By early afternoon, the fragile peace of the morning had vanished. In its place came the howling winds of scandal that Aria had feared, sweeping into their lives with ruthless speed. It started with a phone call from Damien's head of PR, a terse alert that Celebrity Scoop Online had updated their teaser with a full article, names and all. Then came the deluge: other outlets picking up the story, social media exploding with speculation and judgment. By the time Aria saw the physical evidence with her own eyes—a freshly published article on a popular news site—her hands were trembling so badly she could barely scroll.
She sat on the couch in Damien's home office, Noah napping upstairs under the nanny's care (thank God for small mercies), and forced herself to read each agonizing word on the tablet screen:
"Billionaire's Bride Exposed: Aria Lancaster – From High Society Scandal to Secret Marriage."
The breath seized in Aria's lungs as she continued. The article spared no punches:
"In a jaw-dropping revelation, sources confirm that Mrs. Aria Blackwood is none other than Aria Lancaster, the disowned daughter of the once-prominent Lancaster family. Charles Lancaster, her father, infamously cut ties with Aria after a scandalous incident nearly four years ago. Witnesses at the time reported a very public argument during a high-profile charity gala, after which the young heiress vanished from the social scene. Now it appears she has resurfaced as the secret wife of tech mogul Damien Blackwood.
Questions abound: Did Blackwood know of his wife's true identity and tarnished past? Why did Aria Lancaster hide her name—perhaps to escape the disgrace associated with her family? Or more shockingly, was Mr. Blackwood himself deceived into a union under false pretenses? The timeline raises eyebrows: their whirlwind marriage followed Miss Lancaster's years-long disappearance and the birth of a child, Noah, out of wedlock.
While Blackwood Corporation representatives have declined comment so far, insiders whisper that some board members are in an uproar over the potential impact on the company's image. After all, how will conservative investors react knowing the CEO's wife has a history steeped in family drama and mystery?
And what of Charles Lancaster—once a titan of industry, now retired from public life? Reached for comment, a spokesperson for Mr. Lancaster stated, 'Mr. Lancaster has no comment regarding individuals who are no longer part of his family.' A cold dismissal that speaks volumes about the depth of this familial rift.
As this story develops, many are left wondering: Just who is Aria Lancaster Blackwood? An unlucky victim of circumstance striving to live a quiet life? Or a savvy woman who managed to land on her feet—and into the lap of luxury—after a fall from grace? One thing's for certain, the Blackwood mansion has its share of secrets, and we're determined to uncover them."
Aria couldn't finish reading. With a strangled sound, she set the tablet aside, unable to look at it anymore. Her vision blurred as hot tears welled up despite her efforts to hold them back. Disgraced. Tarnished past. Deceived into a union. Each phrase felt like a lash across her heart. They painted her as some scheming gold-digger at worst, or a shameful stain on Damien's pristine life at best. And her father's response—or lack thereof—cut deepest of all. "Individuals no longer part of his family." It was so like him to respond with ice. Yet seeing it in black and white, broadcast for the world to see, reopened old wounds Aria thought she'd scabbed over.
A warm hand closed over hers, grounding her. Damien sat beside her, having read the article over her shoulder in grim silence. Now, fury radiated off him like heat from a forge. Aria turned her hand under his to grip it tightly, clinging to him as the room seemed to tilt. "I'm sorry," she choked out, voice barely above a whisper. It was absurd—she wasn't the one who wrote those horrible words—but she felt the need to apologize regardless. "I-I never wanted any of this to touch you or the company—"
"Stop." Damien's voice was low but firm, brooking no argument. He released her hand only to slide a strong arm around her shoulders and draw her against his side. "Aria, look at me."
She did, blinking away tears. His grey eyes blazed with an anger she'd rarely seen—anger not at her, she knew, but on her behalf. And beneath it, unwavering resolve. "You have nothing to apologize for. They blindsided us with lies and half-truths. They are in the wrong, not you." He gently brushed away a tear trailing down her cheek. "I need you to believe that. This changes nothing between us. Understand?"
Aria swallowed hard, nodding. His unwavering support was like a lifeline thrown into stormy seas. Still, guilt gnawed at her. "The things they're implying about me—about us," she whispered. "People will think I tricked you, that I'm some sort of—" She couldn't even say it, the ugly word hanging unspoken. Gold-digger. Liar.
A muscle in Damien's jaw ticked. "Let them think what they want," he said coldly. "The people who matter, who actually know us, will know the truth. As for the rest—" His hold on her tightened protectively. "I refuse to let a damn tabloid define our story."
