Chapter Three: When The World Watches
1085 Words
Aria woke slowly, caught between sleep and awareness, her body heavy beneath sheets that felt too soft to be real.
For a few seconds, she didn’t remember where she was.
Then it all came rushing back.
The penthouse.
The contract.
The lie.
Dominic Blackwood.
Her eyes opened to pale morning light spilling across the ceiling. The room was quiet, unnaturally so, insulated from the city’s noise like a fortress suspended above the world. She turned her head slightly, taking in the unfamiliar space. The muted elegance. The faint scent of something expensive lingering in the air.
This wasn’t her life.
She sat up slowly, pushing the covers aside, her bare feet touching cool marble as she stood. The room looked untouched, as if no one had ever truly lived here. It felt like a guest room prepared for someone important but temporary.
Just like her.
She crossed to the balcony and slid the glass door open. The city greeted her instantly, distant traffic, muted horns, the hum of millions of lives moving without pause. She wrapped her arms around herself, breathing in the crisp morning air, grounding herself.
Somewhere behind these buildings was her old apartment. Her old routine. The version of herself who didn’t belong to a billionaire.
Her phone vibrated on the bedside table.
She already knew who it was.
Dominic: Breakfast in fifteen minutes. Dining area.
No good morning.
No question if she was awake.
Just instruction.
Her lips pressed together as she set the phone down. Annoyance flared, sharp and instinctive, but beneath it was something else. Awareness. The knowledge that he was already awake, already in control, already moving through the day as if she had simply slotted into his schedule.
She dressed carefully, slower than necessary. She chose a pale silk blouse and a fitted skirt that hugged her hips, heels she wasn’t used to wearing this early in the day. When she caught her reflection in the mirror, she barely recognised herself.
She looked like she belonged here.
That unsettled her more than anything.
The dining area was flooded with sunlight when she entered. The table was set immaculately, breakfast laid out with precision. Dominic stood near the counter, jacket gone, sleeves rolled up, dark hair slightly disordered as if he’d run a hand through it more than once.
He looked… human.
The thought surprised her.
“You sleep well?” he asked, not looking at her.
“Yes,” she lied.
He glanced up, eyes flicking to her face. He held her gaze for a second longer than necessary, then nodded slightly.
“Good.”
They ate in silence at first. The kind that wasn’t comfortable but wasn’t hostile either. It was cautious. Measured. As if both of them were testing how much space they could occupy without colliding.
“You have an appearance tonight,” Dominic said eventually. “Charity gala. Black tie. Investors will be there.”
Aria paused mid-bite. “Already?”
“Yes.”
“Do I get a say in this schedule?” she asked.
“You agreed to be visible,” he replied calmly. “Visibility requires presence.”
She exhaled slowly. “And what exactly do you need from me?”
He leaned back slightly, assessing her. “Stay close. Smile. Let me touch you when necessary.”
Her fingers tightened around her fork. “When necessary according to who?”
“According to perception,” he said. “They’ll be watching everything.”
That sent a shiver through her.
The drive to the gala was tense in a different way. The city blurred past the windows, lights streaking across the glass as night fell. The car was quiet except for the low hum of the engine. Dominic sat beside her, close enough that their knees brushed occasionally.
Every time it happened, she noticed.
Every time, she pretended she didn’t.
He reached across her once to fasten her seatbelt, his knuckles grazing her chest accidentally. Or maybe not accidentally at all. Her breath caught before she could stop it.
“Relax,” he murmured. “You’re doing fine.”
She turned to look at him. “You say that like I’m on display.”
“You are,” he replied simply.
The gala was overwhelming.
Lights. Music. Laughter that sounded too loud and too rehearsed. The moment they stepped inside, cameras flashed, voices calling Dominic’s name, questions already forming. His hand found her waist instantly, firm and sure, guiding her forward as if he had every right.
The touch grounded her and unsettled her at the same time.
“She’s stunning,” someone whispered as they passed.
Dominic’s fingers tightened imperceptibly.
Aria felt it.
She leaned into him, playing her role, her smile practiced, her posture perfect. People approached them in waves, congratulations spilling freely, curiosity sharp and intrusive.
“How did you meet?”
“She’s beautiful, Dominic.”
“When’s the wedding?”
Dominic answered smoothly, confidently, his voice steady, his hand never leaving her. To anyone watching, they looked effortless.
But Aria noticed everything.
The way his thumb traced small, absent-minded circles against her side.
The way his jaw tightened when men looked at her too long.
The way he angled his body, subtly shielding her.
It felt possessive.
It felt dangerous.
Then came the question he didn’t expect.
“What made you fall for her?” someone asked, smiling too brightly.
Dominic hesitated.
Just for a second.
But Aria felt it like a c***k in glass.
She looked up at him, heart pounding, and spoke before the silence could swallow them.
“He doesn’t fall easily,” she said softly, fingers curling around his arm. “But once he chooses, he doesn’t let go.”
Dominic looked down at her, something raw flickering in his eyes before it disappeared behind control.
Later, they stood on a quiet balcony overlooking the city, the noise muted behind glass doors.
“You didn’t have to do that,” he said.
“I know,” she replied. “But you needed it.”
His gaze lingered on her face. “You read me too easily.”
“Maybe you’re not as unreadable as you think.”
The space between them narrowed. The city lights reflected in his eyes, dark and intense. For a moment, she thought he might kiss her.
Instead, he stepped back.
“This ends when we get home,” he said.
But Aria knew the truth now.
This wasn’t an act anymore.
It was a slow-burning collision.
- Writer
