I Married My Ex's Boss By Mistake

Chapter 6

The Velvet Trap

The driver dropped Aayra at the penthouse, and within minutes, Zavian’s personal stylist, a sharp-featured woman named Celine, was already transforming her. The dress was a masterpiece—a midnight blue velvet gown that draped over her shoulders like a waterfall. It was modest yet screamed power.

"Mr. Valerius has a very specific taste," Celine whispered as she fastened a diamond-studded comb into Aayra’s hair. "He wants the world to know you are his, but he also wants them to be afraid to look at you for too long."

Aayra stared at herself in the mirror. The girl who used to wait for Arham’s texts in her pajamas was gone. In her place stood a woman who looked like she belonged in a palace.

By the time she reached the gala at the Ciragan Palace, the venue was buzzing. Zavian was already there, standing in the center of a circle of powerful men. When he saw her enter, he stopped mid-sentence. He walked across the ballroom, ignoring the billionaires around him, and offered her his arm.

"You're late," he murmured, but his eyes said something else. They were roaming over her with a predatory satisfaction. "But for once, it was worth the wait."

"Is Arham here?" Aayra asked, her voice trembling slightly.

Zavian gave a slow, dangerous smile. "Look to your left, at the beverage station."

Aayra looked. There he was. Arham was dressed in the uniform of the catering staff—a simple white shirt and a black vest. He was frantically pouring champagne for guests who didn't even acknowledge his existence.

"Today, his department was 'temporarily relocated' to assist with this event," Zavian whispered in her ear. "I wanted him to see you from the lowest possible vantage point."

Zavian led her straight toward the station. As they approached, Arham looked up, his face instantly draining of color. He froze, the bottle of champagne still in his hand.

"A-Aayra?" he stammered, his eyes wide as he looked at her diamonds and the man standing beside her.

Zavian’s grip on Aayra’s waist tightened. "I believe that’s 'Mrs. Valerius' to you, Arham. And since you’re here to serve, my fiancé would like a glass of your finest vintage. Don't keep her waiting."

Arham’s hands were shaking so hard the bottle clinked against the glass. He poured the drink, his head bowed in a humiliation so deep it was almost tangible. He handed the glass to Aayra, his eyes pleading for a second of her attention, a spark of the old Aayra.

But Aayra didn't look at him with love or even hate. She took the glass with a polite, distant smile—the kind you give to a stranger you’ll never see again.

"Thank you," she said coldly. "The service is... adequate."

As they walked away, Aayra could feel Arham’s gaze burning into her back. She had won. She had crushed him. But as she took a sip of the champagne, she realized it tasted like ashes.

"Don't stop now," Zavian’s voice brought her back to reality. He pulled her closer as they stepped onto the dance floor. "The night is just beginning, and Arham isn't the only one watching us."

"Who else is?" Aayra asked, looking around.

Zavian’s expression turned grim as he looked toward the VIP balcony. "My father. And he doesn't believe in fake engagements."

As the music transitioned into a slow, haunting waltz, Zavian led Aayra to the center of the dance floor. His hand was firm on her waist, pulling her flush against his chest. Aayra could feel the heat of his body through the thin velvet of her gown, and for a moment, the entire ballroom—the diamonds, the champagne, even Arham—disappeared.

"You're doing well," Zavian whispered, his lips brushing against her ear. "But don't get too comfortable. Arham isn't the only one watching. My father is in the VIP balcony, and he has the eyes of a hawk."

Aayra glanced up and saw a shadow moving behind the gold-rimmed glass. Viktor Valerius. The man who had built this empire with blood and iron.

"Why does he care?" Aayra asked, her voice breathless.

"Because in his world, a wife is a strategic asset. And you, Aayra... you are a wild card," Zavian replied, his eyes darkening.

Suddenly, Zavian’s phone vibrated in his pocket. He frowned, checking the screen. "It’s the London office. Stay here. Do not move from this spot. I’ll be back in two minutes."

He stepped away, leaving Aayra standing alone near a large marble pillar. The moment he was out of sight, a hand grabbed her arm, pulling her into the shadows.

"Aayra! Stop this madness!"

It was Arham. He had ditched his serving tray, his face flushed with a mixture of rage and desperation. His bow tie was crooked, and he looked like a man on the edge of a breakdown.

"Let go of me, Arham," Aayra said, her voice ice-cold as she wrenched her arm away. "You’re making a scene."

"I don't care!" Arham hissed, stepping closer. "You don't know what you’re doing. Zavian Valerius is a predator. He’s using you to spite his father. Do you really think a man like him would marry a girl like you? You’re just a pawn to him!"

Aayra laughed, a sharp, bitter sound that seemed to cut Arham deeper than any insult. "Even if I am a pawn, Arham, at least I’m on the winning side of the board. You, on the other hand... you’re the one serving the drinks. Now, get back to work before I tell my fiancé to fire you."

"Aayra, please..." Arham’s voice broke. "I made a mistake with Maya. I was stupid. But this? This is dangerous. Come back to me. We can start over. I’ll quit this job, we’ll leave Istanbul—"

"It’s too late for 'please', Arham," Aayra stepped out of the shadows, the light of the chandeliers hitting her face like a crown. "The Aayra who loved you died the night she saw you with her. This woman? She belongs to the Shadow King. And she’s enjoying every second of your ruin."

She walked away without looking back, leaving Arham shattered in the dark.

Zavian was waiting for her at the edge of the dance floor, his expression unreadable. He had seen the encounter, but he didn't ask questions. Instead, he simply reached out and took her hand, his fingers interlocking with hers.

"Ready to go home?" he asked, his voice softer than usual.

"Yes," Aayra replied, feeling a sudden wave of exhaustion.

As they walked toward the exit, the reporters’ flashes blinded them once more. But as the car door closed, Aayra looked at Zavian. She realized that Arham might be right about one thing—this was dangerous. Because for the first time in her life, she wasn't afraid of the monster beside her. She was afraid of how much she wanted to stay in his world.