Wild Love, Tamed Hearts

Chapter 3 :The Devil in Lace

"ARIA."

The voice sliced through the room like a guillotine.

Aria groaned and buried herself deeper into her blankets, one leg sticking out from beneath the silk like a warning flag of defeat. The

sunlight was cruel. The audacity of the morning was criminal. And the woman standing at her door?

Unforgivable.

"Get. Up." Selene's heels clicked against the marble floors like a countdown to execution.

Aria didn't move. "No. I'm asleep. Tell the world I died tragically in my sleep and request my funeral playlist be all Beyoncé

ballads."

Selene yanked the curtains open with the finesse of someone absolutely done with her sister's dramatics. Light flooded the room in

ruthless gold.

Aria hissed like a vampire. "I liked you better in Tokyo."

"And I liked you better when you acted like an adult," Selene snapped, marching across the room and yanking the covers off Aria's

body with military precision.

Aria screamed. "I'm in my underwear!"

"I've seen worse. Get. Dressed."

"Why?" Aria flopped dramatically onto her stomach. "What's the point? I've already peaked. Ciel Bleu was perfection. Let me retire

into luxury and madness in peace."

Selene tossed something heavy onto the bed.

Aria peeked through her fingers.

It was... a dress.

But not just any dress.

A pastel, lace-drenched, sleeved monstrosity with a high neck and buttons.

Aria sat up like she'd been tasered.

"No."

"Yes," Selene said firmly, arms crossed. "There's a charity event tonight. You promised Dupont. And you're wearing that."

Aria stared at it like it had personally betrayed her. "Is it... modest?"

"Yes."

"Is it... prim?"

"Yes."

"Is it—" Aria lowered her voice in horror, "—wholesome?"

Selene's mouth twitched. "You need to remind people you have range beyond slits, leather, and war crimes."

"I am a war crime!" Aria wailed, shoving the dress away from her like it burned.

Selene rolled her eyes. "You're wearing it."

Aria folded her arms. "I'd rather wear crocs and a bathrobe."

Selene leaned forward, voice calm and lethal. "If you don't wear it, I will post the photo of you drunk-dancing to 'WAP' on Maya's

birthday. The one where your heel broke and you used a baguette as a microphone."

Silence.

Aria blinked. "That's... blackmail."

"It's called motivation," Selene said sweetly.

Defeated, Aria picked up the dress with two fingers like it might infect her. "You're lucky I'm too exhausted to fight you properly."

"You're lucky I'm not dragging you out in your underwear."

"Tempting," Aria muttered, already plotting how to sabotage the look with dramatic eyeliner and a slit no one approved.

As Selene left the room victorious, Aria flopped onto the bed again, the pastel abomination draped over her.

"I hope this dress spontaneously combusts," she muttered to herself.

The soft click of heels echoed on the marble stairs. Maya glanced up from the hallway mirror, halfway through curling her hair.

Selene didn't need to look. She already knew the storm she'd unleashed.

And then—

Aria appeared.

Descending the grand staircase like a ghost at her own funeral, draped in soft pastel lace and misery. Her lips were unsmiling, her brows thunder clouded, and her eyes... dead. She looked like someone had stripped her of all sins and replaced them with virtue against her will.

Lucas and Adrian, fresh from the car, stepped inside just in time to witness the moment and froze. Lucas blinked. Adrian's mouth

dropped open. Aria reached the bottom step, stood still like a martyr awaiting sacrifice, and glared at them.

Lucas leaned over, whispering to Adrian, "Is she okay? Did someone die?"

Adrian squinted. "I think someone did. Her spirit." Maya burst into laughter.

Selene didn't flinch. "She's fine." Adrian turned to her, eyes narrowed. "What did you do?"

Selene sipped her espresso. "She's wearing a dress."

Adrian looked back at Aria. The high collar. The long sleeves. The delicate pearl buttons. The suffocating modesty.

"...You made Aria wear that?" he said, half-choked. Aria didn't blink.

"I want you to know," she said quietly, turning to Selene with slow, simmering venom, "if I die tonight, it's on you. And this dress."

Selene arched a brow. "You look like a respectable woman."

"I look like I belong in a 1920s church sermon," Aria snapped. "I feel like I've been exorcised."

