The Billionaire’s Secret Bride

The pounding in Aria’s head was nothing compared to the weight on her finger. She blinked twice. Three times. Still there. A silver band, delicate but real, hugged her left hand like it belonged there. Like it had been there for longer than last night. “What the hell…” she whispered, the dry air scraping her throat. The hotel room was a mess. Empty champagne bottles on the carpet. A white veil draped over a bedside lamp like a drunken joke. Her dress—definitely not the one she came to Vegas in—was slung over the chair. White. Glittery. Wedding-y. No. Freaking. Way. She sat up, her pulse doubling. Her phone was dead, her shoes were missing, and her brain refused to cooperate with reality. A groan came from the bed behind her. She turned slowly. A man—tall, sharp-jawed, shirtless—sat up and ran a hand through his tousled black hair like he hadn’t just shattered her entire life. His eyes, dark and unreadable, locked onto hers with a calm that felt wildly inappropriate. “Morning, wife,” he said, voice low and devastating. Her heart dropped. “Excuse me?” “You don’t remember.” It wasn’t a question. “Remember what?” He reached over to the night stand and casually flipped open a folded slip of paper. White. Official-looking. Aria squinted. Her name. His name. A courthouse seal. A date. Yesterday’s. “No,” she whispered, clutching the sheet like it might catch fire in her hands. “This isn’t real. This is a prank. A nightmare. You’re…?” “Damien Blackwood,” he said, offering his hand as if they were at a brunch mixer, not waking up in holy matrimony. “And yes, this is real.” Her stomach twisted. Damien Blackwood. The Damien Blackwood. Billionaire tech CEO. Celebrity recluse. The guy whose face was on magazines and gossip blogs and Forbes covers. And apparently now her husband. She stumbled to her feet, the room spinning around her. “I need to get out of here,” she muttered. “I need to… annul. Divorce. Undo.” “Sorry,” Damien said, standing too, suddenly very serious. “We need to stay married. For now.” She froze. “Why?” He looked at her with something unreadable in his eyes—guilt? Anger? Desperation? “I have my reasons,” he said quietly. “And if you play along, I’ll make it worth your while.”