had disappeared—not just from the bed, but from the air around her too. When she walked downstairs, she found Damian already seated at the long dining table, coffee in one hand, phone in the other. But what surprised her more was the man seated across from him—Jaxon. Jaxon looked up at her with the same blank expression he’d worn the first day they met, offering no greeting or smile. Damian didn’t even glance in her direction. "Good morning," she said, her voice even. Damian didn’t answer. Jaxon nodded, just once, before stabbing at his eggs like they were his enemy. Aria sat, pouring herself some tea. "Wow," she muttered. "So much warmth and hospitality in one room. It’s almost suffocating." Damian’s jaw clenched, but he