Lucas was still staring. "I've never seen her like this," he said in awe. "She's not even flirting. Or plotting murder."

"I am plotting murder," Aria muttered. "I'm just too emotionally drained to commit it."

Maya doubled over, wheezing. "Oh my god. This is the best thing I've ever seen. Can we take a picture?"

"No." Aria deadpanned. "No evidence. If I'm going down, I'm dragging Selene with me." Selene just stepped forward, brushing

imaginary lint off Aria's shoulder. "You'll survive. And you'll thank me when the press calls you 'elegantly reformed.'"

"I don't want to be reformed," Aria said, shuffling toward the door like a reluctant prisoner. "I want to be sinful and slay."

"Later," Selene said calmly. "Tonight, you're going to look like a goddamn angel." Adrian leaned closer to Lucas and whispered,

"This feels illegal." Lucas nodded. "If she combusts mid-event, I'm blaming Selene."

They followed the girls out into the car, Aria still pouting like a cursed goddess draped in modesty.

The car ride was filled with chatter, music, and laughter. Except in the farthest corner of the backseat, where Aria Bennett sat in quiet, elegant rage. She fiddled with the lace collar of her dress, glaring at it like it had personally insulted her ancestors.

Her fingers itched to unbutton the top two buttons. Maybe untuck one side. Pull her hair loose. Throw on a leather jacket. Anything.

She shifted, reaching for the safety pin she'd secretly hidden in her purse— "Don't even think about it."

Selene's voice cut across the car like a sniper shot. Aria froze mid-sabotage, eyes wide like a kid caught stealing candy. Selene, seated beside her like a regal executioner, didn't even look away from her tablet. "Hands where I can see them." Lucas chuckled from the passenger seat. "This feels like a hostage situation."

"It is," Aria hissed. "I'm being held against my will in satin and shame."

"Bet she doesn't last an hour," Maya whispered gleefully to Lucas. Lucas raised a brow. "Twenty minutes. Tops."

"I can hear you," Aria muttered, crossing her arms and slumping against the seat.

"Good," Maya said sweetly. "We want you to suffer with us, not in silence."

The car pulled up in front of the venue, lights flashing from inside the glass-covered entrance. Paparazzi lingered at a respectful

distance — just far enough to blur the names and focus only on the fashion.

The doors opened. Selene stepped out first — icy and commanding in a sculpted black gown.

Maya followed, radiant in jewel tones, practically dragging Lucas by the arm.

Adrian stood by the car, looking back toward the door.

And then — Aria emerged.

Selene had fixed her in the last few minutes. Tightened the buttons. Smoothed her hair into a soft chignon. Wiped the eyeliner Aria

had tried to sneak in.

She looked...

Sweet.

Gentle.

Respectable.

Everything Aria wasn't.

She stepped onto the carpet, plastering on a soft, serene smile that made her want to punch a mirror.

Heads turned.

People whispered.

But not the usual Is that Aria Bennett? whispers.

This was a different kind of gaze.

Polite. Impressed. Distant.

Not the heat she was used to commanding — not fire, but flowers.

Aria hated it.

Inside the ballroom, glittering with crystal chandeliers and tasteful gold trim, Selene was already steering her like a prized horse on

display.

"Smile," Selene murmured at her side.

"I am smiling," Aria said through clenched teeth.

"Smile like you're not planning my murder."

"Too late."

Maya and Lucas stayed back, whispering like giddy devils at a masquerade.

"She hasn't snapped yet," Maya whispered.

Lucas shook his head. "No heels thrown. No champagne poured down someone's pants. I'm worried."

Aria could feel it all — the tension buzzing under her skin like electricity with no outlet.

Aria could feel it all — the tension buzzing under her skin like electricity with no outlet.

The music faded.

The lights dimmed.

A hush fell over the ballroom as a spotlight cut across the stage, illuminating a tall man in a pristine white tux, holding a champagne

flute like it was a mic.

Maurice Dupont.

"Mesdames et messieurs," he began with a practiced smile. "Welcome to La Soirée de Flamme — an evening to celebrate passion,

precision, and the people behind the plate."

Aria's stomach dropped.

