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Bound By Blood And Billionaires

Esther_Ndubuisi_3478
28
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Chapter 1 - Glass and Chain

"You're frowning again."

 

Sebastian's voice was cold, sharp, like he was already annoyed with her. He didn't even bother to look at her as he stood in front of the tall mirror, adjusting his shiny cufflinks like a man who only cared about his reflection.

 

"Do you know what that does to my image?" he asked.

 

Aria's fingers curled tightly around the edge of the vanity table in front of her. His image. Always his image. That was all he cared about.

 

She wanted to snap back at him, but her voice came out smaller than she intended, though it carried a quiet strength.

"Maybe they'll finally see I'm unhappy."

 

That made him turn around. For a moment their eyes met in the mirror—his gaze calm, perfect, untouchable, while hers burned with hidden anger.

 

"Unhappiness doesn't sell, Aria. Devotion does," he replied flatly. "You know your role."

 

Her throat felt tight, but she still forced out the words that had been choking her for months. "Why parade me around when everyone knows about Isabelle?"

 

His jaw tightened at the mention of the other woman. For a second, there was silence. She thought maybe he would deny it, maybe he would feel guilty. But no. His voice was quiet, controlled, dangerous.

"Because she's a pleasure," he said. "You are power. Don't confuse the two."

 

Her chest squeezed painfully. She wanted to laugh and cry at the same time. He said it like it was something noble, like it was written in stone. You are power. But not a woman. Not a person. Just a tool.

 

A knock at the door interrupted the tension.

"Mr. Draven? Mrs. Draven? The press is waiting."

 

Sebastian quickly adjusted his tie again, sliding back into his polished mask of control. "Fix your face. Queens don't cry."

 

The door closed. Aria stayed seated for a long moment, staring at the reflection of a woman she barely recognized—dripping in diamonds, dressed like a queen, but hollow on the inside. Her lips trembled. She almost broke.

 

But she didn't.

 

She stiffened, wiped the shine from her eyes, and rose from the chair. If he wanted her to play the role, she would. But not the way he expected.

 

She followed him.

 

The ballroom was chaos the moment they stepped in.

 

Flashes from cameras blinded her. Reporters screamed their names, microphones stretched forward like claws, and photographers begged for one more picture.

 

"Sebastian! Aria! This way!"

"Mrs. Draven, you look radiant tonight!"

"Perfect couple—turn toward us!"

 

Sebastian's hand brushed against hers for the cameras. His touch was cold, lifeless, like holding the hand of a mannequin. She smiled flawlessly, though inside she was twisting in pain.

 

"They adore us," Sebastian muttered between clenched teeth, pressing a fake kiss to her cheek.

 

They adore the mask, Aria thought bitterly. Not me.

 

And then she saw his eyes shift. Not to her. Not to the cameras.

 

But to Isabelle.

 

Her breath caught. Isabelle was here.

 

Dressed in blood-red silk, her lips painted the same shade, she walked slowly into the room like she owned it. Her eyes locked on Aria's, bold and deliberate, and she didn't look away. The smile that followed wasn't sweet, it was sharp like a knife, cutting without mercy.

 

Reporters gasped and rushed forward as if sensing blood in the water.

"Isabelle, over here!"

"Stunning, as always!"

 

Aria's stomach dropped. Why would he let her come? Why here? Why now?

 

And then Sebastian moved. Smooth. Effortless. Heartless.

 

He released Aria's hand, crossed the room without hesitation, and took Isabelle's fingers in his.

 

And kissed them.

 

The whole ballroom gasped. Cameras flashed wildly.

 

Aria's chest burned. The humiliation was instant, heavy, unbearable. She felt every stare on her. She heard every whisper, though they tried to hush their voices.

 

"She saw that…"

"Poor Aria…"

"Does he even care about her?"

 

Her hand shook. She didn't even realize she was holding her glass so tightly until it slipped.

 

It crashed to the marble floor, shattering into sharp pieces. Champagne sprayed across gowns and shoes. The sound echoed louder than the orchestra.

 

The room went dead silent.

 

Sebastian's head snapped toward her. For a split second, his mask cracked and she saw the rage underneath. But the crowd only saw a wife losing her composure. Isabelle's smirk widened in victory.

 

Aria should have broken down. She should have cried and fled, as they expected.

 

But she didn't.

 

She smiled.

 

Not the fake smile she had perfected for years. Not the polite, distant one. This smile was different, dark, dangerous, alive.

 

And without a word, she turned and walked away.

 

The crowd stepped aside instinctively, making way for her. Her heels struck the marble floor like drumbeats, each step a declaration of rebellion.

 

"Aria, don't you dare….." Sebastian's hiss reached her ears, but too late.

 

She didn't stop.

 

She pushed open the grand balcony doors and stepped outside into the freezing night air.

 

The wind slapped against her skin, sharp and almost merciful. She inhaled it like oxygen after suffocating. Her heart pounded, her palms still sticky from spilled champagne.

 

And then, another voice. Not Sebastian's. Not the reporters.

 

A deep, rough voice. Calm, but heavy with meaning.

"Glass breaks easy," it said. "The question is, do you?"

 

She spun around.

 

A man was leaning lazily against the railing, smoke curling from the cigarette between his fingers. His eyes, dark, steady, and far too knowing, watched her closely.

 

She knew that face. Everyone who lived near power and danger knew that face.

 

Lorenzo Vitale.

 

Her breath caught.

 

He didn't smile fully, but his lips curved just enough to suggest amusement, or maybe warning.

"Well," he said softly, exhaling smoke like a promise, "this just got interesting."

 

And for the first time in years, Aria felt it.

 

The cage around her heart was cracking.