The billionaire's secret vow

Morning sunlight filtered through the tall curtains of the breakfast room, catching in the crystal glasses and glinting off polished silverware. Aria sat at the far end of the long mahogany table, sipping her tea slowly. She had grown used to the awkward silences of this house—the oppressive stillness that clung to the air like invisible chains. Damian was already there, impeccably dressed in a dark suit, his usual scowl in place as he scrolled through his phone.

She placed her cup down. “Good morning,” she said, her voice polite but flat.

He didn’t look up. “Good morning. You are coming with me to a gala tonight .”

Aria blinked. “Excuse me?”

“You heard me,” he said casually, still scrolling. “There’s a charity gala at the Astoria Hotel. You’re my wife now. I need to introduce you to a few people. It's important you come.”

Aria stared at him, then let out a humorless laugh. “You can't be serious Damian. You’re telling me this now? At breakfast? The same morning as the event?”

“Yes.”

“And where exactly am I supposed to magically find a gown in, oh, less than twelve hours?” she demanded.

Damian finally looked up, his dark eyes cutting into hers. “You’ll have one.”

She folded her arms. “You could have given me some notice.”

“You’ll manage.”

“No,” she said firmly, surprising even herself. “I’m not a doll you can just parade around at your convenience. If you want me to play the perfect wife in public, the least you can do is—”

He cut her off, his tone razor-sharp. “I’ll send a stylist to the house by five. There will be gowns delivered for you to choose from. Be home before then.”

Her mouth opened, then closed. “You can’t just—”

“I can,” Damian said, leaning back in his chair with a confidence that infuriated her. “And I will.”

Aria glared at him, trying to fight the rising frustration. “You are—so unbelievable.”

A faint smirk tugged at the corner of his lips, the kind of smirk that suggested he knew exactly how much he was getting under her skin. “Yet you’ll be there.”

She huffed, snatched a piece of toast, and muttered under her breath, “I need more strength for this marriage.”

By late morning, she was at her flower shop, arranging hydrangeas into delicate bouquets while Jaxon leaned against the doorframe like a dark, brooding statue.

“You’re awfully quiet today,” Aria said as she trimmed a stem.

“I’m paid to keep you alive, not to chat,” Jaxon replied without looking up from his phone.

“Well, your face could use some practice smiling.”

He glanced at her. “Not in the job description.”

“Maybe it should be,” she said, placing the flowers into a vase. “You look like a man who hasn’t seen a rainbow in years.”

Jaxon grunted, which she took as progress.

“So, do you hate this assignment,” she asked, “or do you just hate me?”

His brow arched. “Neither. I just think guarding you is a waste of my skill set.”

“Flattering,” she said dryly. “Next time I’ll try to get kidnapped to make your day more interesting.”

That almost made him laugh—almost. “Don’t,” he said flatly, though the corner of his mouth twitched.

Aria shook her head and turned her attention back to her work. The shop filled with soft music and the gentle rustle of flowers, but her mind kept circling back to Damian’s demand. A gala. With him. Meeting so many people that are socially and financially above her. The thought made her stomach twist.

By five o’clock, Aria returned to the mansion, exhausted and anxious. True to Damian’s word, a team of stylists and assistants were already waiting in the grand foyer. The lead stylist—a chic woman in her forties with an accent Aria couldn’t quite place—ushered her upstairs.

“Mr. Damian said you need to look exquisite tonight,” she said briskly. “We brought twelve gowns.”

“Twelve?” Aria asked, stunned.

“It was all we could find on short notice.Try them all,” the woman insisted. “We’ll choose the one that fit you best.”

Aria raised a brow but didn’t argue. Two hours later, she stood in front of a full-length mirror, transformed. The gown they’d chosen was midnight blue, fitted at the bodice, flowing out into a dramatic train. Tiny crystals caught the light with every movement. Her hair, normally loose waves, had been styled into soft dark curls that framed her face perfectly. Her lips were painted a muted rose, her eyes lined subtly but effectively. For the first time since she’d entered Damian’s cold mansion, she felt… beautiful.

She hesitated at the top of the sweeping staircase when she heard voices below—Damian’s deep baritone and Jaxon giving him some kind of security update. Taking a breath, she stepped forward, the gown whispering against each step as she descended.

Both men turned.

Damian froze.

For a fraction of a second, all the cold arrogance in his face melted away. His eyes widened slightly, and something dark and unreadable flickered there. He opened his mouth as if to speak, then seemed to catch himself, his jaw tightening.

“You’re late,” he said instead.

Aria bit back a laugh. “Its just 13 minutes.”

He didn’t reply. He just turned on his heel and said, “Let’s go.”

The gala was a shimmering display of wealth and power—crystal chandeliers, golden accents, and guests in couture gowns mingling with champagne glasses in hand. Damian’s presence was magnetic; people gravitated toward him, offering greetings, handshakes, and the occasional nervous laugh. Aria stayed at his side, smiling politely as he introduced her to business partners, investors, and people whose names she instantly forgot.

“This is my wife, Aria,” he said repeatedly, each time with a tone that sounded more like a statement of ownership than affection.

Aria forced herself to smile and nod. “Pleasure to meet you.”

“You picked well,” one older man said to Damian with a laugh. “Didn’t think you’d ever settle down.”

Damian’s expression didn’t change. “Didn’t think so either.”

Aria excused herself to grab some water, and when she returned, she noticed the sudden tension in his posture. A tall woman with flawless skin, sharp cheekbones, and a dangerously confident smile stood in front of him.

“Selene,” Damian said flatly. “Fancy seeing you here.”

Selene.

The way he said her name.

She laughed softly. “Still so formal. Hello, Damian.”

Aria slowed her steps, curiosity prickling at her skin. Selene was stunning, the kind of beauty that turned heads without trying. She reached out and touched Damian’s arm like she had every right to.

“I didn’t know you were married,” Selene said, glancing briefly at Aria before looking back at him. “She’s…cute. Not usually your type tho.”

Aria’s stomach twisted.

Damian’s voice was low, controlled. “Selene, now isn’t the time.”

“But it’s been so long,” she purred. “I miss you. And I know you miss me too.”

Aria froze mid-step.

Before she could process what was happening, Selene leaned forward and kissed him.

Aria’s breath caught. The room blurred as she watched the woman’s lips press against her husband’s. Damian didn’t push Selene away—not immediately. He stood still for a second too long, and that second was all it took to shatter something inside Aria.

Her throat burned. She turned on her heel, heels clicking furiously against the marble floor.

She didn’t stop to look back. She didn’t care if anyone saw. She just needed to get out before the tears spilling into her eyes betrayed her.