The Blackwood estate had never felt so much like a fortress.
In the two days since Victor Hayes's arrest, the security detail had doubled. Guards patrolled the iron gates, camera crews crowded outside the property line, and news vans clogged the street like vultures circling a carcass. Helicopters buzzed overhead at intervals, each desperate to capture a glimpse of the family inside.
Aria stayed mostly within the mansion's walls, tending to Noah, who had bounced back from his fever with the boundless resilience of childhood. Yet even his laughter seemed muted under the weight pressing down on her. Every window, every door, every shadow whispered the same truth: the world knows now.
She could no longer hide behind "Aria Evans." The Lancaster name had been dragged out into the open, and with it came all the memories she had tried so hard to bury—her father's stern commands, her mother's cold silence, the endless parties where she had smiled until her face hurt, the night she had fled with only a suitcase and the determination never to return.
Now, every headline screamed HEIRESS REVEALED.
And she could not escape.
Damien, however, thrived in the storm.
Every morning, he locked himself in the study with Marcus, Elise, and a rotating team of attorneys and PR specialists. Aria sometimes caught glimpses of him through the doorway: his sleeves rolled to his elbows, his dark eyes sharp and commanding as he dissected strategies, his phone pressed to his ear as he barked orders at senators, CEOs, and news anchors alike.
This was Damien at his most formidable—the man the world feared, the man who had built an empire from the ground up. And yet, when he emerged in the evenings, his first act was always to seek her out, to ask softly, "How are you holding up?"
Aria never quite knew how to answer.
Because truthfully, she was unraveling.
She could handle whispers. She could handle the pressure of secrets. But to be thrust under the spotlight, dissected like some cautionary tale? That terrified her more than Hayes ever had.
It wasn't just her life anymore. It was Noah's. And Damien's.
On the third morning, Damien found her standing at the window of the breakfast room, staring out at the line of cameras beyond the gates.
"They're not going away," she murmured, her voice brittle.
"No," Damien agreed, setting his coffee on the counter. "They won't. Not until we give them something else to look at."
She turned, her pulse spiking. "Something else?"
"Us," he said simply. "You."
Her stomach dropped. "You mean…"
"A statement. An interview. A chance to control the story instead of letting Hayes or the tabloids control it for us." His gaze was steady, unflinching. "Aria, the longer we stay silent, the more power they have. But if you speak—if you claim your truth—they'll have nothing left to twist."
She shook her head, panic clawing up her throat. "I can't. I'm not like you, Damien. I don't know how to stand in front of flashing cameras and—"
"You can," he interrupted firmly. "Because you've faced worse than cameras. You've faced exile, judgment, betrayal. You survived all of it. And now you're stronger. Stronger than anyone out there knows."
Her hands trembled. "What if I say the wrong thing? What if they tear me apart?"
"Then let them try." Damien stepped closer, tilting her chin up so her eyes met his. His voice softened, but the steel never left it. "I'll be right there. Every step. If they throw questions, I'll cut them down. If they push, I'll push harder. All you need to do is speak from here." He pressed his hand lightly over her heart. "The rest will follow."
Her breath hitched. He believed in her so completely it almost hurt.
Still, the thought of standing before the world and declaring who she was made her chest tighten with fear. She wanted to retreat, to shield Noah, to lock herself away until the world moved on.
But deep inside, another voice whispered: It won't move on. Not this time.
Maybe Damien was right. Maybe the only way forward was through.
That evening, after Noah was asleep, Aria wandered into the study. The fire crackled low in the hearth, casting the room in amber light. Damien sat at the desk, reviewing a stack of documents, but he looked up immediately when she entered.
Her voice was soft but steady. "If I do this… it has to be on my terms."
Damien leaned back in his chair, studying her. "Tell me."
"No staged answers. No scripted lies. I won't stand up there and play the perfect society wife while they hurl questions at me." She drew a shaky breath. "If I speak, I'm going to tell the truth. About my name. About why I left. About the life I built without the Lancasters."
Damien's expression flickered—concern, admiration, something deeper. "That's risky," he admitted. "But it's also powerful. They can't weaponize the truth once you own it."
She nodded, her hands clenched at her sides. "Then that's what I'll do. I'm done hiding."