His words were bracing, but Aria's anxiety was not so easily quelled. She pulled back slightly, searching his face. "What about your board? The article mentioned they're upset. Could they—do you think they'll ask you to…?" She trailed off, unable to finish. Ask you to leave me was the end of that sentence, and the very thought made her stomach clench. It wasn't unheard of in the cutthroat world of corporate politics—CEOs being pressured to cut ties with anything (or anyone) that might hurt the bottom line.
Something dangerous flashed in Damien's eyes. "They wouldn't dare," he nearly growled. "And if anyone does, they'll regret it. I'd never entertain such a demand." He cupped her face between his palms, his tone softening. "Aria, listen to me. I married you. I did. Not my board, not the public. Me. You and Noah are my family now. That's not changing because of some PR crisis."
The breath Aria had been unconsciously holding whooshed out of her. She closed her eyes, leaning her forehead against his. In that moment, she didn't care about slow-burn propriety or boundaries; she needed the closeness. Damien's thumbs caressed her cheeks in soothing circles. "We'll get through this," he murmured, echoing his promise from earlier, now even more fervent. "I swear to you."
A knock on the open office door jolted them apart slightly. Aria hastily wiped her eyes and Damien dropped his hands, though he kept one arm securely around her waist as they turned toward the interruption. It was Miriam Cho, the Blackwood Corp PR chief, looking grave but determined. Behind her stood Jareth Hale, Damien's ever-efficient personal attorney. Aria straightened, steeling herself. This was the cavalry, such as it was.
"Mr. Blackwood, Aria," Miriam greeted with a nod, stepping inside and closing the door for privacy. "I'm sorry to barge in, but we have an urgent situation on our hands."
Damien gave a curt nod. "We've seen the article."
Miriam pulled a tablet from under her arm. "It's spreading like wildfire. Other outlets are reblogging the story, some adding their own speculation. We have about a dozen inquiries for comment sitting in my inbox—everything from The Daily Report to entertainment blogs. Paparazzi have been photographed camped outside the Blackwood Corp headquarters and a few even at the main gate of this estate." She glanced sympathetically at Aria. "I'm afraid it's that kind of frenzy, ma'am. They smell blood in the water."
Aria's stomach turned. That was quick. The wolves were already at the door. Damien's arm tensed around her. "Let them wait out there forever," he said icily. "They'll get nothing unless we decide to give it. Miriam, do we have any idea of the source? It cites 'sources confirm.' Could it be Hayes himself?"
Jareth, the attorney, cleared his throat. "We're investigating. That particular gossip site is notorious for paying informants and protecting anonymity. However, given what we know—Victor Hayes being the likely culprit—it fits his MO to remain behind the scenes. He'd give just enough verified detail to be credible, then sit back and watch it unfold."
Aria shivered. The thought of Victor gleefully watching her life get torn apart in real time made her feel ill. Damien's hand began rubbing slow circles on her back, a silent attempt to comfort and steady her. "We should assume Victor is indeed feeding them," Damien said in a controlled tone, though Aria could sense the rage simmering beneath. "Which means he may not be done. There could be more revelations, true or not, coming. We need to be ready."
Miriam agreed. "Damage control is imperative. Our initial statement yesterday calling the rumors baseless is now outdated and counterproductive. We have to address this head-on." She hesitated, glancing between them. "The question is how much truth to acknowledge. The article's core facts are unfortunately correct: Aria is Charles Lancaster's daughter and was disowned after a public altercation. Those are matters of record."
Aria felt heat climb into her cheeks—shame, anger, a toxic mix. Matters of record. Yes, her greatest humiliation was on public record now. Damien noticed her downcast gaze and spoke firmly, "We will confirm only what is necessary and only on our terms. We don't owe anyone the full story of that night or Aria's past beyond the basics. The priority is framing it in a way that garners understanding, not salacious gossip."
Jareth interjected, adjusting his glasses. "Legally speaking, the article doesn't stray enough into falsehood to warrant a solid libel case. It's cleverly worded as insinuation and question rather than outright accusation. However," he added, "we can send cease-and-desist letters to outlets to warn against further speculative slander, especially about 'deceiving into union' and so on. It may not stop them, but it lays groundwork if someone crosses into provable defamation."
"Already on it," Miriam nodded. "My team is drafting those letters now in coordination with legal. But the press won't stay quiet just because we scold them. We should consider a public response." She drew a breath. "That could range from a written statement released to media, all the way to a personal press conference where you both appear to address it."