She turned toward Selene. "Now's my chance," she whispered, already taking a subtle step back.

But Selene, not missing a beat, slid her arm through Aria's and locked it tight.

"Oh, no you don't."

Aria hissed. "Let go."

"Smile," Selene replied through her teeth, still clapping along with the crowd. "Or I'll step on your foot in these heels."

Dupont's voice rolled over them like velvet and smoke. "We are honored tonight by the presence of so many brilliant minds —

legends of flavor and rising stars alike. And of course, our most daring firebrand, the culinary cyclone herself..."

Aria closed her eyes.

Please don't.

"...Miss Aria Bennett."

Applause. Flashbulbs. A camera zoomed in.

Aria opened her eyes to see herself on the massive LED screen above the stage — caught mid-smolder, her fake smile flickering like

a glitching hologram.

Selene gave her arm one final squeeze. "If you run, I swear to god I will drag you by your bun."

Then Dupont dropped the bomb.

"And now, a few words from our brightest star. Aria, darling — come join me."

Aria froze.

Selene nudged her forward like a handler pushing a show dog.

The ballroom parted as Aria stalked to the stage — past tables and eyes and murmurs, head held high like a queen sentenced to

execution.

She climbed the steps.

Took the mic.

Stared out at the glittering crowd.

Then smiled — the kind of smile that could cut glass.

"Thank you, Dupont," she said smoothly, voice sugar-laced poison. "For that utterly spontaneous invitation."

Laughter rippled.

Aria scanned the crowd. "What a lovely evening. A room full of elegance, influence, and far too many sequins."

More laughter.

She tilted her head slightly. "I was told there would be wine and very little talking. Clearly, I was lied to."

She let the laughter fade, then leveled her tone. "But in all seriousness... it's a privilege to be here, even if I was tricked into dressing

like a pastel cupcake."

Gasps. Giggles.

"Food is the one language we all speak — rich or poor, loud or quiet, broken or brave. I cook because it's the only way I know how to survive. And tonight... I'm just grateful no one's asked me to bake cookies and behave."

One final smirk.

Then she handed the mic back to Dupont with a bow so graceful it could only be read as sarcastic.

Applause roared.

And somewhere, deep in the crowd, someone clapped slower.

Intentional.

Measured.

Watching her like she was already his.

Leon Wu.

The applause was still fading when Dupont, ever the showman, lifted his glass again.

"And now," he purred into the mic, "to the most anticipated part of our evening — our charity experience auction. Exclusive

offerings from tonight's finest talents. Private concerts, luxury retreats... and, of course, something truly decadent for our food

lovers."

Aria narrowed her eyes.

No.

No, no, no.

A spotlight shifted — straight to her.

"Introducing our final item: An intimate, five-course dining experience personally prepared by none other than Aria Bennett herself."

The crowd gasped.

Aria's jaw dropped.

Selene sipped her champagne with all the calm of a woman who'd orchestrated the entire thing.

"Selene," Aria whispered, frozen in her seat. "Tell me you didn't."

Selene didn't even look at her. "It's for a good cause."

"I am the cause."

Dupont smiled brightly. "Bidding starts at fifty thousand."

Aria looked around. "This is human trafficking."

Lucas leaned over to Maya. "I bet she spikes the wine with ghost pepper."

Maya whispered back, "I'd pay just to watch that dinner."

The paddles shot up instantly.

"Sixty!"

"Eighty!"

"One hundred thousand!"

Aria clutched her chair. "What kind of billionaires are in this room?"

Selene smiled. "The generous kind."

Adrian muttered, "The suicidal kind."

The numbers climbed.

One-fifty.

One-seventy-five.

Aria was one step away from flipping the table when Dupont raised a hand.

"Final bid... Two hundred thousand."

Silence.

Then—

"I'll raise to three hundred."

A voice from the back.

Calm. Steady. Laced with something dangerous.

Aria's heart dropped into her heels.

Because she knew that voice.

Every syllable.

The crowd turned.

Leon Wu.

Standing tall in a midnight-black tux, the very picture of wealth and ruin, one hand casually raised, the other in his pocket.

His gaze locked onto Aria — calm, unreadable.

"I believe she's worth it," he said.

