Evening settled gently over the Blackwood estate, a stark contrast to the turbulent day that preceded it. The sun dipped low, painting the sky in hues of lavender and gold. From the expansive living room windows, Aria watched the clouds drift, her reflection faintly visible in the glass. She saw a woman standing there, fingers intertwined with those of the tall man beside her—a man who had just hours ago stood before the world and claimed her as fiercely as she could ever hope. That woman in the glass looked calmer than Aria expected, a soft smile touching her lips. Was that truly her? After everything, she felt…peaceful. At least for this quiet moment.
Noah's laughter rang out, bringing Aria's attention back into the room. On the plush rug near the sofa, Noah was busy with his favorite wooden train set, babbling happily to himself as he pushed a tiny engine along its tracks. On the floor next to him sat Damien, still in his dress shirt (tie and jacket discarded), sleeves rolled up. He was carefully piecing together segments of track at Noah's directive.
"No, Daddy, the bridge goes here," Noah insisted with the adorable conviction of a toddler architect, placing the bridge piece a few inches from where Damien had set it.
"My mistake," Damien replied gravely, adjusting the track accordingly. "Bridge goes here. Got it."
Aria couldn't help but chuckle. "You'd better listen to the foreman, Damien," she teased as she moved to join them, kicking off her heels and sinking gratefully onto the rug. "He clearly knows what he's doing."
Damien looked up at her with a lopsided grin—the kind that always made her heart flutter. "I wouldn't dream of defying the boss."
Noah beamed, oblivious that they were indulging him, and continued his play. Aria took the opportunity to lean into Damien's side, and he draped an arm around her shoulders. For a while, they simply watched their son play, soaking in his innocent joy as if it were a healing balm. The events of the day already felt distant here in their sanctuary.
Aria closed her eyes briefly, letting her head rest against Damien. She felt his lips press to her temple in a light kiss. "Tired?" he murmured.
She nodded slightly. "Drained. But…happy." It felt good to say that aloud.
Damien's hand rubbed gently along her upper arm. "I know what you mean." He was quiet for a moment, then added, "It's been a hell of a day."
Aria gave a soft snort. "That's an understatement." Her eyes found Noah, now making "choo-choo" sounds as he rolled the train under the bridge, and her expression grew thoughtful. "Do you think… Will he be affected by any of this? I mean, he's too young to understand now, but what about as he grows up? The internet never forgets." Her brow creased with worry. "I hate the idea of him one day stumbling on those old articles painting his mother in a bad light."
Damien's arm tightened around her. "We'll handle that when the time comes. Maybe by then, those articles will be buried under happier news. And you can be sure we'll raise him to know who his mother truly is—a brave, loving woman who did nothing to be ashamed of." He gently tilted her face up to his. "Anyone with sense will see that after today's press conference. You changed the narrative, Aria. I wouldn't be surprised if some outlets start calling you the 'runaway heiress turned self-made success' or something like that. Spinning it positively."
Aria gave him a skeptical look. "That might be optimistic, but I suppose we'll see." She paused, taking a steadying breath. "I meant to tell you… Thank you. For everything you said and did today. You put so much on the line for me—"
But Damien shook his head. "No. I just told the truth and did what any husband should do: protect his wife. It's you who was incredibly courageous. I know how hard it must have been to share those personal things in front of a crowd."
Aria managed a small smile. "It was easier with you there. We make a pretty good team, Mr. Blackwood."
He smiled back, eyes crinkling. "That we do, Mrs. Blackwood." The title was spoken with pride, and Aria's heart warmed.
They might have leaned in for a kiss then, were it not for Noah choosing that precise moment to toddle over and plop himself into Aria's lap with a dramatic sigh. "Mama, play?" he pleaded, offering her the little wooden train.
Aria laughed and accepted the toy. "Of course, sweetheart. What should Mama do?"
Noah considered gravely. "You be the station. Say 'All aboard!'"
Aria bit back a grin and dutifully echoed, "All aboard!" as Noah wheeled the train past her legs. He giggled, thoroughly pleased with himself. Damien chuckled and joined in, adding sound effects for a chugging locomotive.
For a blissful half hour, the three of them played as if the outside world didn't exist. Aria cherished every second—the feel of Noah's solid little weight against her, his squeals when Damien made the train "fly" off its tracks, the way Damien's eyes sparkled with contentment. These were the moments she had been afraid would be ripped from her. Instead, they felt even more precious now, hard-won and secure.
Eventually, Alice (the nanny) gently interrupted to announce dinner was ready—a simple affair of homemade soup and bread, given everyone's weariness. They transitioned to the dining area. Noah chattered around mouthfuls of buttered bread, completely oblivious to any tension. Aria found herself exchanging amused, affectionate glances with Damien throughout the meal, as if they shared a secret: they had stepped through fire today and come out the other side, more united than ever.