Aria's pulse spiked at the idea of facing cameras and reporters in person. Instinctively, she shrank a fraction closer to Damien. He immediately squeezed her side reassuringly. "We won't do anything Aria isn't comfortable with," he said, looking to her. "This is your call too."
All eyes turned to Aria. She felt momentarily overwhelmed—this level of crisis PR was never something she'd imagined being part of. Her life had been so simple before… She forced that thought away. Wishing for the past wouldn't help now. She had to be strong. For Noah. For them.
"I– I'm not sure what the best approach is," she admitted softly. Her voice wavered but she continued, "A written statement might feel impersonal. But a press conference…" She swallowed, picturing the hordes of cameras flashing and shouted questions. The thought alone made her palms sweat. "I'm not exactly media-trained," she finished with a weak attempt at a smile.
Miriam returned a kind look. "Understandable. It's intimidating even for seasoned spokespeople. Another option is a controlled one-on-one interview with a reputable journalist, someone we trust to be fair, which we can then release. But that could take time to arrange and we'd still be ceding control of the narrative to the interviewer's edit."
Damien frowned. "We don't have time for that. The longer we stay silent, the more others fill in the blanks. I'm inclined to tackle it head-on and swiftly." He turned to Aria, his expression gentling. "I can do a press conference myself. I'll speak on behalf of both of us. You wouldn't have to say a word or even come, if you don't want to. I can shield you from that circus."
Aria felt a rush of appreciation—and relief at the offer—but also an internal tug of conscience. "If you think that's best," she said slowly. "But would my absence be seen as me hiding or, worse, as if I'm ashamed? I don't want to pour fuel on that fire."
Miriam tapped her chin thoughtfully. "She has a point. Optics matter. If Aria's not there, some might say she's avoiding accountability or that you two aren't a united front."
Damien's brow creased. "The last thing I want is to put you through that ordeal, Aria. But…I also won't have you feeling like you need to stay invisible out of shame. You've done nothing wrong."
Aria drew in a breath. Her mind was racing, fear and resolve doing battle within her. Could she stand in front of a sea of prying eyes and bare even a slice of her soul? It was terrifying. But then she imagined something worse: letting those vultures run unchecked with their narrative, painting her as a coward or a schemer while Damien fought her battles alone. No. She couldn't let that happen. This was her life—the life she'd built with Damien and Noah. If she wanted to keep it, she had to fight for it too.
Exhaling shakily, Aria nodded. "I'll do it. The press conference." Her voice firmed as she continued, "With you by my side, I think… I think I can do it."
A look of pride crossed Damien's face. He took her hand and squeezed, as Jareth and Miriam exchanged approving nods. "Alright," Damien said. "Then that's what we'll do. Miriam, we'll need to set it up as soon as possible—today, if we can, before close of business. I want to strike before the evening news cycles."
"Understood. I'll coordinate with our usual press contacts. We can host it in the atrium of Blackwood Tower, that's large enough and easy to secure," Miriam said, already tapping notes into her phone. "I'll curate which outlets and reporters are allowed in for questions to try and weed out the worst provocateurs."
Jareth added, "I'll be present as well, to intervene if any legal boundary is overstepped in questioning. And to monitor for any further actionable defamation that might occur."
Aria's stomach flip-flopped as the plan took shape around her. It was happening so fast, but maybe that was for the best; if she had too much time to think, her courage might crumble. She clutched Damien's hand like a lifeline. He glanced at her, concern evident. "Are you sure?" he murmured under the others' ongoing logistical talk. "We can still do this differently—"
She managed a small smile, though her nerves were jangling. "I'm sure I want this over," she whispered back. "I trust you. If you think this is the way, I'm with you."
His eyes softened. Without the others noticing, he lifted her hand to his lips and pressed a quick, fierce kiss to her knuckles. The gesture steadied her. They were in this together.
Within the hour, arrangements were in motion. Miriam left to transform Blackwood Tower's airy atrium into a press briefing area and send out notices. Jareth disappeared on calls to coordinate security and prepare a brief statement for distribution after the live Q&A.
That left Aria and Damien momentarily alone again in the aftermath of the plan they'd set in motion. The quiet of the house felt surreal given the storm outside its walls. Aria rose to her feet, restless energy coursing through her. "I should… I need to get ready," she said, glancing down at her casual leggings and sweater—the same clothes she'd worn that morning in happier times. It felt like a lifetime ago. "I need to look presentable."
