Chapter Five The First Lie
Aria threw the silver frame directly at his head.
Damien caught it inches from his face, his reaction so quick, effortless, and controlled that it made her wonder how many times people had tried to hurt him.
“You followed me for fourteen months,” she said, her voice shaking with quiet fury.
He glanced down at the photograph as if it were merely a misfiled document. “I had you investigated.”
“Before you needed a wife?”
“Before you knew I needed one.”
“That isn’t an answer.”
“It is the only answer you’re getting tonight.” He set the frame face-down on his desk.
The casualness of the gesture ignited something reckless inside her. Aria crossed the room, grabbed the frame again, and pressed it against her chest. “You don’t get to keep this.”
“It belongs to me.”
“It’s a picture of my mother and me.”
“Taken by my investigator and purchased by my company.”
“You purchased a piece of my life without my knowledge.”
Damien’s gaze hardened. “You will find that ownership is rarely determined by fairness.”
“Then take it from me.”
Silence fell over the room.
Aria had issued the challenge before recognizing the danger in it. Damien pushed away from the desk and crossed the small space slowly, giving her ample time to retreat. She didn’t move an inch. Her lower back met the edge of his mahogany desk as he stopped directly in front of her.
“Give it to me,” he said softly.
“No.”
“You entered a secured room after being explicitly told not to.”
“You designed a bedroom suite for me three weeks before we ever met.”
“Those are separate matters.”
“Not to me.”
His gaze dropped to the frame pressed tightly against her chest. One sharp metal corner rested right above her racing heart.
“Your pulse is visible,” he noted.
“I’m angry.”
“You’re frightened.”
“Of discovering what kind of monster I agreed to marry.”
“You knew what I was when you signed.”
“I knew you were controlling. I didn’t know you were obsessed.” The word changed him. Not visibly enough for anyone else to notice, but Aria was close enough to see the slight dilation of his pupils and the deliberate, measured breath he drew before responding.
“Obsession implies a loss of control.”
“Is that what frightens you? Not you wanting me, but the idea of losing control because you do?”
Damien placed both hands flat on the desk, framing her on either side. He didn’t touch her, but the cage formed all the same.
“You should be very careful with questions whose answers you are not prepared to hear,” he warned softly.
Aria raised her chin. “How long?”
“I told you.”
“No. You said long enough. That photograph is fourteen months old. Were you watching me before that?”
His face went completely unreadable. That was an answer, too.
“Why me?” she whispered.
Damien looked at her as though the truth sat somewhere beneath her skin. “Your father once worked for a company my family controlled.”
Aria went rigid. “My father died when I was eight.”
“I am aware.”
“What company?”
“A Blackthorne shipping subsidiary.”
“He drove delivery trucks.”
“Among other things.”
“What other things?”
Damien straightened, stepping back. The sudden loss of his heat should have relieved her, but it didn’t. She hated that as much as she hated his lack of answers.
“That discussion will wait.”
“Until when?”
“Until I decide you are ready.”
“You don’t get to decide when I’m ready to know about my own father.”
“In this house, I decide when information becomes dangerous.”
Aria’s fingers tightened around the frame. “And you wonder why I call this place a prison.”
“Prisons do not give their occupants keys.” He reached into his pocket and placed a small, elegant gold key on the desktop beside her. “Your bedroom. The only duplicate is sealed in the security office, requiring simultaneous authorization from Lucien and Helena to access.”
Aria looked at the key, but didn’t touch it. “Is that supposed to make me trust you?”
“No. Trust is what people request when they lack evidence. I am giving you evidence.”
“While refusing to answer my questions.”
“Some truths do not become less dangerous simply because they belong to you.”
Aria hated how absolute he made everything sound. “I’m keeping the photograph.”
“For tonight.”
“Forever.”
“We will negotiate in the morning.”
“We’re getting married in the morning.”
“Those are not mutually exclusive.” He tapped his phone, unlocking the office doors.
Aria remained by the desk. “If I find out you lied to me—”
“You will.”
The sheer certainty in his voice silenced her.
Damien looked back at her over his shoulder. “Everyone lies, Aria. The difference is whether the lie was meant to protect you.”
“And your lies protect me?”
“My lies protect what belongs to me.” His gaze drifted to the copy of the contract resting on the corner of his desk. “As of tonight, that includes you.”
Aria picked up the gold key and left with the photograph. Once inside her suite, she locked her door and dragged a heavy armchair directly in front of it.
A sharp knock woke her at seven-thirty.
Aria sat upright, disoriented by the silk sheets and soaring high ceiling. For one brief second, she believed the night before had been a nightmare—until she saw the silver frame facing her on the nightstand.
