Married to the Enemy Billionaire

Aria wanted his blood, and she wanted it now. “You destroyed my family, ” she snapped. The words cut through the low hum of music and polite conversation, sharp enough to turn a few heads. Lucien Blackwood didn’t even flinch. He stood exactly as he had a second ago—one hand in his pocket, the other loosely holding a glass of champagne—his expression calm, almost bored, as if she had just commented on the weather instead of accusing him of ruining her life. Aria Vale felt her chest tighten. “You heard me,” she said, stepping closer. “Or do you only respond when it benefits you?” A faint pause. Then his gaze settled fully on her. Cold. Assessing. Interested. “Careful,” he said quietly. “You’re attracting attention.” She let out a short, bitter laugh. “Don't care.” Around them, the gala glittered—crystal chandeliers casting fractured light across polished marble floors, laughter echoing from clusters of elegantly dressed guests. Wealth, power, influence—it was all here. Everything her family had lost. Everything he had taken away from her. Aria straightened her shoulders, ignoring the way a few people were already whispering, their curious eyes flicking between her slightly worn dress and Lucien’s immaculate suit. “You exposed him,” she said, her voice steady despite the heat crawling up her spine. “You stood there and told the entire world my father was a fraud.” Lucien tilted his head slightly, as though considering her words. “I presented evidence,” he replied. “What the world chose to do with it was hardly my responsibility.” Her fingers curled into fists. “Don’t twist it,” she snapped. “You knew exactly what would happen. You knew what it would do to him—to us.” For a moment, something flickered in his eyes. But then it was quickly put out, like an extinguished fire. “And yet,” he said, his tone unchanged, “it happened.” The simplicity of it hit harder than any denial would have. Aria’s breath caught. Two years. Two years since that night—the flashing cameras, the headlines, the endless stream of accusations. Her father standing in front of a crowd, trying to speak, trying to defend himself— —and then the silence that followed when no one listened. When no one believed him. When he didn’t survive it. She swallowed hard, forcing the memory down before it could choke her. “You don’t get to stand there and pretend you’re innocent,” she said, her voice lower now, sharper. “You dug up whatever you needed to bury him. You destroyed his name, and when he fell, you just… walked away.” Lucien took a calm, slow sip of his drink. “If your father had nothing to hide,” he said, “there would have been nothing to find.” The words landed like a slap. A flicker of movement at the edge of her vision—security, shifting closer. Of course they were. s**t. This was his world. Not hers. “Sir—” one of them began. Lucien lifted a single finger. That was all it took. The man stopped immediately, stepping back without another word. Aria’s gaze snapped back to Lucien, something sharp and bitter twisting in her chest. Power. He didn’t even have to raise his voice. “You think this is over?” she demanded. “You think you can ruin people and just—what? Move on to the next deal?” He set his glass aside on the nearest table with quiet precision. Then he stepped closer. The distance between them disappeared in an instant. Aria stilled. Up close, he was worse—too composed, too controlled, like nothing could touch him. Like nothing ever had. “You came here tonight to confront me,” he said, his voice low enough that only she could hear. “So go on.” Her heartbeat quickened. “Answer me,” she said. “Why him?” His gaze held hers, unreadable. “Why my father?” For a moment, he said nothing. The music swelled around them. Laughter drifted in from somewhere behind her. The world carried on as if this moment didn’t exist. As if her life hadn’t shattered. Lucien’s eyes flicked briefly over her face, taking in every detail—the tension, the anger, the desperation she couldn’t quite hide. Then he leaned in, just enough for his next words to brush against her ear. “Because,” he said softly, “he was in the way.” Her breath hitched. Something cold slid down her spine. In the way. “That’s it?” she demanded, pulling back. “That’s your reason?” His expression didn’t change. “What more were you expecting?” A dozen responses fought for space in her chest, none of them enough. Around them, the whispers were louder now. People were watching, but Aria barely noticed.Right now, all she could see was him. All she could hear was the echo of that night—the accusations, the headlines, the silence that followed. “You took everything from us,” she said, her voice trembling now despite her efforts. “Our home. Our name. My sister—do you even know what she went through because of you?” Lucien’s gaze sharpened slightly at that. Just slightly. He said something not cruel, but that didn't make them kind either. “And yet,” he said, “you’re still standing.” They were… factual. And somehow, that made them worse. Aria stepped closer again, closing what little distance remained between them. “If you think this ends here—” “It doesn’t,” he interrupted. The certainty in his voice stopped her cold. For the first time since she approached him, something shifted. Lucien studied her for a long moment, as if reassessing something he had already decided. Then, slowly, deliberately, he reached out and brushed an invisible speck of dust from her sleeve. The gesture was intimate in a way, as if he was determined to unnerve her. Aria froze. “What are you doing?” she asked, her voice barely a whisper. His hand lingered for a fraction too long before dropping back to his side. “Fixing a problem,” he said. Her brows drew together. “What—” He stepped closer again. Close enough that she could feel the warmth of him, steady and unyielding. Close enough that the noise of the room seemed to fade. “Marry me,” Lucien Blackwood said quietly. Her mind went blank. For a second, she thought she had misheard him. “What?” His gaze didn’t waver. “Marry me,” he repeated, just as calm, just as certain. “And I’ll give you everything back.” Everything. Aria stared at him, searching his face for any sign of a joke. There was none. Only that same cold, unwavering certainty which seemed to be his trademark. “You’re insane,” she said, the words coming out weaker than she intended. “Am I?” he asked. His voice dropped slightly, threading through her thoughts like something dangerous. “Or are you desperate enough to consider it?” Her pulse pounded in her ears. He wasn’t wrong. That was the worst part of it all. Lucien straightened, the distance between them returning just enough for the reality of the gala and the rest of the world to rush back in: the music, the lights, the curious eyes of people still watching this interaction. “I’ll give you time to think,” he said. “I don’t need time,” she managed, weakly. “My answer is no.” But something flashed through his eyes. Not disappointment. Expectation, as if he had known she was going to say exactly that. “We’ll see,” he said. Then he picked up his glass, as if nothing had happened at all.