Shadows of a Loveless Marriage

Chapter Eleven

Confronting the Past

The sun had just begun to set, painting the horizon with hues of orange and gold. Alea stood in the grand living room of Damon's family estate, staring at the portraits lining the walls. Each frame held a story, a testament to generations of Montemayors who had come before Damon. Their expressions were proud, regal, as though mocking her presence in their home.

"This house feels like a museum," she muttered under her breath, the emptiness of the place weighing heavily on her.

Damon, who had just entered the room, overheard her comment. "It is, in a way," he said, his voice startling her. "A museum of expectations."

Alea turned to face him, her brows furrowing. "Expectations?"

Damon stepped closer, his hands in his pockets. He glanced at the nearest portrait—a stern-looking man with eyes that seemed to follow them wherever they went. "Every Montemayor on these walls had something to prove. My grandfather built this empire from the ground up. My father expanded it. And now..." He paused, his jaw tightening. "Now it's my turn."

"And you think marrying me proves something?" Alea's voice was sharp, laced with the bitterness she couldn't quite shake.

Damon's eyes met hers, steady and unyielding. "Marrying you wasn't my choice. But if I have to prove anything, it's that I can honor a promise—even if it's one I didn't make."

Alea's chest tightened. Damon's words, though calm, carried a weight she hadn't expected. It was the first time she realized that he, too, was caught in a web of expectations. Perhaps he wasn't the cold, calculated man she had believed him to be.

"Why do you stay?" she asked, her voice softer now. "If this life feels like a burden, why not walk away?"

Damon's lips curved into a wry smile. "And do what? Leave everything behind? This isn't just about me, Alea. It's about the people who depend on this family—employees, partners, investors. Walking away isn't an option."

The weight of his responsibilities mirrored her own, and for the first time, Alea saw a glimpse of the man behind the mask. "I guess we're not so different after all," she said quietly, more to herself than to him.

Damon raised an eyebrow. "How so?"

"We're both trapped," Alea admitted, her voice trembling slightly. "By duty. By family. By circumstances we can't control."

A silence stretched between them, heavy with unspoken truths. It was Damon who broke it.

"Maybe we're not as trapped as we think," he said, his tone thoughtful. "Maybe we just haven't figured out how to break free."

The next morning, Alea awoke to the sound of soft knocking on her door. She groaned, pulling the blanket over her head. "Come in."

The door creaked open, and a familiar voice filled the room. "Good morning, Miss Alea."

It was Rose, the ever-cheerful housekeeper who had become one of Alea's few confidants in the mansion. She carried a tray with a cup of coffee and a small plate of pastries.

"I thought you might need some energy for today," Rose said, setting the tray on the bedside table.

Alea sat up, rubbing her eyes. "Energy for what?"

Rose hesitated, her smile faltering. "Mr. Damon mentioned that you'd be accompanying him to the company gala tonight. It's a big event, and he wanted you to be prepared."

Alea's stomach sank. A gala? She hadn't agreed to that.

"But I don't even have a dress," she protested weakly.

Rose's smile returned, brighter this time. "Don't worry, ma'am. Mr. Damon has already taken care of everything. A stylist will be here this afternoon."

Alea sighed, sinking back into the pillows. She had barely begun to adjust to the idea of being Damon's wife, and now she was expected to play the role of his perfect partner in front of hundreds of strangers. The thought was overwhelming.

By the time evening rolled around, Alea was a bundle of nerves. The stylist had worked wonders, transforming her into a vision of elegance in a midnight blue gown that clung to her figure and sparkled under the light. Her hair was styled in soft waves, and her makeup was flawless. But no amount of glamour could calm the storm inside her.

When Damon saw her descend the grand staircase, his breath hitched. For a moment, he forgot about the expectations, the pressures, and the responsibilities that weighed on him. All he could see was her.

"You look..." He struggled for the right words. "Incredible."

Alea blushed, her hand nervously clutching the edge of her gown. "Thanks. You don't look so bad yourself."

Damon smirked, adjusting his tie. "Shall we?"

The gala was held in an opulent ballroom, its high ceilings adorned with crystal chandeliers. The room buzzed with chatter and laughter as the city's elite mingled, sipping champagne and exchanging pleasantries.

Alea felt out of place the moment they entered. The stares, the whispers—they were impossible to ignore. She clung to Damon's arm, drawing strength from his steady presence.

"Don't mind them," he murmured, leaning close to her ear. "They're just curious. They'll get bored soon enough."

But Alea wasn't convinced. She could feel the judgment in their eyes, the unspoken question on everyone's lips: What is she doing here?

As the evening wore on, Damon introduced her to several important figures—business partners, investors, even a few politicians. Alea did her best to smile and nod, though her nerves threatened to get the better of her.

It wasn't until they stepped out onto the balcony for a moment of quiet that she finally let out a sigh of relief. "I don't think I'm cut out for this," she admitted, leaning against the railing.

Damon stood beside her, his hands in his pockets. "You're doing better than you think."

She glanced at him, her brows furrowing. "How do you do it? How do you act so calm and collected in front of all these people?"

He shrugged. "Years of practice. But it's not as easy as it looks."

Alea studied him, her gaze softening. "I don't know how you handle it all. The pressure, the expectations... It's a lot."

Damon smiled faintly. "It is. But having someone to share it with makes it easier."

Alea's heart skipped a beat at his words. For a moment, she allowed herself to believe that maybe, just maybe, she could be that someone.

The night ended with a slow dance beneath the glittering chandeliers. Damon held Alea close, his hand resting lightly on her waist. She looked up at him, her eyes searching his face for answers she wasn't ready to ask.

"Thank you," she said softly. "For being there tonight."

Damon's grip tightened slightly, his gaze unwavering. "Always."

And in that moment, amidst the music and the light, Alea felt a glimmer of something she hadn't felt in a long time: hope.