Gasps rippled across the room.

Aria felt her skin catch fire.

"Going once," Dupont grinned, absolutely loving the drama. "Going twice..."

"Sold."

Applause erupted again.

Aria didn't clap.

She was too busy imagining how many ways she could kill Selene with a butter knife.

The music shifted.

Strings swelled as the lights dimmed, chandeliers casting golden halos across the marble floor. Waiters slipped between tables like

ghosts, and couples began to rise — the dance floor filling with gowns, tuxedos, and camera flashes.

Aria sat rigid at the edge of the table, champagne untouched, fury barely masked beneath a porcelain smile.

Her name was still echoing across the room.

Three hundred thousand.

Sold.

To Leon Wu.

She hadn't looked in his direction since.

Not once.

Because if she did — if she really did — she'd unravel. Or combust. Or say something she'd regret.

Then, of course, the betrayal came.

"Care to dance?" Adrian asked, holding out his hand to Selene.

Selene, smug and radiant, placed her fingers delicately into his. "Don't spill wine on me this time."

"Oh, sweetheart," he grinned. "That was foreplay."

They drifted toward the floor, laughing like a Dior campaign.

Then Lucas turned to Maya, cocky as ever. "You, me, ten out of ten chemistry. Let's go."

Maya snorted but let herself be led, shooting Aria an apologetic look as she mouthed, sorry.

And just like that — Aria was alone.

Left in her modest dress, glaring at a champagne flute like it owed her money.

She scanned the room.

No Selene. No Maya. No Selene's death grip on her arm.

Now.

Without hesitation, Aria stood — graceful, fluid, every inch the reformed goddess they thought she was — and walked straight past

the dancers, weaving between tables with quiet purpose.

No one noticed her slip down the hallway.

Not yet.

Not until she found the guest bathroom.

Scene: Alteration in the Powder Room – The Real Aria Returns

The second the door shut behind her, Aria exhaled like she'd just finished a war.

Then she got to work.

Off came the hairpins — her soft chignon collapsing in waves over her bare shoulders.

Next, she unfastened the top three buttons of the dress with vicious precision.

Then — she hiked the hem up and tore open the discreet seam on the side, revealing just enough leg to reclaim her power.

She rummaged through her clutch and found what she'd hidden earlier — a kohl pencil and a matte lipstick.

Red. Dangerous red.

The mirror caught the change instantly.

Gone was the polite debutante in satin.

Aria Bennett was back.

And if Leon Wu wanted to buy a dinner with her?

He'd better pray he could swallow fire.

The music had shifted again — slower, sultrier now, as the couples twirled under chandeliers like something out of a magazine

spread.

And then...

She came back.

From the far end of the ballroom, Aria stepped through the gilded archway — no escort, no apology, no hesitation.

But she wasn't the same girl who had left.

Her hair now cascaded freely down her back in rich waves, framing her face like a halo with bite. The high neck of her gown had been undone just enough to hint at sin, the once demure hem now slit high along one thigh. Her lipstick — a dark, commanding red — announced her before she even spoke.

And speak she did.

Not to Leon.

Never to Leon.

He spotted her instantly. Of course he did. Mid-conversation, his words stalled. His eyes followed her like gravity — wide, stunned,

and burning. But Aria didn't even glance his way.

Because Leon Wu, global heartthrob or not, was no longer the center of her story.

He was background.

Instead, Aria walked straight to a group of suited men lingering near the bar, their attention snapping toward her like moths to fire.

One leaned in, smiling. She leaned closer.

The flirtation was effortless.

A hand on an arm. A soft laugh. That razor-sharp glint in her eyes that said she knew exactly what she was doing — and exactly who

was watching.

From the dance floor, Selene saw her first — her wine glass paused halfway to her lips.

"Oh no," she muttered.

Adrian followed her gaze. "Oh yes."

Lucas choked on his drink. "She just flipped the entire vibe of this party in ten seconds."

Maya smirked, clinging to Lucas's arm. "I give it five minutes before someone proposes."

Across the room, Leon was still frozen.

His date — some willowy actress in silver — touched his arm to reclaim his attention.

But he didn't move.

Because Aria had just smiled at another man.

And he was not smiling back.