Aria had never tasted silence this heavy before.
She sat across the long dining table in the marble and gold breakfast hall of Voss Manor. A delicate china cup of coffee steamed in front of her, untouched. The toast on her plate had gone cold, and so had her appetite.
Damien, dressed in a crisp black suit, read the morning paper like she wasn't there.
No "Good morning."
No glance.
No words.
Just the rustle of pages turning and the occasional clink of silverware.
She hadn't expected warmth not from a man like Damien Voss. But the complete lack of human decency was almost amusing.
Almost.
"I didn't know we were running a monastery here," she said lightly, breaking the silence.
Damien lowered the newspaper a fraction, just enough to reveal a raised brow. "If you're looking for conversation, I suggest you call your friends. We're not obligated to talk outside of public appearances."
Ouch.
Still, Aria smiled. "And here I thought married life came with a little morning charm. Even assassins say 'good morning' before pulling the trigger."
Damien folded the paper neatly and set it aside. "I don't believe in pretending. Especially not over eggs and coffee."
"Ah," she leaned back in her chair, lifting the cup to her lips, "so you're just naturally rude. That clears things up."
His jaw tightened just a fraction but it was enough. She was getting under his skin. Good.
He stood up smoothly and adjusted his cuffs. "We'll have our first appearance this Friday at the Bennett Foundation Gala. Wear something red. I want to make a statement."
"A statement," she echoed. "Do you always use your wife as a political weapon?"
His eyes were unreadable. "You agreed to be a part of my image. That includes the theatrics."
She tilted her head. "And what will you wear? Your usual arrogance or something more daring?"
A flicker of a smirk brief and sharp appeared at the corner of his mouth. "Be ready by seven."
Then he walked away.
Later that day, Aria roamed the halls of Voss Manor alone.
It was easy to get lost in this palace of power every inch of it screaming wealth. Marble floors, high ceilings, priceless art pieces lining the walls. But no warmth. No life.
Just like its owner.
She paused before a locked door on the third floor.
It was the only room Damien had explicitly told the staff not to enter. And that made it the most interesting.
She reached for the handle, but
"Don't."
She turned quickly. Damien stood behind her, silent as a ghost.
Aria's heart skipped, but she forced a calm smile. "You sneak up on people a lot?"
He stepped forward. "That door is off-limits."
"What's behind it?" she asked innocently. "Dead bodies? Your humanity?"
"Neither. Just things that don't concern you."
Their eyes locked, heat simmering between them not attraction, but a slow-burning challenge.
"Maybe I'm just curious," she said.
"Then kill the curiosity," Damien said, voice low. "It won't help you here."
She held her ground. "You don't scare me."
He leaned slightly forward. "Good. That makes this easier."
Then he turned and walked away again.
Aria exhaled slowly, fists clenched at her sides.
There was something behind that door. Something personal.
Something she could use.
That night, she stood in her private bathroom, holding the third pregnancy test.
Positive.
Again.
Aria stared at the result, her hand trembling slightly.
This wasn't supposed to happen.
She had everything under control. Her plan was clear: get in, play the role, gather enough leverage to destroy Damien Voss, and disappear.
But this baby this fragile, growing life was a complication she hadn't planned for.
She had a choice.
Tell him… and risk losing control of everything.
Or keep it hidden… and pray it didn't show too soon.
She looked in the mirror.
Her reflection didn't look afraid.
She looked ready.
"For now," she whispered, "this stays between us."
Meanwhile, downstairs…
Damien stood by the window in his study, a glass of scotch in hand. His jaw was tight, eyes distant.
"She's too calm," he muttered.
His assistant, Marcus, raised a brow. "You mean your new wife?"
"She's hiding something."
Marcus hesitated. "Do you want me to run a background check?"
"No," Damien said after a pause. "She's clean. On paper."
"Then what do you want to do?"
Damien sipped the scotch, his gaze darkening.
"I want to know who she really is and why she's really here."