All Chapters of Married Twice, Loved Once : Chapter 11 - Chapter 20

Three days later The Cross penthouse was a quiet glass fortress at dawn. Soft grey light spilled across polished marble; the city below still yawned awake. Damian was already dressed for work, dark suit, silver cuff links, every line of him precise. He stood at the espresso machine, reading market updates on his tablet, the faint hum of the machine the only sound. Aria padded in wearing a loose silk robe the color of midnight. No makeup, hair in a lazy knot, she looked like she’d just stepped out of a dream and decided to own the morning. “Good morning, husband,” she said, voice warm enough to be almost mocking. Damian didn’t look up. “Morning.” One clipped syllable. The man could freeze steam. She strolled to the fridge and poured herself orange juice, moving with the easy confidence of someone who belonged. “You’re leaving early. Another emergency meeting to save the world?” “Business doesn’t wait.” He tapped his tablet, eyes fixed on the numbers. “Some of us work.” Aria to

The Cross Tower boardroom was a cathedral of glass and shadow when Damian set his phone on the polished table and stared at the screen one more time. Photo after photo. Aria with Sky Adams, heads tilted in shared laughter. Aria’s hand on his arm, the soft light catching the green silk of her dress. Social feeds had gone feral—hashtags blooming like weeds. Damian’s jaw locked. A quiet knock. Evelyn Grant stepped in, tablet in hand. Efficient as always, dark hair in a neat twist, eyes sharp enough to slice through excuses. “You’ve seen the photos,” she said. Not a question. “Yes.” His voice was pure frost. “Press is circling. Entertainment outlets want a statement. Finance writers are sniffing around too Sky Adams is a major shareholder in three of our partner firms.” Damian’s head came up at that. “I’m aware.” Evelyn set the tablet down. “Would you like me to draft a response? Something…neutral?” “No.” He closed the gallery of images with a hard swipe. “Silence will be our ans

The spa’s lobby smelled of eucalyptus and quiet luxury. Soft music, pale marble, attendants gliding like calm water. Aria walked in wearing wide-leg cream trousers and a silk top, sunglasses still on. She was already picturing the heated massage table when a too-familiar laugh sliced the peaceful air.Selene.The celebrity girlfriend of Damian Cross stood at the reception desk, a sunbeam of curated glamour platinum hair loose around her shoulders, designer gym set clinging to her like a brand endorsement. She turned, eyes catching Aria’s reflection in the mirrored wall.Aria kept her stride steady, pretending not to notice. She handed her phone to the receptionist with a small smile. “Aria Cross. Noon appointment.”“Mrs. Cross,” the receptionist said brightly. “We have your room ready.”Selene’s head snapped fully around. “Mrs. Cross?” she repeated, voice carrying just enough for the small lounge to hear.Aria finally removed her sunglasses, meeting Selene’s gaze with polite indiffere

Vivienne slammed the door behind her so hard the framed photographs rattled. The polished quiet of the Carter mansion swallowed the sound, but it did nothing to calm the storm in her chest.“She thinks she can waltz in and steal my project,” Vivienne muttered, kicking off her stilettos. “Aria… what a joke.”She yanked open a drawer of her father’s massive oak desk, retrieving the thick proposal folder. Pages fluttered as she flipped through them, eyes scanning budgets and timelines. Every line represented months of research and whispered meetings with investors. Investors who expected her name, not Aria’s, on the marquee.“She hasn’t worked a single day on this,” Vivienne hissed. “And she wants top billing? Over my dead—”A soft knock interrupted her rant. Her assistant, a nervous young man named Kelvin, peeked inside. “Miss Carter, the investors from the Monaco group confirmed the Thursday call.”“Good.” She straightened, smoothing her blouse as if the motion alone could iron out her

Vivienne slammed the door behind her so hard the framed photographs rattled. The polished quiet of the Carter mansion swallowed the sound, but it did nothing to calm the storm in her chest.“She thinks she can waltz in and steal my project,” Vivienne muttered, kicking off her stilettos. “Aria… what a joke.”She yanked open a drawer of her father’s massive oak desk, retrieving the thick proposal folder. Pages fluttered as she flipped through them, eyes scanning budgets and timelines. Every line represented months of research and whispered meetings with investors. Investors who expected her name, not Aria’s, on the marquee.“She hasn’t worked a single day on this,” Vivienne hissed. “And she wants top billing? Over my dead—”A soft knock interrupted her rant. Her assistant, a nervous young man named Kelvin, peeked inside. “Miss Carter, the investors from the Monaco group confirmed the Thursday call.”“Good.” She straightened, smoothing her blouse as if the motion alone could iron out her