Damien stood as well. He gently took hold of her arms. "You could wear a potato sack and you'd still outshine everyone," he said softly, earning a faint laugh from her. His expression grew serious. "We have maybe two hours before we have to leave. Are you alright, Aria?"
No, she was far from alright. But she drew on every ounce of strength she had. "I will be," she replied, and hoped it was true. She wrapped her arms around his middle, hugging him tightly, drawing strength from his solid presence. "Just…promise you won't let go of my hand during that whole thing," she murmured, half joking, half pleading.
He hugged her back just as tightly. "I won't let go," he vowed against her hair. "Not now, not ever."
They parted only when a wail from the baby monitor signaled Noah's awakening upstairs. Aria's heart clenched—Noah. How could she have nearly forgotten, even for an instant, their sweet boy in all this chaos? At least he was too young to understand any of it, but the thought of paparazzi lurking even remotely near him made her blood boil. "Noah," she said abruptly, looking up at Damien in alarm. "We can't take him to the press conference. But I don't want him here if reporters are outside the gates—"
"Already arranged," Damien assured. "He'll stay here with Alice and two additional security guards I'm assigning specifically to him. They'll stay inside, lockdown mode. Nobody's getting near our son." The resolve in his voice allowed no doubt.
Relief coursed through Aria. She rose on tiptoe and kissed his cheek impulsively. "Thank you," she whispered.
Damien's eyes warmed, and for a second he looked as though he might close the distance and truly kiss her. But he restrained himself, likely mindful of timing and the emotional whirlwind already in play. Instead, he brushed his thumb over the spot on her lips where a tremor betrayed her nerves. "Go on," he said softly. "Get dressed. Pick something that makes you feel confident. I'll check on Noah and get myself ready too."
Aria nodded, reluctantly stepping away from the comfort of his warmth. As she headed for the door, Damien called after her, a gentle command, "Aria."
She paused, hand on the doorway, and glanced back.
"You are not what they say you are," he told her firmly. "Don't let them steal your confidence or make you doubt yourself. You're the bravest, strongest woman I know. We'll show them that."
Her throat tightened, emotion threatening to spill again. But she fought back tears and managed a smile—a real one this time. "With you next to me, I think I can face anything," she replied. And she meant it with every fiber of her being.
As Aria walked down the hall to their bedroom, she mentally steeled herself. In a short while, she would be stepping out from the shadows and facing the world as Aria Lancaster Blackwood—owning both halves of her name at last. It was terrifying. It was not how she'd wanted to reveal herself. But maybe, in its own way, it was time. Time to stop running from who she was and what had happened, and instead, start defining herself on her own terms.
She thought of her father's distant, cold dismissal in the article, and Victor's malevolent grin in her memories. They would not control her narrative. Not anymore.
With renewed determination, Aria flung open her closet and rifled through for the perfect outfit. Something elegant, modest, yet undeniably confident. She settled on a tailored navy-blue dress that fell just below her knees—professional but not overly formal, with a high neckline that felt appropriately modest. As she dressed and ran a brush through her hair, pinning it back into a sleek low twist, she practiced breathing evenly. I can do this, she told her reflection. Her eyes were still red-rimmed, but she applied a touch of concealer and light makeup to hide the evidence of tears. The woman staring back at her began to look composed, put-together…almost like the old Aria Lancaster who used to navigate society events with practiced poise. How ironic to be channeling that training now, for this purpose.
A knock at the bedroom door frame made her turn. Damien stood there, freshly changed into a crisp charcoal suit that complemented his broad frame perfectly. The tie in his hand was a striped navy and silver silk, likely chosen to coordinate subtly with her dress—an intentional show of unity, no doubt. Despite everything, the sight of him took her breath away for a moment. He always looked striking in CEO mode, but today there was an extra something in his countenance: a fierce protectiveness that only added to his aura of authority.
"You look beautiful," he said, a flicker of warmth cutting through his tension as his eyes swept over her.
"And you look very dashing, Mr. Blackwood," she returned softly, managing to tease just a little. Stepping forward, she took the tie from his hand. "Let me."
He inclined his head, and she began looping the silk around his collar with steady fingers. The domestic intimacy of the act—something a wife might do for her husband on any ordinary morning—was not lost on either of them. Damien's hands settled at her waist as she concentrated on making a neat Windsor knot. When she finished, she smoothed the tie down against his crisp shirt front and allowed her palms to rest lightly on his chest. She could feel the strong, quick beat of his heart beneath her right hand. The fact that his heart was racing too made her feel a tiny bit better. He wasn't immune to all this; he was just as human and affected as she was. But he was braving it for her sake.
