THE PAST
724 Words
Ariana stared at her reflection in the mirror, stunned.
Gone was the girl with hollow eyes and tired clothes.
In her place stood someone sharp, elegant, and powerful. Her chestnut hair was swept into soft waves, her skin glowed with subtle makeup, and the sleek black dress clung to her curves like it was made for her.
Even she barely recognized herself.
The stylist clapped his hands in delight. “My masterpiece.”
“You look like a woman born to rule,” he added dramatically.
Ariana gave a small smile, still unsure if she felt like herself—or someone entirely new.
She stepped out of the styling suite and into the waiting lounge.
The room fell silent.
Even the assistants paused.
Every head turned.
All except one.
Damon glanced up from his phone, his gaze cool and unreadable. His eyes flicked over her from head to toe, lingering for a split second.
Then he said, “Good.”
Just good?
After all this effort?
Before she could react, he stood and walked to the door. “Let’s go.”
•
The drive to the King estate was quiet, but Ariana’s mind was anything but.
When the gates of the mansion opened, her breath caught.
It was massive—straight out of a movie. Ivy-draped stone walls, glittering fountains, manicured gardens glowing under soft lights. The kind of place royalty might vacation.
The car rolled to a stop.
Ariana gawked, mouth slightly open. “This is insane…”
Damon stepped out and glanced at her. “Close your mouth. You’re not a tourist.”
Heat rushed to her cheeks as she quickly shut her jaw and followed him up the marble steps.
Inside was even more stunning. Crystal chandeliers, vaulted ceilings, and walls lined with priceless art. Everything smelled like roses and power.
A poised older woman greeted them at the grand staircase. “Mrs. King,” she said with a formal nod to Ariana. “Welcome. Your room has been prepared.”
Ariana blinked. “Room?”
Damon didn’t answer. He was already halfway up the stairs.
She followed the woman to a luxurious guest room—golden light, a plush bed, and a private balcony.
“You’ll be staying here, ma’am,” the woman said kindly.
Ariana let out a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding.
At least she wouldn’t have to share a bed with the Ice King himself.
She flopped onto the bed the moment the door shut.
Not bad for a fake wife.
•
Elsewhere in the mansion, Damon entered his own suite and locked the door behind him.
He loosened his tie and walked to the bar, pouring himself a glass of scotch.
The liquid burned down his throat, but the fire didn’t reach the cold in his chest.
He stared out the window, eyes fixed on the city lights below.
He hadn’t expected her to talk back.
Or to look that... poised.
Most people wilted under his stare.
She pushed back.
Just like he used to.
Before everything went to hell.
His thoughts drifted—unbidden—to the past.
His father’s funeral.
He’d been just sixteen.
His mother held his little sister, tears streaming silently as the board of directors circled like vultures. His uncle Gregory had already begun whispering to investors, scheming, calculating.
Trying to wrest control from a grieving family.
Damon had learned then—feelings made you weak. Emotion was leverage. And trust? Trust was for fools.
He fought tooth and nail for his place in the company. He worked double what others did. Outsmarted rivals twice his age.
Still, it wasn’t enough.
Not without full control.
And his grandmother—sharp, traditional, and shrewd—had one final rule before signing over the last of the company shares to him.
Marriage.
Stability. Legacy.
Family.
His uncle hated it.
Which made it all the more worth doing.
Damon swirled the drink in his glass.
Ariana Monroe might be unpredictable, but she was smart, sharp, and had her own reasons to fight.
Perfect for the illusion.
What he didn’t expect… was how much she’d already started disrupting his perfectly ordered world.
And things were only going to get messier.
Especially with Gregory watching like a hawk.
Plotting.
Waiting.
He downed the rest of his drink in one gulp.
Let the games begin.
- Writer