Fourteen months. Maybe longer.
Another knock echoed through the room. “Who is it?”
“Helena.”
Aria pushed the armchair aside and unlocked the door. Helena stood beside a silver breakfast cart. Behind her waited three women dressed in black, each carrying leather cases.
“Your mother remains stable,” Helena reported before Aria could ask. “The night nurse reported no complications.”
Relief uncoiled tightly in her chest. “Can I call the hospital?”
“A secure tablet is on the cart. Dr. Patel expects your call.”
Aria eyed the three strangers. “And who are they?”
“Your preparation team,” Helena replied.
A red-haired woman stepped forward. “Hair and makeup. Sofia handles wardrobe, and Elise manages jewelry.”
“I don’t need a team to sign a marriage license.”
“There are reporters outside the building,” Helena said calmly.
Aria’s stomach sank. “How many?”
“More than sixty when I checked ten minutes ago.”
“How do they know?”
No one answered, which gave her the answer.
“Damien told them.”
“Mr. Blackthorne’s communications team released an official statement at six this morning.”
“Before I even woke up.”
“He did not believe you needed to be disturbed.”
Aria let out a dry laugh. “How thoughtful.”
She picked up the tablet and dialed Dr. Patel. Her mother remained sedated, but her vitals were strong. The next twelve hours would determine if the improvement held.
“Can I see her before the ceremony?” Aria asked.
Dr. Patel hesitated over the line. “The medical wing is surrounded by press, Aria. Mr. Blackthorne recommended restricting visitors until security controls the perimeter.”
Recommended. Aria was learning what that word meant when attached to Damien’s name.
“I’m her daughter.” The words were beginning to lose their meaning, she could feel it.
“You can visit immediately after the ceremony. She will likely remain unconscious until then anyway.”
Aria ended the call to find Damien standing in her doorway. No one had announced his arrival.
He wore a tailored black suit and a crisp white shirt, unbuttoned at the collar without a tie. His gaze moved past her to the armchair beside the door.
“Furniture is an inefficient security mechanism,” he noted.
“It warned me if someone tried to break in.”
“Did anyone?”
“No.”
“Then the lock worked.” She tried very hard to not roll her eyes and tried again with a new tactic.
“You released news of our marriage to the press.”
“Our upcoming wedding.”
“We aren’t married yet.” Aria reminded him coldly.
“By the time the financial markets open, we will be.”
“Is everything about business to you?”
“No.” His gray eyes settled on her. “Business is simpler.”
The preparation team went dead silent behind her.
Aria folded her arms over the sleep shirt his personal shopper had provided. “I want to see my mother first.”
“The press is blocking the main entrance.”
“You own the building. Use a private exit.”
“The ceremony cannot be delayed.”
“Why?”
“Because my grandfather moved the succession board meeting to noon.”
“And if we aren’t married by then?”
“Control of Blackthorne Global passes to my uncle Victor.”
There it was—the first glimpse of his desperation.
“You could lose your company,” she said.
“My company is the least of what I could lose.”
“What else?”
“Get dressed,” he commanded flatly.
“Another truth I’m not ready for?”
Damien’s jaw tightened. “Nine-thirty. Do not make me come back here for you.” He turned to leave.
“Damien.”
He paused.
“If you ever enter this room without my permission,” Aria said, her voice lethal, “the marriage ends. I don’t care what it costs me.”
His back remained turned to her. “Understood.”
Once he was gone, the stylists opened their cases. Sofia removed three garment bags: a structured ivory suit, a long-sleeved rose dress, and a silk white gown.
The white dress fell below the knee—deceptively simple, except for the backless silk that tapered at the waist and exposed one shoulder.
“That one,” the red-haired stylist urged.
Aria touched the silk sleeve. “Who picked this?”
The women exchanged a brief look. “Mr. Blackthorne,” Sofia admitted.
“Of course he did.” Aria turned away. “I’m wearing the suit.”
At nine twenty-seven, Aria descended the floating staircase in the structured ivory suit.
Damien waited at the bottom. His eyes swept over her slowly, making no effort to hide his disapproval. “That is not the dress selected for you.”
“I know.”
“Change.”
“No.”
Helena stood near the dining alcove, face carefully neutral. Lucien waited by the private elevator, an earpiece tucked into his ear.
Damien stepped up onto the first step. “The photographs will circulate worldwide within minutes.”
“Then the world will see me in an ivory suit.”
“The dress was chosen to coordinate with my suit.”
“I am not an accessory.”
“You agreed to maintain the appearance of a genuine marriage.”
“Genuine wives choose their own clothes.”