"We'll leave in ten minutes," he said quietly. "Car's already waiting out back to avoid the main gate commotion. Security will handle any stray paparazzi on the road."
She nodded. "Noah?"
"Playing with Alice. I told him we'd be back soon. He tried to convince me to let him wear my watch, so they're negotiating that," Damien said with a tiny smile.
Aria couldn't help but smile in return at the mental image. She took a deep breath, then another, feeling her nerves spike and ebb in waves. "I'm ready," she said, perhaps more to convince herself than him.
Damien studied her, then leaned down and pressed a tender, lingering kiss to her forehead. "You are," he affirmed against her skin. "And we've got this. Together."
Together. That single word fortified Aria's spirit more than any pep talk she could give herself. She let it replay in her mind during the drive to Blackwood Tower. As expected, the press had gathered en masse outside the skyscraper's main entrance, but the car bypassed them, entering through a secured underground garage. Aria glimpsed the flashing bulbs and throng from a distance and had to look away, focusing instead on Damien's hand clasping hers. Together, together, together.
In a private elevator, they ascended to the atrium floor. Aria could hear the muffled cacophony of voices even before the doors opened. Her heart lurched. This was it.
Miriam was there to greet them as they stepped out. "We have about thirty reporters in there," she updated in a hushed tone. "Mostly mainstream media, a few high-profile bloggers. They know we'll give a brief statement first, then take some questions. I've already briefed our moderator to cut off any question that goes too far into personal attack or irrelevant territory." She glanced at Aria with an encouraging smile. "Just remember, you don't have to answer anything you don't want to. Let Damien or even me handle it if needed."
Aria swallowed and nodded, her mouth dry. She felt Damien's arm slip around her waist, steadying her. She wondered fleetingly if he could feel how tense she was, practically vibrating with anxiety. Probably—his hand rubbed a small circle at her hip, a discreet gesture that wouldn't be visible to the crowd but was immensely comforting to her.
They reached the edge of the atrium. Through a gap in a heavy velvet curtain that cordoned off the staging area, Aria caught sight of dozens of eyes, cameras on tripods, microphones poised. A podium stood at the center with Blackwood Corp's emblem on it. Two chairs had been placed off to the side for afterwards, if needed. The sheer scale of even this controlled environment was daunting.
"Ready when you are," murmured a stage manager at their side.
Aria's legs felt like lead, but she felt Damien lean in, his lips by her ear as he whispered, "Not letting go, remember?" He gently took her left hand in his right and entwined their fingers firmly. The solid warmth of his grip was life-affirming.
She turned and met his gaze. He gave her the slightest nod—we can do this. Aria drew in a breath, straightened her spine, and together they stepped through the curtain and into the lights.
The next minutes passed in a surreal haze. There was a buzz of murmurs and the rapid-fire clicks of camera shutters as the press corps took in their appearance. Aria's vision wavered for a second under the bright lights and the wall of faces, but Damien's steady presence anchored her. He guided her to the podium, staying at her side rather than behind her.
He began to speak, his voice carrying calm authority. First, a polite thanks to everyone for coming on short notice. Then a firm request for civility and respect given the personal nature of the subject. The room settled, a tension of curiosity thrumming in the air. Aria forced herself to focus on Damien's words, drawing strength from how composed and confident he sounded.
"Today, my wife and I want to address the recent media reports regarding her background," Damien said, getting straight to the point. He glanced at Aria, and gently, under the podium where cameras wouldn't catch it, he gave her hand a reassuring squeeze. "Much of what has been written is based on truth, but steeped in harmful speculation. We'd like to set the record straight."
He nodded to her, inviting her to speak if she wished. Aria hadn't planned to—she had expected to let him handle the statement. But in that moment, something in her refused to stay silent. This was her life being dissected, after all. And she was done hiding. She stepped slightly closer to the microphone, Damien's hand still clasping hers, and found her voice:
"My name is Aria Lancaster Blackwood," she said, the microphone amplifying her words across the hushed atrium. Hearing her own voice steady and clear surprised her. She continued, heart pounding but chin held high, "It's true that I am the daughter of Charles Lancaster. It's true that I left my family home several years ago and was, effectively, disowned." A rumble of whispers swept through the crowd, but Aria pressed on. "That was a very painful time in my life, and a very personal one. I had hoped to keep it in the past, where it belongs. But now that it's become public, I want to at least share why I left, in my own words."
