Chapter 7: Secrets Beneath Silk Sheets
744 Words
The penthouse was too quiet.
The city glowed beyond the floor-to-ceiling windows, but inside, the air felt heavy—like something unspoken lingered between the walls. Aria stepped out of the elevator, heels clicking on marble, gown trailing behind her like a flame.
Dominic followed in silence, loosening his tie. He didn’t speak. Didn’t look at her.
Neither of them had said a word since the car ride.
Aria walked straight to the kitchen, opened the fridge, and pulled out a bottle of white wine. She poured herself a glass—no ceremony, no grace—and leaned against the island.
Dominic watched from the doorway, his tux jacket now draped over one arm.
“You hate wine,” he said quietly.
“Tonight, I hate a lot of things,” she replied, taking a sip.
He walked past her, toward the living room, his movements slow. Careful. Like he wasn’t sure what version of her he was walking into.
“Charlotte didn’t matter,” he said finally.
Aria turned her head. “Then why did she get to you so badly?”
“She didn’t.” His voice was cool. Controlled. “I just didn’t expect her to show up. Let alone try to… rattle you.”
“Well, she did. But not for the reason you think.” Aria set her glass down with a soft clink. “It wasn’t jealousy. It was how she talked to me—like I was another thing you owned. Another decoration.”
Dominic said nothing.
She stepped toward him, barefoot now, her gown whispering across the floors. “You say this is a deal. A performance. Fine. But if I’m going to keep playing your fiancée in public, then you better start treating me like a person in private.”
His gaze was unreadable, but she saw the tension in his jaw.
“I never meant to dehumanize you.”
“But you have. You give orders. You move me around like I’m a chess piece. You think money fixes everything—but it doesn’t fix this.”
“You knew what you signed up for.”
“I signed up for survival,” she snapped. “Not submission.”
Silence. Then:
“Then stop acting like you don’t have power,” Dominic said, stepping closer. “You walk into rooms and own them. You throw back words like daggers. You wear fire like it was made for you. If anyone in this arrangement has the upper hand, Aria—it's you.”
His voice had dropped to something low and dangerous. Her breath caught.
“And yet,” she said softly, “I sleep in a guest room. I know nothing about you. You build this fortress of ice and then act surprised when I can’t see through it.”
He stepped even closer. Close enough that she could feel the heat of him under his expensive suit. His eyes, stormy and gray, locked on hers.
“You want the truth?” he asked.
Aria didn’t flinch. “Always.”
He reached into the inside pocket of his tux and pulled out a photo. Worn, creased. He handed it to her.
A little boy. Pale, serious-eyed, holding the hand of a woman who looked exhausted. Her smile strained. Her arms thin.
“My mother,” Dominic said. “And me.”
Aria looked up. “She looks… tired.”
“She was. My father disappeared when I was five. Left us with nothing but debt and reputation. My mother worked three jobs. Then cancer. She hid it until it was too late.”
Aria’s heart ached. “I’m so sorry.”
“She made me promise something before she died. She said: ‘Never let the world see you break. Make your name mean something better.’”
“And you did,” Aria whispered. “But at what cost?”
He took the photo back, slid it into his wallet. “At every cost.”
The vulnerability passed like a shadow. Dominic straightened, stepped back.
“Goodnight, Aria.”
She watched him walk away, disappearing into his bedroom, door clicking shut behind him.
Alone in the golden glow of the kitchen, Aria poured another glass of wine.
Maybe the silk sheets weren’t the only luxury that came with secrets.
Maybe the man behind the empire was more fractured than he let on.
And maybe—just maybe—Aria wasn’t the only one pretending.
- Writer
