The Billionaire’s Secret Bride

Chapter Six: Red Wine & Warning Shots

Aria stood in front of the mirror, debating whether “not too formal” meant actual dinner party or Netflix and leftovers. She settled on a simple black dress—one she’d bought for a gallery night that never happened. Her hair was still damp from a rushed shower, and she didn’t bother with makeup.

She figured she wasn’t trying to impress anyone.

But when she stepped into the dining hall and saw Damien already seated—perfectly put-together in a navy button-down, sleeves rolled just enough to show off that annoyingly expensive watch—her stomach fluttered anyway.

She hated that it did.

“You’re late,” he said, without looking up from his phone.

“I’m five minutes early.”

He looked up now. “Exactly. I’m always early.”

“Okay, Mr. Clock.”

That almost got a smile.

Almost.

Dinner was... elegant.

Candlelight. Silver cutlery. Food she couldn’t pronounce but forced herself to eat without asking what it was. For a long while, there was only quiet.

Then Damien finally spoke.

“You saw someone at campus today.”

Her fork paused mid-air. “Luca.”

“The photographer.”

She blinked. “How do you know that?”

“I know a lot of things.”

Of course he did.

“I haven’t seen him in years. He just transferred back. It was a coincidence.”

“Nothing in my world is coincidence.”

That made her freeze.

Damien leaned forward, his tone softer now. “I don’t care if you talk to him. But be careful who you trust.”

She met his eyes. “Like you?”

A beat passed.

“I never asked you to trust me.”

“No, you just asked me to stay married to you for vague and mysterious reasons. Totally normal.”

He smirked. “You’re starting to sound like you care.”

“I care about not being dragged into something dangerous.”

“Too late,” he said flatly. “You’re already in it.”

Before she could respond, the dining room doors opened.

A man walked in—mid-forties, perfectly groomed, expensive suit. Eyes like knives.

Damien stiffened.

“Aria,” Damien said carefully, “this is Marcus Blackwood. My uncle.”

Marcus smiled. It didn’t reach his eyes.

“So lovely to meet you, Aria. You’re even prettier than the tabloids made you out to be.”

Aria stood awkwardly and offered a hand. He kissed it lightly—too lightly. His fingers were cold.

“Didn't know I had a niece-in-law until this week,” Marcus continued, sitting himself down without being invited. “And so quickly, too. Marriage after one night? You’re either very impulsive… or very clever.”

Damien’s jaw tightened.

“She doesn’t owe you an explanation,” he said.

“Oh, but I love stories,” Marcus said smoothly. “Especially the kinds that don’t add up.”

Aria glanced at Damien. He wasn’t blinking.

“Forgive me,” Marcus continued, turning to her. “It’s just that my nephew’s life hasn’t exactly been... normal since the will was revised.”

Aria blinked. “What will?”

Damien stood abruptly. “Dinner’s over.”

Marcus didn’t flinch. “Already? But I haven’t even gotten to dessert. Or the part where I ask why you’re hiding letters in locked drawers, Damien.”

Aria’s heart slammed against her ribs.

Marcus smiled wider now. “Oops. Was that out loud?”

Damien grabbed Aria’s hand—firm, protective—and pulled her away from the table.

In the hallway, her voice came out as a whisper: “What the hell was that?”

“That,” Damien said, voice tight, “was a warning shot.”

“And the will?” she asked.

He stopped walking. Turned to her. His voice was low.

“My father’s will made me heir to the company—but only if I married before my 30th birthday.”

Aria blinked. “You’re kidding.”

“I’m not. You were the perfect solution. A stranger. No ties. No ambition to take my money. Until...”

“Until I found the letter.”

His expression didn’t change.

But that pause?

That pause was everything.

“I don’t know what you think you found, Aria,” Damien said coldly. “But whatever it is… it’s safer left alone.”

Then he walked away.

This time, she didn’t follow.