After dinner, the normal nightly routine took over. Bath time for Noah (which ended in the usual wet chaos—Damien's trousers got soaked when Noah decided to splash like a duck). Pajamas, a story about a bear who loved trains (Noah's pick), and then finally tucking their sleepy boy into his crib with his favorite stuffed elephant.
"I think he conked out before I finished the second page," Aria whispered as she and Damien tiptoed out of the nursery, leaving a drowsy Noah in dreamland. She pulled the door quietly shut.
Damien smiled, taking her hand as they made their way downstairs. "The day of excitement must have worn even him out." They reached the foot of the stairs and paused, as if both uncertain what to do now that they had some quiet to themselves. The house was calm, the night still young. The silence allowed thoughts that had been pushed aside by the day's urgency to resurface.
For Aria, one of those thoughts was Victor. And her father. The unresolved threads. She bit her lip and looked up at Damien. "So…Victor," she began softly. "We should talk about what happens next, shouldn't we?"
Damien's expression hardened subtly, though not directed at her. He guided her to the couch, and they sat down together. "Yes. I've been thinking about it too." He ran a hand through his hair, a gesture of frustration. "Part of me wants to find him tonight and… ensure he regrets ever targeting you." The flash in his eyes was almost dangerous, and Aria realized just how thin a leash Damien's temper was on regarding Victor.
She laid a hand on his knee gently. "Believe me, I share the sentiment. But what can we actually do? Like you said, his leverage is gone. He might slink away now."
Damien exhaled, some of the tension leaving his posture as he placed his hand over hers. "He might. But men like that rarely give up so easily. If he was bold enough to blackmail and leak to the press, he might also try direct confrontation. Who knows if he'll escalate? I have security alerted to keep an eye out for him near both the company and here at home. And Jareth is looking into any possible legal charges—extortion is one, though it hinges on evidence and whether we want to pursue that publicly."
Aria nodded. They had proof of his threats via text, possibly. But a legal battle would keep this ordeal drawn out in the public eye. She wasn't sure if she had the stamina for that unless Victor left them no choice. "What about meeting him, privately? Just to tell him to back off?"
Damien frowned. "It's risky. He could use anything from such a meeting against us somehow. Recordings, twisting the narrative that we harassed him—it could get messy. Honestly, giving him any attention might be what he wants."
Aria lowered her eyes. "I hate that he just…walks away from this, possibly. After wreaking havoc."
Damien's hand tightened on hers. "He won't get away clean. At the very least, he lost whatever hold he thought he had. And if he shows his face again, I'll personally make sure he regrets it." The dark promise in Damien's tone was unmistakable.
A part of Aria feared an ugly altercation if those two men ever confronted each other without the buffers of a cafe or public setting. Damien was usually controlled, but Victor brought out a protective ferocity in him. She placed her other hand atop his, sandwiching his hand between both of hers. "I know you will. Just…be careful." She managed a faint smirk. "No going to jail for throttling him, okay? We have enough headlines already."
That earned a low chuckle from Damien. He turned his hand to entwine their fingers instead, rubbing his thumb over her wedding band. "For you and Noah's sake, I will refrain from throttling him, as tempting as it is."
They lapsed into thoughtful silence again. Aria found herself leaning into Damien's side, as naturally as breathing. It still amazed her how quickly things had shifted between them in a matter of hours—confessions of love, an easy physical closeness beyond their earlier restrained touches. She felt as though saying those words aloud had unlocked something; she was hyper-aware of him now, of the urge to be near, to be touching. Judging by how he kept her hand firmly in his and his arm around her shoulders, he felt similarly. Even in the stillness, a certain electricity hummed between them, the unspoken knowledge that we love each other sparking new warmth.
It was Damien who eventually spoke, his voice quieter now. "You were asked earlier about your father…"
Aria stiffened slightly. That was another dangling thread, one she had pushed aside. "Yes."
Damien hesitated. "How are you feeling about that? I know it must have been painful to hear what he said."
She bit her lip. It had been, indeed. But in the swirl of today's events, she hadn't had time to truly dwell on it. Now the words echoed: "no comment regarding individuals no longer part of his family." It was such a formal, dismissive statement. So final. Aria sighed. "It hurt," she admitted. "Even after all this time, I guess a part of me…hoped maybe he'd… I don't know. Not welcome me back, exactly, but at least not denounce me to the press." Her eyes stung unexpectedly. She had not cried over her father in years, but this small reopening of the wound threatened to bleed.
Damien turned, gathering her into his arms. She went willingly, curling against his chest as his hand stroked her hair. "I'm sorry," he murmured. "He's a fool not to see what an amazing daughter he has. It's entirely his loss."