Beside her, she felt Damien tense slightly—this was more than they'd rehearsed. But he did not stop her. Instead, he dropped her hand and gently placed that arm around her waist, a subtle show of support as she bared her heart.
"I left because I needed to be true to myself," Aria said, voice wavering just a touch before she steadied it. "At that time, I was expected to live a life that someone else chose for me. A life that I knew would make me deeply unhappy. My father and I...we disagreed, very publicly, on the path my life should take. So I made the difficult choice to walk away from wealth and privilege, in exchange for freedom and self-respect."
A few camera flashes flickered. The crowd was riveted, hanging on her words. Emboldened, Aria went on, "It wasn't easy. I struggled on my own, built a life from nothing. I never once reached back for the Lancaster name or money. In fact, I legally changed my last name during that time to my mother's maiden name, just to avoid association." To avoid being found, she didn't add. "When I met Damien and we… started our relationship, it wasn't under my family name. He fell in love with me, Aria, as a person."
She paused, realizing what she'd said—that Damien fell in love with her. Did she dare look at him? Her cheeks flushed, but she charged on, addressing the crowd. "When we married, it was a private agreement at first, but there was no deceit between us. My husband has always known I have a difficult family history. We simply chose not to make that history public because we wanted to focus on our present and future, not our pasts."
At that, Damien cleared his throat softly and picked up the thread. "I'm immensely proud of my wife," he said, voice resonant. "Proud of the strength it took for her to stand on her own and build a life. The circumstances of how we reunited and married are personal, but I will say this unequivocally: Aria did not trick or deceive me in any way. Anyone implying that doesn't know us at all." His tone brooked no argument.
Aria felt a swell of emotion at his firm defense. Cameras continued to snap; some of the reporters were nodding, others scribbling notes. Hands were shooting up now, the Q&A portion itching to begin. Damien gave a slight nod to the moderator, indicating they would take a few questions.
"Thank you, Mr. and Mrs. Blackwood," said a woman from the front row, standing with a microphone. Aria recognized her as a journalist from a major network. "Can you clarify the timeline? The article mentioned the birth of your son, Noah, happening before your marriage. Could you speak to that and whether your marriage was a response to that situation or, as the article insinuated, a forced move?"
Aria bristled inwardly at the phrasing, but Damien answered smoothly, "Certainly. Our son, Noah, was born before our marriage. We were not together at the time of his birth—frankly, I was unaware of his existence initially." A ripple of surprise went through the room. Damien continued evenly, "Once I learned I had a son, I took steps to be in his life, and Aria and I decided to marry to raise Noah together and give him a stable family. However, what started as an arrangement of responsibility grew into something much deeper. We are a family in every sense of the word. Our marriage may have begun unconventionally, but it is very much real."
Aria's eyes stung at his heartfelt words. Tentatively, she lifted the hand resting on the podium and let it brush against his back in a subtle show of affection. It wasn't planned, but she wanted to touch him, to thank him silently for that earnest declaration.
Another reporter jumped in, a man with a tabloid press badge. "Mrs. Blackwood, have you had any contact with your father since leaving? And what is your response to his spokesperson's comment about you being 'no longer part of the family'?" The tone was probing, verging on insensitive.
Aria swallowed the lump in her throat. "I have not spoken to my father in several years," she admitted quietly. Saying it aloud hurt more than she expected. "His comment...it's painful, of course. I won't pretend otherwise. But it reflects that our estrangement remains, which is not news to me. I made my peace with that when I built a new family of my own." Here, she managed to muster a gentle smile and glanced at Damien. "The family I have now is what matters to me."
Damien's arm around her gave a supportive squeeze. The reporter pressed on, "And if your father reached out now, would you consider reconciling? Perhaps this publicity might open that door?"
Aria felt that question like salt in a wound. The very idea that her father would reach out only because of publicity... She shook her head, trying to maintain composure. "That's a very hypothetical question. I think we've both respected each other's distance all this time. My focus is on the present. I'm not looking to leverage this situation into anything with my father."
The moderator stepped in. "Next question."
A reporter from a business journal spoke, directing his question to Damien. "Mr. Blackwood, are you concerned about investor reaction or stock impact due to this news? There's already chatter about trust and image issues."
Damien's polite smile never faltered. "Our investors know that Blackwood Corporation's strength lies in its performance and integrity. My personal life does not change the fundamental values or results of the company. If anyone has concerns, I invite them to look at our track record. I have full confidence that this will not affect the company's trajectory. We will, of course, continue to communicate with our shareholders openly."
