THE GALA TRIP
979 Words
The dress was blood red.
Silk. Backless. A slit up to her thigh that made her feel bare and on display. She hated it. Which, of course, meant Damien loved it.
“This will make headlines,” he said from behind as she stared at herself in the mirror. “Red suits you. Like danger.”
Aria met his eyes in the reflection. “Is that what I am to you?”
His lips twitched. “You’re my wife. And tonight, you’ll act like it.”
She turned to face him. “And if I don’t?”
He stepped closer, his fingers brushing a stray curl from her cheek.
“Then I’ll remind you of the contract,” he murmured. “Clause 6: Full cooperation in all public matters, including appearances, statements, and social expectations.”
She swallowed. “So I’m your showpiece.”
“You’re my partner,” he corrected. “At least, that’s the lie we’re selling.”
The gala was held at the Blackwood Grand Hotel — a glittering skyscraper Damien’s family had owned for generations. The lobby alone dripped with crystal chandeliers, gold columns, and velvet carpets.
Cameras flashed the moment they stepped out of the car.
Damien didn’t flinch.
He held her hand firmly, possessively, and pulled her to his side like she was an extension of him — not a woman, but a role.
“The Blackwoods arrive!” someone called.
Reporters barked questions:
“Mr. Blackwood, when did you get married?”
“Is she pregnant?”
“Is this a merger marriage?”
“Will she be joining the board?”
Aria blinked at the barrage of flashes, her grip tightening on Damien’s arm.
He leaned down, voice cool and amused. “Smile for the vultures, sweetheart.”
So she did.
They entered the ballroom and were immediately swallowed by opulence — sweeping staircases, live violinists, and a crowd of New York’s richest, dressed to kill.
Aria had never felt more out of place.
She tried to walk tall, to look unfazed, but she could feel their eyes — cold, calculating. Women in couture whispered behind champagne glasses. Men smirked like they knew something she didn’t.
“She looks so… ordinary.”
“Where did he even find her?”
“Must be good in bed.”
Damien led her to the center of the room.
A waiter approached with champagne, and she reached for a glass, but Damien gently stopped her.
“No drinking,” he said under his breath. “Not tonight.”
“Why not?”
He didn’t answer.
Instead, he nodded toward a silver-haired man surrounded by cameras. “Time to meet my godfather.”
Arthur Vale was the chairman of a rival empire — Vale Industries — and one of the few people Damien seemed to respect. He shook Damien’s hand and turned to Aria.
“So you’re the infamous bride,” Arthur said, eyes sharp behind his glasses.
Aria smiled politely. “Infamous already?”
“In Damien’s world,” he replied, “everything comes with a price. Including affection.”
She didn’t know how to respond. Thankfully, he moved on.
They met politicians. Board members. Fashion executives. Each encounter blurred into the next. Damien’s grip on her waist never loosened, like he feared she’d run.
Then she saw her.
Tall. Blonde. Stunning in black sequins. She glided toward them like a queen.
“Aria,” Damien said tightly. “This is Juliette Langford.”
His ex.
The one who broke the engagement. The one his mother still called “the perfect match.”
Juliette smiled like a snake in silk. “So this is the wife?”
Aria forced a smile. “Nice to meet you.”
“I must say, you’re braver than I thought,” Juliette said smoothly. “Not many women could handle Damien.”
“He’s not as terrifying as people say.”
Juliette’s eyes glittered. “Give it time.”
Damien stepped in. “Enough, Juliette.”
But the damage was done.
Juliette walked away, hips swaying like victory.
Aria looked up at Damien. “Do all your exes hate me?”
He glanced down, eyes unreadable. “Only the ones that regret leaving.”
Later, she slipped into the bathroom to breathe.
The silence was bliss.
She leaned against the marble counter and stared at her reflection. The red dress. The fake smile. The perfect wife.
Who am I becoming?
She splashed water on her wrists, trying to cool the burn beneath her skin.
“Not used to the spotlight?”
The voice behind her was low, male, and unfamiliar.
She turned slowly to find a man leaning casually against the wall — early thirties, dark suit, sharper smirk.
“I’m sorry, this is the ladies’ room.”
He smiled. “Forgive me. I was curious. You’re quite the mystery tonight.”
Her eyes narrowed. “Who are you?”
“A friend,” he said smoothly. “Let’s just say I’ve been watching the Blackwoods for a long time. And you, dear wife, are the newest piece on the board.”
She moved toward the door, heart ticking faster. “Stay away from me.”
He tilted his head. “Tell Damien to watch his back. Not all enemies wear masks.”
Then he was gone.
When she returned to Damien, her skin still tingled.
He looked at her sharply. “Where did you go?”
“Bathroom.”
His eyes narrowed. “Alone?”
She hesitated — and that was enough.
“You’re not to wander off again,” he said darkly. “You’re mine, Aria. I protect what’s mine.”
“I’m not your property,” she snapped, voice low.
But Damien only leaned in, eyes burning.
“You’re right,” he whispered. “You’re much more dangerous than that.”
END OF CHAPTER THEE
- Writer
