The silence in the car on the way back from the chairman's estate was heavier than the tension that had followed Damon's bold kiss. Aria sat stiffly, arms crossed, eyes fixed on the blur of city lights rushing past the window. She could still feel the ghost of his lips on hers, and her heart hadn't fully returned to its normal rhythm.
"That kiss wasn't in the contract," she said coldly, breaking the silence.
Damon didn't even glance at her. "It was necessary. Victoria was watching. And the media, too."
"I'm not a puppet," she snapped.
He turned to her then, his eyes steely. "No. But you agreed to play the role. And I do what's required to protect this arrangement. You got your money, didn't you?"
She bit her lip and looked away, humiliated.
When they arrived back at the penthouse, Aria didn't wait for him. She stormed out of the car and up the elevator, kicking off her heels the moment she stepped into her suite. The glamour, the lies, the games—it was already suffocating her.
She wanted to scream.
Instead, she paced.
This was just the beginning.
---
The next morning, Aria awoke to a knock on her bedroom door. She groaned and rolled over, pulling the blanket over her head.
The knock came again, more insistent.
"What?" she grumbled.
A voice answered—female, elegant. "Good morning, Mrs. Knight. I'm Amelia. Mr. Knight hired me to assist you with daily schedules, styling, and press coordination."
Aria threw the blanket off and opened the door, blinking at the tall woman in a beige blouse and pencil skirt, holding a sleek tablet.
"Press?" Aria repeated. "We're doing interviews now?"
Amelia smiled politely. "Mr. Knight wants to maintain a strong public presence. You're expected to attend a brunch with fashion editors this afternoon."
Aria groaned. "He couldn't tell me himself?"
"Mr. Knight is at an emergency board meeting. But he did request that you wear something 'classic but alluring.'"
Aria rolled her eyes. "Of course, he did."
She spent the next hour letting Amelia transform her. Hair curled into soft waves, skin polished to a natural glow, red lips for power. The dress was cream-colored and hugged her figure just enough to attract attention without appearing desperate. She looked in the mirror and barely recognized herself.
By the time she arrived at the rooftop brunch, hosted at an exclusive Manhattan restaurant with skyline views, the media buzz was already thick. Photographers snapped shots as she stepped onto the terrace.
"Mrs. Knight!" one called. "How does it feel to be married to the most eligible bachelor in the country?"
Aria smiled tightly. "Surprising and surreal."
Laughter rippled through the crowd, and the reporters ate it up.
She floated through small talk and fake compliments, smiling through every backhanded remark and curious gaze. She could feel the whispers—gold digger, social climber, fake.
But she held her head high.
Damon wasn't there. She was on her own.
Until he walked in.
He moved through the crowd like he owned time itself—dark suit, icy stare, every step calculated. Conversations halted as heads turned.
He went straight to her, slid an arm around her waist, and kissed her temple like it was second nature.
"You're doing well," he murmured.
"I'm drowning," she whispered back, still smiling for the cameras.
"Keep smiling."
---
Later that evening, they sat on opposite ends of the living room, both nursing glasses of wine. The city sparkled beyond the glass walls.
"I didn't expect you to show up," Aria said, staring into her glass.
"I protect what's mine," Damon said simply.
She glanced up. "Am I really yours?"
He looked at her, expression unreadable. "On paper, yes. In public, absolutely."
She leaned forward. "And in private?"
He didn't answer. Just stood and walked away.
---
Over the next few days, the performance continued. Gala nights, charity events, television appearances. Damon played the perfect husband—attentive, poised, charming. And Aria played the woman who had it all.
Behind closed doors, it was different.
He was cold, calculated, distant. He never touched her again after that night. He barely spoke unless necessary. Their lives were scripted.
Until the night she found him alone in the wine cellar.
She had gone down looking for silence and found Damon instead—tie loosened, sleeves rolled up, holding a bottle of vintage red and staring at nothing.
She hesitated at the door.
"Didn't expect to find you hiding here," she said.
"I'm not hiding. I'm remembering."
She walked in slowly. "Remembering what?"
He looked at her then, and something in his eyes wasn't cold—it was haunted.
"My grandfather used to bring me here when I was a kid. Said this room held more truth than the boardroom."
She sat across from him, curious. "And what's the truth?"
He poured them both glasses. "That trust is expensive. And loyalty's a myth."
She took a sip. "That's a lonely way to live."
He looked away. "It's safer."
For the first time, Aria saw him not as a billionaire tyrant, but as a man carrying too much weight.
"I don't believe in fairy tales either," she said softly. "But I believe people want more than just survival."