It went on like that for a few more questions—some respectful, some clearly fishing for scandal that wasn't there. Miriam deftly halted a question that began with "Some sources claim Aria was seen meeting a man secretly—", stating that unrelated insinuations would not be entertained. Aria guessed that was someone trying to drag Victor's known meeting into this, but thankfully it didn't gain traction publicly yet.
Throughout it all, Aria remained at Damien's side, speaking up when she felt the need, and letting him handle the rest. Every time she felt herself start to shake or her voice waver, his touch, his presence, bolstered her. She realized with profound gratitude that he meant it: he truly wasn't letting go of her hand (or waist) the entire time.
At last, the moderator declared the final question. A young woman from an online media outlet stood, looking a bit nervous herself. "Mrs. Blackwood, what would you say to those who view you as…as the article put it, a 'savvy woman landing on her feet in the lap of luxury' after a fall from grace? In other words, those skeptical that your intentions in marrying Mr. Blackwood were genuine?"
A harsher question to end on than Aria would have liked, but she appreciated that the woman at least framed it without malice, giving Aria a chance to answer. She took a breath. This one she would answer from the heart. "I would say that they're right about one thing: I did fall from grace. And I did land on my feet—but I did so on my own before I ever reconnected with Damien." She lifted her chin. "When I married Damien, it wasn't for money or status. I had lived without those just fine. I married him because I believed it was best for our child and—and because I respected and trusted him." Her eyes found Damien's, and she couldn't help softening her voice. "I didn't expect at the time that I would also come to…to love him. But I have. And I consider myself incredibly fortunate, not because of the luxury around me, but because of the man I married and the family we built together."
A collective "aww" murmured through a few of the onlookers. Aria blushed, realizing she had basically confessed her love in front of the press. She hadn't even said those words directly to Damien yet in private. But strangely, she didn't regret it. It was the plain truth. Let the world know it.
Damien looked momentarily taken aback, blinking at her with a mixture of surprise and something deeper, warmer shining in his eyes. In front of everyone, he brought his hand up to cradle her cheek, turning her face toward him. Aria's breath caught as, for a heartbeat, it seemed like he might kiss her then and there. He didn't—he held himself back, though his thumb caressed her cheekbone in a tender sweep. Then he turned to the microphone one last time, his voice thick with emotion, and concluded, "I think that's a perfect note to end on. Thank you all for coming."
The room erupted in a flurry of flashes and a buzz of shouted final questions that went unanswered as security stepped forward to usher the press out. It was done. Done.
As soon as the curtain swept closed behind them and they were in the clear, Aria sagged into Damien's arms, her nerves and adrenaline finally giving way to exhaustion. He wrapped her in a tight embrace, holding her up. "You were incredible," he murmured into her hair. "Absolutely incredible."
Aria let out a breathy laugh of relief. "So were you," she replied, clinging to him. Her heart was racing for a different reason now—a kind of exhilaration. They had faced it. Together, they had faced the worst of the storm and made it through the eye. The media might still gossip, but she no longer felt voiceless in the narrative. She had stood up for herself, for their family. And Damien had been right there, a steady rock in the tempest.
He pulled back slightly to look at her, concern etching his handsome features. "Are you okay?"
She realized tears were streaming down her face—this time, strangely, they were tears of relief. "Yes," she sniffled, laughing at herself as she wiped at her cheeks. "I'm okay. Better than okay, I think." She felt lighter than she had in ages, as if shedding that secret and fear publicly had lifted a giant weight off her shoulders. It was out now, no more hiding. What power did Victor hold over her if she had nothing left to hide? The thought was liberating.
Miriam poked her head around the curtain, beaming. "That was perfect, you two. Absolutely perfect. The narrative is in our hands now. The coverage should turn sympathetic pretty quickly."
"Thank you, Miriam," Damien nodded gratefully. Jareth also gave a thumbs up from behind her, indicating his approval of how no legal lines were crossed and things went smoothly.
As the team dispersed to handle follow-ups, Damien kept an arm around Aria, guiding her back to the elevator. Only once the doors closed did they finally allow themselves a moment to breathe, alone.
Aria let her head rest against his shoulder, exhaustion catching up to her. "I can't believe I survived that," she murmured.
Damien kissed the top of her head softly. "You did more than survive—you shone. Aria, I… I'm so proud of you." There was a faint tremor in his voice on those last words, as if he were feeling all the emotions just as intensely.
