Margaret had left them what looked like a gourmet Italian feast: homemade lasagna, Caesar salad, garlic bread, and tiramisu for dessert. The scents alone were enough to make Aria's mouth water.
Damien served them both without asking, his movements efficient. "Margaret is an excellent cook. One of the few benefits of having live-in staff." He paused, then added awkwardly, "I mean, you'll get used to it. The staff. Having people around."
Aria pulled out her phone and typed: "It's strange. I've never had anyone cook for me before. Or clean up after me. Or drive me places."
"You'll adapt," he said, taking a bite of lasagna. "Everyone does."
"Did you? Adapt?"
He looked up, meeting her eyes. "I grew up in foster care. Group homes, mostly. Sharing rooms with five other kids, eating whatever donation food the home could get, wearing hand-me-downs that never fit right. So yes, I adapted. To this." He gestured around them at the opulence. "But it took time. It still feels surreal sometimes."
There was something raw in his admission, something that made Aria see him differently. Not as the cold billionaire who'd bought himself a convenient wife, but as someone who'd clawed his way up from nothing and still carried the scars of it.
"How did you do it? Go from foster care to… all this?"
Damien was quiet for a moment, considering whether to answer. Then he set down his fork. "Scholarships. I was good at math, great at chess. Got into a decent high school with a scholarship program. From there, full ride to Columbia for business. I worked three jobs through college, saved every penny, started making investments. Small at first buying distressed properties, flipping them. Then bigger deals. Real estate empire grew.
Tech investments paid off. By thirty, I was a billionaire." He said it matter-of-factly, as if becoming a billionaire before thirty was a normal achievement.
"And you did it all alone? No family, no support system?"
"Marcus," Damien said simply. "Met him at Columbia. He's the closest thing I have to family. Only person I trust completely."
"What about romantic relationships? Before me?"
His expression hardened slightly. "Isabelle, obviously. You met her yesterday. That lasted two years. She wanted the lifestyle, the status. When I figured out she was more interested in my bank account than me, I ended it."
"Were you in love with her?"
"No." The answer was immediate, definitive. "I don't do love, Aria. I'm not built for it. Love requires vulnerability, trust, emotional availability none of which I'm capable of. What I had with Isabelle was a transaction. She got access to my world, I got arm candy and a society hostess. It worked until it didn't."
Aria absorbed this, trying not to feel stung by his blunt assessment. He was telling her explicitly not to expect love from this marriage. As if she'd been naive enough to hope for it.
"Then why get married at all? You said it was for the board of directors, but that feels incomplete."
Damien picked up his wine glass when had he poured wine? and took a slow sip before answering. "The board has been pushing for years. They think a married CEO is more stable, more trustworthy, less of a risk. I've put them off, but we're about to close the biggest deal of my career. International expansion into Asian markets. The investors are traditional, family-oriented. They want to do business with a man who has roots, stability. A wife."
"So I'm a business strategy."
"Yes." He didn't apologize for it. "But you knew that going in. I'm not pretending this is something it's not."
She appreciated his honesty, even if it hurt a little. "And after three years? After your deal closes and the board is satisfied?"
"We can divorce amicably. I'll ensure you're financially set for life. You'll walk away with enough money to pursue your art without ever worrying about finances again."
"Very generous." She wasn't sure if she was being sincere or sarcastic. Maybe both.
"It's fair," he corrected. "You're giving me three years of your life. You deserve compensation."
They ate in silence for a few minutes. The lasagna was incredible, but Aria's appetite had diminished. Everything with Damien was a transaction, a negotiation, a deal. Did he approach his entire life this way?
"What about children?" she typed, the question surprising even herself. "The board, the investors won't they expect heirs eventually?"
Damien's fork stopped halfway to his mouth. He set it down carefully. "No children."
"You sound very certain."
"I am." His voice had gone cold again, walls slamming back into place. "I won't bring children into this world. I won't risk becoming my mother someone who abandons their child. Or worse, someone who stays and resents them. I don't have it in me to be a father."
"That's sad."
"That's realistic," he countered. "I know my limitations. Better to not have children than to damage them the way I was damaged."
Aria wanted to argue, wanted to tell him that recognizing those fears meant he'd probably be better than he thought. But she could see the conversation was closed, his jaw set in that stubborn line she was beginning to recognize.
She changed tactics. "Tell me about this big deal. The Asian expansion."
The shift in topic worked. Damien's posture relaxed slightly as he launched into an explanation of the merger he was negotiating a partnership with a Singapore-based real estate conglomerate that would triple his company's international footprint. He spoke with passion, intelligence, strategic brilliance. This was his element, where he came alive.
Aria found herself genuinely interested, asking questions via text, offering observations that made him look at her with something like respect.
"You have good instincts," he said after she'd pointed out a potential complication he hadn't considered. "Have you ever thought about business?"
"I minored in Art History, but I took some business classes. Figured if I wanted to sell my art, I should understand the market."
"Smart." He studied her across the table. "You're not what I expected."
"What did you expect?"
"Someone… simpler. More passive. I thought your silence would make you easy to overlook, easy to work around." He had the grace to look slightly uncomfortable. "I was wrong."
"Yes, you were."
"You're angry about that. About why I chose you."
"Wouldn't you be? You picked me because you thought I'd be convenient. Quiet. Undemanding. A pretty decoration who wouldn't challenge you or complicate your life."
"Yes," he admitted. "That's exactly why I chose you. But" He paused, seeming to search for words. "I'm realizing that might have been a miscalculation."
"Might have been?"