The Billionaire's Hidden Bride.

Ariana never intended to enter the grand Westwood Charity Gala. Dressed in a donated gown and clutching a basket of unsold roses, she was only trying to deliver flowers to a sick girl whose mother worked as a cleaner inside the hotel. But when security mistook her for a young royal guest from a partnering foundation, Ariana was ushered in like a queen. Inside, Damien Westwood noticed her instantly—not because of her beauty, but because of the vulnerability in her eyes. She didn’t fit in, and yet, she owned the room. When Ariana accidentally spilled champagne on a CEO's wife and bravely stood up for herself, Damien offered her a hand—and unknowingly, a way into his world. And his heart. The grand chandelier above her glittered like a thousand stars, each crystal refracting light that danced across the marble floor. Ariana had never seen such luxury in her life. She clutched her small, slightly worn clutch bag tightly and tried to blend in, walking slowly, unsure of each step she took. Her mission had been simple: deliver a bouquet to Mrs. Hargrove, a kind nurse who worked at the hotel part-time. But the moment Ariana stepped through the side entrance, a man in a headset mistook her for someone important and ushered her straight into the gala hall before she could object. “Miss Cruz, I presume?” he’d said, clipboard in hand, eyes scanning the guest list. “You’re late. Come this way—everyone’s been waiting.” Before she could correct him, he’d swept her into the world of silken gowns, expensive perfumes, and champagne towers. Now, she stood beneath golden arches and velvet drapes, staring at the tables arranged like a dream. Waiters in white gloves moved smoothly, offering hors d'oeuvres with names she couldn’t pronounce. Ariana’s mouth went dry. “What am I doing here?” she whispered to herself, heart pounding. From across the room, Damien Westwood noticed her. Tall, sharp-suited, and commanding, Damien was used to people melting under his gaze—or fawning for his attention. But not this girl. Her gown was beautiful, yes, but her posture gave her away—unsure, too stiff, like a bird in a cage made of diamonds. And those eyes—large, dark, and shining with something he hadn’t seen in years. Not greed. Not flirtation. Fear. His interest was piqued. “Who is she?” he asked, voice low as he leaned toward his assistant, Ava. Ava glanced at the girl. “We were told she’s with the Princess Lia foundation. New donor. Low profile.” Damien’s jaw tightened. “She’s not.” He moved. Meanwhile, Ariana tried to make a beeline for the exit without drawing attention, but it was too late. A clumsy waiter tripped nearby, launching a cascade of champagne flutes straight at her. In a panic, she ducked—but not before the golden liquid splashed across the neckline of the woman beside her. “Oh my God!” the woman shrieked. “This peasant ruined my dress!” Laughter and whispers erupted around the room. Ariana froze, humiliated. “I’m so sorry! I didn’t mean—he just tripped—” Ariana tried to explain, her cheeks burning. The woman scoffed. “You don’t belong here.” Suddenly, a deep voice cut through the tension. “She belongs wherever I say she does.” Gasps followed. Ariana turned to see Damien Westwood standing behind her, his hand extended. He looked like a prince—no, a king—with the presence of someone who owned every room he walked into. And he was looking at her as if she were the only one that mattered. “I believe you owe my fiancée an apology,” he said coldly to the stunned woman, whose face turned pale. Ariana blinked. Fiancée? Damien leaned in close, whispering so only she could hear, “Play along.” Her mouth parted, stunned. She stared at him, heart thumping like wild thunder. Why was he doing this? But something in his eyes—steel layered over warmth—made her nod. And just like that, Ariana Cruz, flower vendor from Eastside, became the mysterious bride-to-be of Damien Westwood. Absolutely! Here's the remainder of Chapter One of The Billionaire’s Hidden Bride: Ariana’s fingers hesitated just above Damien’s outstretched hand. Time felt frozen, the entire ballroom holding its breath as high society watched the scene unfold. Her instincts screamed to run—but her pride held her still. She slid her hand into his. It was warm. Firm. Steady. Unlike the chaos swirling inside her. Damien turned back to the horrified woman. “You’ll find a better use for your energy elsewhere,” he said smoothly, his voice all velvet and venom. “I suggest dry cleaning.” The woman blinked, mortified, then stormed off, muttering under her breath about imposters and insanity. The tension in the room slowly dissolved, replaced by a new wave of whispers—ones filled with curiosity, speculation, and admiration. Damien Westwood, the city’s most elusive bachelor, had not only attended the gala… but brought a woman. And claimed her as his fiancée. Ariana glanced up at him. “What just happened?” He gave a small, practiced smile as he gently led her toward a quieter corner of the ballroom. “I saved you from public humiliation.” “You dragged me into a bigger mess!” she hissed under her breath, trying to keep her voice low. “I’m not your fiancée—I’m not even supposed to be here!” Damien raised a brow. “And yet you’re wearing a dress meant for a gala, walking into a five-star hotel’s elite charity event. Someone clearly mistook you for a guest.” “I was delivering flowers,” she snapped, yanking her hand away. “That’s it. And now people think I’m engaged to… to you?” He smiled slightly, as if amused by her outrage. “Could be worse. I’m rich, charming, and extremely photogenic.” Ariana narrowed her eyes, heat rising to her cheeks. “You’re unbelievable.” “Correct.” He leaned closer, voice dropping. “And you’re interesting. Do you have any idea how rare that is in a room full of people who rehearse their personalities in mirrors?” Her breath caught. Not because of his compliment—but because something about him felt dangerous. Not in the way of harm—but of unraveling. “Why did you really say I was your fiancée?” she asked, searching his eyes. Damien’s expression shifted. The teasing mask slipped just slightly. “Let’s just say I needed a distraction—and tonight, you looked like the perfect one.” Ariana pulled back. “I’m not some toy you pick up at a gala.” “No, you’re not,” he replied, studying her. “That’s why I’m making you an offer.” “An… offer?” she repeated warily. “Dinner,” he said with a shrug. “One dinner. One night. You ask your questions. I’ll ask mine. And if at the end of it you decide this isn’t your world—you walk away.” She laughed dryly. “And if I say no now?” He gave her a look so confident, it bordered on arrogant. “Then you’ll still be on the front page tomorrow. Fiancée of billionaire Damien Westwood—mystery woman from nowhere.” Ariana groaned. “You’re blackmailing me.” He leaned in with a glint in his eye. “I’m offering you the only way to control the narrative.” Ariana sighed, heart pounding. Her world had gone from flower petals to high heels and paparazzi in under ten minutes. How did this even happen? Still, she lifted her chin. “One dinner. That’s it.” Damien’s smile widened. “Excellent. I’ll send a car.” He walked away as effortlessly as he’d entered her life—leaving Ariana standing there, breathless, confused, and utterly tangled in a future she hadn’t seen coming.