They rode down in comfortable silence, broken only when Aria finally voiced the question that had been niggling at the back of her mind, now that the immediate crisis was past. "What happens now? With Victor."
Damien's demeanor cooled, a hardened edge returning to his eyes. "He lost his leverage. There's nothing more he can expose that we haven't already addressed. But that doesn't mean he'll stop causing trouble." He took a breath, as if reigning in anger. "I plan to have a very clear conversation with Mr. Hayes about staying away from my family. And if he has broken any laws in this whole scheme, I will make sure he faces the consequences."
The steel in his tone was reassuring. Aria nodded. "I want to be there when you speak to him," she said quietly but firmly. "I have things to say to him too."
Damien glanced at her, a hint of hesitation. "We'll talk about that," he allowed. "For now, let's get home to Noah."
Home to Noah. Yes, that sounded wonderful. As they exited into the parking garage and made for their car, Aria realized she felt something she hadn't truly felt in a long time: peace of mind. The war wasn't fully over—Victor and possibly her estranged father were wild cards yet—but this battle had been won. And she hadn't lost what mattered most in the process.
Damien opened the car door for her, but before she could climb in, he gently caught her wrist, turning her to face him under the dim garage lighting. His eyes searched hers, intense and unreadable for a moment.
"What is it?" Aria asked softly, their bodies close in the hush of the concrete enclosure.
He lifted a hand to her face, fingers brushing her cheek in that way that always made her knees weak. "Just…something I need to say," he murmured. He seemed oddly vulnerable now that the chaos had settled, as if the adrenaline of the fight had given way to raw emotion. Aria's heart skipped.
Damien drew in a slow breath. "When you said, back there, that you… that you love me…" His voice was hushed, almost disbelieving, as if the words were precious and fragile. "Did you mean it?"
Aria felt warmth flood her cheeks. In the tumult, she hadn't even fully processed that confession herself. But faced with his searching gaze now, she realized the truth was undeniable. She loved him. Perhaps she had for some time. And she had as good as declared it to the entire world.
Gathering her courage (funny how facing down journalists was easier than baring one's heart to the man you loved), Aria nodded. "Yes," she whispered. "I meant it. I love you, Damien." The words trembled with sincerity, echoing in the quiet.
Damien closed his eyes briefly, as if absorbing a long-awaited absolution. When he opened them, they gleamed with an emotion that took Aria's breath away. He didn't speak—words seemed to fail him. Instead, he wrapped her in his arms and kissed her.
This was not a tentative forehead or cheek kiss, nor the light brush they sometimes exchanged in front of others. This was full, deep, searing. Aria gasped softly against his lips but then melted into it, wrapping her arms around his neck. All the pent-up feelings of the past days and weeks poured into that kiss—relief, gratitude, longing, love.
When they finally parted, both a little breathless, Damien pressed his forehead to hers and whispered, "I love you, Aria." His voice was unsteady, filled with the weight of that confession. "I didn't realize how much until I thought I might lose you in all this. And then hearing you say those words…" He broke off, shaking his head as if words were inadequate.
Aria's heart soared. Joy, pure and bright, bloomed in her chest, washing away the last dregs of doubt and fear. They had crossed a threshold—one far more important than any press gauntlet. This moment, this mutual admission, was what all the slow-burning tension and hesitant care between them had been leading to. A tear slipped down Aria's cheek, but this time it was a tear of happiness. Damien gently wiped it away with his thumb, smiling—a true, heartstopping smile that she would remember forever.
They stood there in each other's arms, the world momentarily forgotten. Eventually, a discreet cough from the driver inside the car reminded them of reality and their eagerness to return home. Sharing a soft, almost giddy laugh, they separated just enough to climb into the car, fingers still laced tightly together.
As the car pulled out, heading back toward their estate—toward home—Aria rested her head on Damien's shoulder. She felt exhausted, yes, and she knew challenges still lay ahead. But her heart was light. They had weathered the chaos and come out stronger. She closed her eyes, allowing herself to bask in contentment for a rare moment.
Little did she know that the hardest part—baring the deepest wounds of her past—was yet to come. But for now, wrapped in the arms of the man she loved and secure in the knowledge that he loved her too, Aria allowed herself to believe, truly believe, that they could overcome anything.
The storm may not have fully passed, but the sanctuary of each other gave them hope. And as the city skyline gave way to familiar roads home, Aria dared to dream of brighter days beyond the clouds.