Aria closed her eyes, soothed by Damien's steady heartbeat under her ear. "Maybe. But it still feels like mine too," she whispered. "I lost my family. And now the whole world knows it."
Damien tilted her chin up gently. His face was drawn in an expression of empathetic pain that mirrored hers. "You're not alone, Aria. You have a family. Right here."
She managed a watery smile. "I know. And I wouldn't trade this for anything. It's just…a different kind of family than what I thought I'd have, once upon a time."
He nodded, thumbs brushing away a tear that escaped down her cheek. "If I could fix it for you…"
She shook her head. "You can't change him. Or the past." She drew in a shaky breath. "Maybe one day I'll reach out, try to talk to him. But not now. I don't think I'm ready. And I doubt he'd be receptive, given that statement."
"You don't have to decide anything now," Damien said firmly. "Or ever, if you choose. It's entirely up to you and what's healthiest for you."
His unwavering support was balm to her soul. Aria realized once more how lucky she was. She shifted slightly, suddenly longing to lighten the mood, to focus on the good that had come from this day instead of the lingering sorrow. "Today was a lot. But you know what part stands out most to me, when I think about it?"
Damien raised an eyebrow, curious. "What's that?"
She felt a flush creep up her neck, but smiled. "Hearing you say you love me." The words came out in a shy rush. "I know you said it in the garage, but you also sort of said it—at the press conference, in not so many words. And I— I can't tell you how much that meant."
A slow, tender smile curved his lips. "I did say it, didn't I?" he mused softly. "Though probably not as clearly as I wanted to in front of those reporters." He cupped her cheek, his grey eyes holding hers with earnest intensity. "I love you, Aria. I love you," he repeated, as if to make up for any lack of clarity.
Aria's breath caught, her heart doing a little joyous flip. She turned her face to press a kiss to his palm. "I love you too, Damien," she whispered. Saying it was becoming easier and more wonderful each time.
He made a low sound, somewhere between relief and delight, and closed the gap between them, kissing her deeply. Aria sighed into the kiss, sliding her arms around his neck as he pulled her onto his lap. All the pent-up longing that had simmered for weeks broke free in that embrace. Damien's fingers tangled in her hair, loosening it from its pins, and Aria found herself arching against him, pouring all her gratitude and love into the way her lips moved with his. It was different from the desperate garage kiss—this was slower, sweeter, but no less passionate. It felt like the beginning of something new, a door opening fully to the love they had finally acknowledged.
When they eventually parted, both breathing a touch unsteadily, Damien rested his forehead against hers, smiling. "I could get used to that," he murmured playfully.
Aria laughed under her breath. "What, the couch make-out sessions or the love confessions?"
"Both," he chuckled. Then his face softened. "I meant it when I said I didn't realize how much I loved you until I thought I might lose you. I think…I think I've loved you longer than I was willing to admit. I was—" He hesitated, eyes dropping briefly as if embarrassed. "—I was a coward about it. I told myself it was just about Noah, about responsibility. But I know that's not true. Not anymore."
Aria's heart swelled. Hearing him confess his feelings so openly was a gift she never expected from the guarded man she first married. She hugged him tight. "Maybe we were both a little scared. I know I was."
He pressed a kiss to her hair. "You don't have to be scared anymore. Not of me ever not wanting you. Today should prove that beyond a doubt." He pulled back to look her in the eyes, seriousness returning. "I'm all in, Aria. I have been for a while, truthfully. I was just slow to recognize it."
She bit her lip to keep it from trembling at the emotion threatening to overwhelm her. "And I'm all in too. Completely."
His smile this time was bright enough to banish any remaining shadows of the day. "Well then. I suppose this contract marriage has officially been upgraded to a real one," he teased gently.
Aria laughed—a pure, joyful sound. "I suppose it has." She brushed a lock of dark hair off his forehead tenderly. "I should burn that contract. It's irrelevant now."
Damien's gaze turned molten as he studied her. "Irrelevant indeed," he murmured, and captured her lips once more in a swift, heated kiss that left her dizzy.
They were both lightly laughing as they separated again, contentment wrapping around them. Aria felt as though she could float away on happiness, despite the day's trials. Perhaps because of the day's trials—they had been forged stronger by them.
Eventually, practicality nudged at her thoughts. The hour was getting late, and fatigue was making her eyelids heavy. "I think I might actually sleep well tonight," she remarked softly. After so many nights of anxious tossing and turning, the prospect of rest was enticing.
Damien gently shifted, helping her stand before rising himself. He kept an arm around her waist as they headed toward the stairs. "You deserve a good sleep. Doctor's orders," he added with a wink.
They passed Noah's room, peeking in to ensure the toddler was still contentedly asleep (he was, sprawled with one leg out of the covers and the stuffed elephant clutched under his arm). Then they continued to the master bedroom.
