Morning seeped into the bedroom in soft, golden ribbons, brushing across the pale curtains and the edge of the duvet. Aria stirred, slow to wake, her body still heavy from the emotional weight of the night before. For a rare, fleeting moment, her mind was blank — no Victor, no headlines, no lies pressing in from every side.
Then she heard it — a sound she could recognize anywhere.
Laughter.
She sat up, blinking toward the open door, and realized it wasn't just Noah's giggle. There was another voice, lower, warmer, steady as it rumbled back a reply.
Damien.
She slipped out of bed, pulling her robe tighter around her. The hallway was bright, sunlight spilling in through the tall windows, and the faint smell of coffee and something sweet wafted from downstairs. She followed it until she reached the kitchen.
Noah was perched on one of the stools at the island, legs swinging beneath him, a grin stretched ear to ear. In front of him sat a plate piled high with pancakes — uneven, slightly misshapen pancakes, which meant Damien had probably made them himself rather than letting the chef do it.
Damien stood behind the counter, coffee mug in one hand, spatula in the other. His tie was loose, shirt sleeves rolled up, a sight that still startled her — Damien Blackwood, untidy.
When he noticed her in the doorway, something eased in his expression. "Morning."
She hesitated for a second, then stepped inside. "Morning."
"Mommy! Daddy put blueberries in the pancakes!" Noah announced proudly, as if this were a rare feat. "And chocolate chips in some of them!"
Her lips curved. "That's… ambitious."
Damien handed Noah another pancake with mock seriousness. "Every great chef experiments."
The exchange was easy, almost too easy, given everything hanging over their heads. Aria poured herself coffee and slid onto the stool beside Noah, quietly watching Damien move around the kitchen like this was an ordinary Sunday.
"You're up early," she said, breaking the silence between them.
He glanced at her. "Couldn't sleep much. I've been thinking about the statement."
Her fingers tightened around her mug. "Today?"
"Today," he confirmed. "The longer we wait, the more control we give away."
She nodded slowly, trying to keep her face neutral for Noah's sake. "What will it say?"
"That you're my wife. That's all anyone needs to know," Damien said, his tone leaving no room for argument. "Your past is irrelevant."
The words should have comforted her, but instead, they settled like a weight in her stomach. Her past wasn't irrelevant — not to her, not to the man using it to threaten her.
They finished breakfast without another mention of it. After Noah dashed off to the playroom, Damien turned to her, voice low. "The PR team will be here at ten. I want you to hear what they say, but I'll handle the rest."
At exactly ten, the doorbell rang.
The PR head, a poised woman in a tailored gray suit named Lydia Harper, stepped inside with her assistant. They set up at the dining table, sliding a tablet and several printouts across the polished surface.
"This is the draft I recommend," Lydia began, her voice calm, efficient. "It acknowledges Mrs. Blackwood's identity without feeding speculation, and it centers the narrative on the family's present, not the past."
She read aloud:
Mrs. Aria Blackwood, formerly Aria Lancaster, has chosen a private life, focused on her family and philanthropic work alongside her husband, Damien Blackwood. The Blackwood family requests that the public respect their privacy.
Aria stared at the words. They were simple, almost elegant, but they still felt like a door swinging open to a world she'd spent years locking out.
"It's fine," she said, forcing her voice steady.
Damien studied her face for a moment before giving Lydia a sharp nod. "Release it."
Lydia's assistant began making calls immediately.
When they left, Damien turned to Aria. "There will be noise for a while. Ignore it. Don't read the articles. Don't answer calls from unknown numbers."
She crossed her arms. "You make it sound like I'm under siege."
"You are," he said bluntly. "And I'm making sure the gates hold."
They took Noah to the park after lunch, at Damien's insistence. For a while, it was almost easy to forget the world outside existed — Noah's delighted shrieks on the swings, Damien's faint smile as he pushed him higher.
But when they returned to the estate, reality waited.
Damien's phone buzzed the moment they stepped inside. He glanced at the screen, his jaw tightening. "It's started."
She didn't have to ask what he meant.
The news alerts began pinging her own phone moments later — headlines with her name in them, some paired with old photographs she hadn't seen in years. The captions blurred as she scrolled too quickly. Heiress Resurfaces in Blackwood Marriage. Aria Lancaster Returns to Society. Secrets Behind the Blackwoods' Private Wife.
Her chest tightened. She set the phone down, willing her hands to stop shaking.
The doorbell rang.
Damien moved to answer it, and Aria could hear the clipped edge to his voice. "You're trespassing. Leave now."
A man's voice replied, louder than it needed to be. "Just a comment, Mr. Blackwood! Is it true she—"
The sound of the door shutting hard cut him off.
Damien came back into the living room, his expression carved from ice. "Reporter. If they try it again, I'll make sure they regret it."
Her breath caught. "This is only the beginning, isn't it?"
"Yes," Damien said. "But they won't get to you. I won't let them."
He reached for her hand — and for a moment, the noise outside faded.
That night, the house was still, but Aria couldn't sleep. She stood at the window in the dim light, watching the gates at the end of the drive. Somewhere out there, people were waiting — reporters, photographers, strangers with opinions about her life.
Her phone buzzed on the nightstand. One new message.
No name, just a number she didn't recognize.
You think a press release will bury the truth? Cute. See you soon.
Her blood ran cold.
Victor.
She stared at the message until the words blurred, then deleted it, her fingers trembling. She didn't want Damien to see it — not tonight.
But as she slipped back into bed, she couldn't shake the feeling that the knock on the world's door had already come… and that next time, it wouldn't just be knocking.