Aria stared at her reflection in the tall mirror, adjusting the navy-blue gown Damian had chosen. The fabric clung to her figure, elegant yet understated—perfect for the evening gala she had no desire to attend. Her chest tightened. This wasn't just a party; it was a trial, a public display of her new role as Damian Blackwood's wife. Every detail mattered, every misstep could be noticed—and possibly ridiculed.
"You look… acceptable," Damian's voice came from the doorway. He was impeccably dressed in a black tuxedo, dark eyes assessing her with that same piercing intensity that made her skin prickle.
"I—thank you," she murmured, keeping her tone neutral. Her pulse raced for reasons she refused to acknowledge. Why did his approval matter so much?
He approached, his steps silent and deliberate. "Remember, appearances matter. Smile when appropriate, nod when required, and do not embarrass me."
Aria swallowed, trying to suppress the flush of irritation. Embarrass him? He's the one who trapped me in this marriage.
The gala was in full swing when they arrived. Crystal chandeliers reflected countless points of light across the polished floor. Roses lined the grand staircase, and the scent of perfume and fine wine mingled in the air. Every guest seemed perfectly poised, dressed in gowns and tuxedos that shimmered under the light. Aria felt painfully aware of her ordinary upbringing, the stark contrast to this world of opulence and power.
"Stay close," Damian murmured as they entered. His hand brushed against hers, a fleeting touch, deliberate and controlled. The subtle electricity made her pulse quicken despite her determination to remain composed.
Introductions followed, each one more intimidating than the last. Guests smiled and extended hands with practiced charm, their eyes lingering on Aria with a mix of curiosity and judgment. She stumbled over her words more than once, cheeks burning with embarrassment. Damian noticed, yet instead of scolding, he gave a faint, almost imperceptible smirk. It was both infuriating and unnerving.
A tall woman with icy eyes approached. "So you're the new Mrs. Blackwood," she said, voice sweet but sharp. "I hope you'll handle the role with… grace."
Aria forced a smile. "Of course," she replied, careful to keep her tone polite. Grace. Right. Like I've ever been graceful among strangers who judge every move I make.
Damian's hand lightly pressed against her lower back—a silent shield, a quiet warning. His presence was both comforting and suffocating. Aria realized, with a jolt, that she was already beginning to rely on it—even if she refused to admit it.
The evening stretched on. Aria navigated conversations with careful attention, maintaining the poised façade Damian demanded. She complimented the hosts, laughed at polite jokes, and offered measured opinions when asked. Every glance at Damian revealed something new—subtle approval, a flicker of amusement, a rare softness in his otherwise icy demeanor. It both intrigued and infuriated her.
During a toast, Damian's eyes locked with hers across the crowded room. Commanding, possessive, and undeniably captivating, his gaze made her stomach twist with a mixture of irritation and fascination. She reminded herself—this was a contract. Nothing more.
Yet as the night wore on, small victories emerged. A guest mispronounced her name, and she corrected them with confidence, earning a quiet nod from Damian. Later, when a flirtatious man attempted to corner her with a drink, Damian's subtle shift in stance and a brief glare ended the interaction. Aria felt a strange mixture of relief and attraction.
By the time the gala ended, Aria was exhausted. Her legs ached, her smile felt forced, but beneath it all, a flicker of pride burned. She had survived her first public test as Mrs. Blackwood—and Damian had noticed.
Outside, under the cool night sky, Damian finally spoke, voice low and deliberate. "You did well tonight."
Aria blinked, surprised. "I… did?"
His eyes softened slightly, enough to make her pulse skip. "For your first night, yes. Keep this up, and you may survive my world yet."
She looked away, cheeks burning. "I—thank you," she murmured. But a thought she could not voice crept in: I don't just want to survive. I want to understand him… maybe even change him.
As they drove back to the mansion, city lights blurred past the window. Aria leaned back, exhausted, yet strangely exhilarated. This marriage was more than a battle of wills—it was a dangerous dance. Every rule Damian enforced, every glance he threw, seemed calculated to test her limits. And somehow, she feared she was already learning the steps.
The night deepened, casting shadows across the marble floors of the mansion as they returned. Aria realized, with an odd mixture of dread and curiosity, that surviving Damian's world would not be enough. She wanted to conquer it, even if it meant risking her heart.
And one undeniable truth settled deep within her: this was only the beginning.