Ariana's POV
I still couldn't believe it. Damian Carter, the man whose name carried weight like a warning, had asked me to be his woman. And I had said yes.
The words replayed in my mind again and again, making my chest tighten with both excitement and fear. I kept waiting for the punchline, for someone to jump out and laugh, to tell me it was a cruel joke. But every time I looked at him, every time those cold blue eyes softened, if only for me, it felt real. Too real.
This morning, Kingston had appeared at my door with his usual calm but authoritative tone. "Miss Ariana, get ready. Damian has plans for you tonight."
I thought it would be simple, dinner, maybe drinks, something intimate. But then the professionals arrived. A stylist. A makeup artist. A hairdresser. They swept into my space like a storm, armed with brushes, curling irons, and fabrics I had never dared to touch.
I sat frozen in the chair as they transformed me piece by piece. Powder dusted over my skin, colors painted on my lips, my long hair cut into a sleek bob that fell in soft waves. My reflection began to morph into someone else. Someone polished, untouchable. Someone who belonged in Damian's world.
When they slipped the blue-and-white dress over my body, I almost didn't breathe. The fabric clung perfectly, the mid-sleeve hem showing just enough to be daring but not cheap. The white heels added height I didn't know I needed. I didn't look like Ariana anymore. I looked like… his.
By the time they led me outside, my pulse was racing. The Porsche Panamera waited at the curb, gleaming under the fading sunlight. I slid into the leather seat, overwhelmed by the smell of luxury, the quiet purr of power under the hood. I had only seen cars like this on television. Now I was sitting in one, being driven somewhere I couldn't even guess.
The restaurant loomed like a palace, Italian, expensive, its entrance guarded by men in suits who looked like they could break someone in half without blinking. My stomach knotted as I was escorted to the VIP section, and then I saw him.
Damian.
He stood with the kind of authority that made the air shift. The navy tuxedo hugged his broad shoulders, every line of him sharp and deliberate. His blue eyes locked on me, and that faint smile touched his lips. For a moment, the noise around us disappeared. It was only him.
"You look beautiful," he said, voice deep, smooth, dangerous.
My cheeks burned. "You don't look so bad yourself."
The corner of his mouth lifted, amused by my attempt at confidence. He pulled my chair out with a gesture that felt more like a command than an offer, yet it still made me blush.
"This place is stunning," I whispered, glancing at the golden chandeliers and marble walls. "I never imagined I'd step foot somewhere like this."
"As my woman," Damian replied, tone edged with finality, "there isn't a place in this world you cannot enter. Nothing and no one will deny you."
The way he said my woman made my skin prickle. It wasn't a title, it was possession. And yet, part of me wanted to belong.
We hadn't even ordered before he leaned forward, his gaze heavy. "Before we begin, I have something for you. Close your eyes."
"Damian—"
"No questions." His tone left no room for protest.
I obeyed, nerves twisting inside me. Something heavy and flat was placed in my hands.
"Open."
When my eyes fell on the file, my breath hitched. I flipped it open, scanning the words that leapt off the page. A name. A past. A life.
"Damian…" My voice broke. "This is… a whole new identity."
His gaze never wavered.
"This Ariana Thompson," I whispered, "is Italian-American. A chef. She owns this restaurant. She has properties. Connections. A background…" My hands trembled. "You gave me… everything."
"I told you I don't give scraps," Damian said, voice low, dangerous. "You wanted survival. I gave you life. Power. Family. Reputation. This isn't charity—it's what I do. And now, you're mine. The world will know it."
Tears blurred my vision. He had rewritten my existence in one night. Not with promises, but with documents, ownership, permanence.
When he pulled me into his arms, I kissed him softly, overwhelmed. Gratitude. Fear. Wonder. It all mixed until I couldn't tell where one ended and the other began.
The rest of the dinner unfolded in a blur of fine wine and whispered words. He was attentive, yet always watchful, as if the shadows themselves might move against him. When the time came to leave, he paid the bill without blinking, his hand steady on my back.
We stepped into the night, and that's when the dream cracked.
A man approached, tall, polished, his suit tailored to perfection. His presence was sharp, his smile sharper. He looked to be in his forties, but the confidence in his stride told me he was no ordinary businessman.
"Ah," he drawled, eyes flicking between us, "so this is your first public appearance. Bold move."
I instinctively pressed closer to Damian, who stiffened beside me. His jaw clenched, his hand firm on my back.
"Now isn't the time for your games, Carlos," Damian said, voice clipped, cold.
Carlos chuckled. "What's the rush? Afraid I'll let your little doll know exactly who she's sleeping next to?"
Damian stopped. His grip on me loosened, and before I could react, he had Carlos by the collar, dragging him close.
"You'll keep your mouth shut," Damian growled, "or I'll shut it for you."
Carlos smirked, unfazed. "Easy, old friend. You don't want to scare the girl. Or should I call her your next plaything?"
The crack of Damian's fist against Carlos's jaw split the night. My gasp caught in my throat as the man stumbled back, laughing even as blood stained his lip.
"Damian, stop!" I begged, stepping forward. My heart pounded in terror, not just for Carlos, but for what this violence meant.
They clashed, shadows and fury, the kind of raw aggression that didn't belong in civilized places. Desperation pushed me forward, and in my panic, I stepped between them.
I never saw it coming.
Damian's arm swung, his hand striking across my face with the force meant for another man. Pain exploded, white-hot, and the ground rushed up to meet me.
The world blurred. I heard Carlos's laughter—loud, cruel, victorious.
"That's only a taste, sweetheart," he sneered. "You should see what he does to the others. If you survive long enough, maybe you'll tell the story."
Through the haze, I felt strong hands cup my face. Damian's. His blue eyes bore into mine, wide, raw, filled with rage and regret all at once.
He didn't speak, but his silence screamed louder than words.
Carlos adjusted his suit, that smug grin still painted across his face. "I'll be seeing you around, Damian."
And with that, he walked away, leaving us in the wreckage of the night.
I touched my cheek, still stinging, still burning, not just from the strike, but from everything it meant. I had stepped into his world willingly. And now, I understood the cost.
******
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