For a long moment, they simply stared at each other, the decision settling between them like a vow.
Then Damien rose, came to her side, and kissed her forehead gently. "Then we do this together."
The press conference was set for two days later.
The Blackwood ballroom was transformed into a stage—rows of chairs, a podium, cameras positioned at the back. Elise oversaw every detail, ensuring the lighting was soft but strong, the backdrop dignified without being ostentatious.
Marcus briefed them on possible questions, though Damien made it clear Aria would not be cornered. Security was tripled. Every reporter vetted.
Still, the air was electric with tension.
The morning of, Aria stood before the mirror as the stylist fussed with her hair. She wore a simple cream dress, elegant but understated, paired with pearl earrings. No glittering diamonds, no gaudy statement pieces—just quiet strength.
Her reflection didn't look like the girl in the old society photos. It didn't even look like the woman who had once lived as Aria Evans, hiding in anonymity.
It looked like someone new. Someone whole.
When Damien entered, already in a tailored suit, his gaze softened. "You look perfect."
She smiled faintly. "I don't feel perfect."
"You don't have to. You just have to be real."
The ballroom buzzed with reporters by the time they arrived. Cameras clicked furiously as Damien guided her to the podium, his hand warm against the small of her back.
Aria's heart thundered. For a moment, she wanted to bolt, to flee back upstairs to Noah's room and shut the door. But then she caught sight of Damien at her side—steady, unwavering—and the fear loosened its grip.
He gave her a small nod. You've got this.
She stepped up to the podium.
The room hushed.
For a moment, the silence pressed in, heavy and expectant. Aria gripped the edges of the podium, grounding herself. She let her gaze sweep the crowd—rows of faces hungry for scandal, pens poised, lenses trained.
Her voice trembled only slightly at first. "My name is Aria Lancaster Blackwood."
The room erupted with flashes. Murmurs rippled through the reporters.
Aria drew a deep breath and pressed on. "For years, I lived under another name. I walked away from the Lancaster family, from the wealth and the expectations that came with it. People will ask why. The truth is simple: I chose survival over appearances. I chose freedom over chains."
Her pulse raced, but she kept going. "My family's downfall is well-documented. The lies, the debts, the scandals—they were not mine to bear. But as their daughter, I bore them anyway. Until I couldn't anymore." Her throat tightened, but she lifted her chin. "So I left. I built a new life, a quiet life, for myself and my son. And I don't regret it."
She paused, the weight of the moment pressing on her. Damien's presence at her side was a lifeline. She glanced at him briefly, and the warmth in his eyes steadied her.
"When I met Damien Blackwood, it wasn't about wealth or status. It was about something real. About family. About love." Her voice softened. "I didn't marry him to hide my past. I married him because, for the first time in my life, I felt safe."
Gasps, murmurs, the furious scratching of pens. She ignored them all.
"To anyone who believes this revelation changes who I am, or who we are as a family—you're wrong. My name is Lancaster by birth. But my life, my future, my heart—those are Blackwood."
The silence that followed was profound.
Then came the barrage of questions.
"Aria, are you reconciling with your father?"
"Did Damien know your true identity before the marriage?"
"Do you consider yourself a socialite again?"
"Will you step into public life now?"
Damien's hand landed lightly on hers, a silent offer to step in. But Aria raised her chin, surprising even herself.
"One at a time," she said firmly, her voice carrying across the room.
And one by one, she answered.
No, she was not returning to the Lancasters. Yes, Damien knew the truth now and stood by her. No, she did not consider herself a socialite. And as for public life—her smile was small but resolute. "My priority is my family. Always. If being public means protecting them, then I'll stand here as many times as I need to."
The strength in her words surprised even her.
And when the conference ended, the applause was real—not from the press, but from the Blackwood employees standing in the back, watching silently.
As Damien guided her off the stage, he bent close to murmur, "You were extraordinary."
For the first time in years, Aria believed it.
That night, after Noah was asleep, she stood on the balcony, the city lights stretching out before her.
Damien joined her, slipping an arm around her waist. "You changed the game today," he said quietly.
She leaned into him, her heart lighter than it had been in years. "No. We did."
He kissed her temple, his voice low. "Together."
And for once, the word didn't feel fragile. It felt unshakable.