Aria paused at the threshold out of habit—there was a time not long ago when she would have reflexively considered retreating to her separate bedroom, upholding the polite distance of their early arrangement. But tonight, that notion didn't even occur to her until she noticed her own hesitation. This was her room too now, truly. She stepped in with Damien, her hand still in his.
In comfortable silence, they prepared for bed. Aria slipped into the en-suite bathroom to change into a satin nightgown—a deep plum-colored one that she'd picked out on a whim a couple of weeks back but never had the courage to actually wear around Damien. It was a bit more…alluring than her usual cotton pajamas, with slender straps and lace trim. Given the new understanding between them, she found she wanted to wear it tonight. Perhaps as a quiet signal, even if things wouldn't progress beyond sleep.
When she emerged, brushing out her hair, she saw Damien waiting by the bed, already in drawstring sleep pants and a t-shirt. At the sight of her, his conversation with turning down the bedding faltered. His eyes traveled over her form in the satin slip, and Aria felt a blush heat her face under his appreciative gaze.
"Is this okay?" she asked shyly, gesturing at the nightgown. "I—I bought it a while ago but…"
Damien crossed the room to her in two strides, taking her hand and spinning her gently once as if to admire the view, eliciting a surprised giggle from her. "It's more than okay," he said warmly. "You look beautiful. Though," he added, lowering his voice, "if I stare too long, we really won't be getting much sleep." The teasing glint in his eyes made her heart skip.
She swatted his arm lightly, though pleased at the compliment. "Then behave, Mr. Blackwood."
"Yes ma'am," he mock-saluted, then pulled her into a loose hug. "Come on, let's get some rest."
They climbed into bed together, naturally gravitating to the middle where their bodies met and entwined. Aria curled against Damien's side, her head pillowed on his chest and his arm secure around her. She let out a soft, content sigh. This… this felt like home. Warm, safe, loved.
As she closed her eyes, on the precipice of sleep, Damien's voice rumbled under her ear. "Aria?"
"Mm?" she responded drowsily.
"I was just thinking… earlier today, when you said you want to be there if I ever talk to Victor. I realized we didn't fully resolve that."
She blinked her eyes open, fighting sleepiness to address the topic. "True. Do you think you will talk to him?"
"I suspect he might attempt to contact you again when he realizes his plan failed. If that happens, I'd like to be the one who answers." His tone had an edge to it even now. "But I won't hide it from you. If there's a meeting or a call, you'll know."
Aria propped herself up a little to see his face in the low lamplight. "If he contacts me, I'm not sure I want to talk to him at all. What more is there to say? But if he contacts you or you initiate it… I trust you to handle it however is best."
Damien met her gaze seriously. "I just want him out of our lives for good. One way or another. And I'll take any measure short of, well, jail time," he smirked faintly, referencing her earlier joke.
She smiled back, then leaned in to kiss his cheek. "Whatever happens, we'll handle it. I'm not afraid of him anymore, Damien. Not like I was." She realized with some surprise that it was true—the thought of Victor still unsettled her, but she didn't feel the same powerless dread. Not now that her secret was out and she had Damien at her side fully.
"I'm glad," Damien murmured. He brushed a strand of hair off her face. "You shouldn't have to be afraid of anything now."
A comfortable silence enveloped them again. Aria's eyes drifted shut as she relaxed fully for what felt like the first time in ages. Just as she was about to slip into sleep, Damien spoke once more, very softly, almost as if to himself, "I don't think I've ever been this happy."
Aria's heart gave a sweet ache. She shifted enough to press a tender kiss over his heart through the soft cotton of his shirt. "Me neither," she whispered.
In the still of the night, in the arms of the man she loved, Aria Lancaster Blackwood allowed herself to finally, truly believe that she deserved this happiness. They had fought for it—against odds, against fear, against external threats. And they would likely have more battles to come. But as she drifted off, cocooned in warmth and love, one last thought floated through her mind:
No matter what tomorrow brings, we'll face it together.
Tomorrow held uncertainty—perhaps Victor's final schemes, perhaps emotional reckonings not yet fully faced, perhaps even ghosts of the past beyond her father and Victor. But tonight was peaceful, and tomorrow, whatever it was, would come.
Aria tightened her arm around Damien in her sleep, and he pulled her closer reflexively even in slumber. Outside their window, the moon cast a gentle glow upon the bed, illuminating two figures entwined, at peace.
For the first time in a long while, Aria did not dream of running or hiding. She dreamed of a garden with blooming jacaranda trees, of Noah's laughter, and of Damien's hand holding hers firmly through it all.
In the delicate space between this hard-won peace and whatever storm may lie ahead, Aria's heart knew one truth unshakably: she was bound to this man by far more than one night—she was bound by love, and that love would be their strength.