He didn't reply.
But the way he looked at her—just for a moment—wasn't distant at all.
---
Two weeks into their marriage, things started to change. Damon began asking about her day. He left her a cup of coffee in the morning. He told the press she was the most genuine woman he'd ever met.
Small things. But noticeable.
Then came the night of the gala at the Hilton Estate. Aria wore a crimson dress that shimmered with every movement. Damon didn't say a word when he saw her. He didn't have to. His eyes said enough.
They were the center of attention again—perfect couple, headlines everywhere.
Until Aria's past walked through the door.
"Aria?"
She froze. The voice. That voice.
She turned and locked eyes with Ethan Ross—the man who broke her heart three years ago. Her first love. Her worst mistake.
"Ethan," she whispered, panic rushing into her chest.
He looked stunned. "What... what are you doing here? You're married?"
Before she could answer, Damon was at her side in seconds.
"I'm Damon Knight. Aria's husband. And you are?"
Ethan stared between them. "Her ex. We were engaged."
A silence hung in the air.
Damon extended his hand slowly. "Then I suggest you walk away before you embarrass yourself."
Ethan scoffed. "This isn't real. She'd never marry someone like you unless she was paid."
Aria flinched.
Damon didn't blink. "Even if that were true, she still chose me. So ask yourself—what does that say about you?"
Ethan looked like he'd been slapped.
He turned and left.
Aria stood trembling.
Damon took her hand, firmly.
"We'll talk later," he said softly.
And they smiled again—for the cameras, for the lies, for the contract.
But in Aria's chest, something unexpected bloomed.
Maybe this lie was starting to feel dangerously close to the truth.
>>>Episode 4: The Lie Deepens<<<
Rain pattered lightly against the penthouse windows as Aria stood barefoot on the cold marble floor, staring at her reflection. Her gown still shimmered from the gala, but inside, she felt empty—shaken by Ethan's sudden appearance and even more confused by the way Damon had defended her.
She wasn't supposed to care. This was all fake.
So why did her heart ache?
A soft knock came at the door.
"Come in," she said, assuming it was Amelia.
But it was Damon.
His tie was loosened, jacket gone, hair slightly ruffled—a rare crack in his flawless exterior.
"I thought you'd be asleep," he said.
Aria folded her arms. "Hard to sleep after being accused of being a gold digger in front of New York's elite."
He stepped in, hands in his pockets. "You handled it well."
She laughed bitterly. "I've had practice hiding my humiliation."
He sat on the edge of the bed, something unguarded in his expression. "I didn't expect your past to catch up so fast."
"Neither did I."
Silence.
Then he said, "Do you want to talk about it?"
She stared at him. "Do you actually care or is this just part of the act?"
He met her gaze. "I don't do things I don't mean, Aria. Not even in fake marriages."
That admission—soft but sharp—hit her somewhere deep.
She sat down beside him.
"Ethan and I were engaged. He cheated with my best friend. Took my savings. Left me in a mess I'm still crawling out of."
Damon's jaw tightened. "He said you wouldn't marry someone like me unless you were paid."
She chuckled dryly. "Funny how accurate that is."
He turned to her. "You didn't marry me for the money, Aria. You signed a contract. There's a difference."
"Doesn't feel like it."
His voice dropped. "You could've said no."
"And let my mother die?"
That shut him up.
They sat there, the silence heavy with unsaid things.
Then she whispered, "I hate how easy it is to pretend we're something we're not."
Damon looked at her, truly looked. "That's what scares you the most, isn't it?"
She nodded.
And for the first time, he reached out—his fingers brushing hers.
Not possessive. Not controlling. Just… human.
---
The next morning, everything felt different. Damon had left early, but a breakfast tray sat by her bed—coffee just how she liked it, eggs, fruit, and a note.
"You handled last night with grace. Thank you. —D"
No hearts. No kisses.
Just Damon being Damon.
Aria smiled despite herself.
But the peace didn't last.
An hour later, Amelia burst into her room holding a tablet.
"You need to see this."
On the screen was a headline: "Mrs. Knight's Hidden Past: Ex-Fiancé Spills Secrets"
Aria's stomach dropped.
The article was brutal. Quotes from Ethan. Lies twisted into truths. Hints that the marriage was fake.
"Oh God."
Amelia looked furious. "This will explode if we don't act fast."
Damon's voice cut in from behind. "It already has."
Aria turned. He looked like he'd aged a year overnight.
"I'll fix it," he said.
She stood. "No. I'll talk to the press myself."
He raised an eyebrow. "That's not how this works."
"No," she said firmly. "This is about me. My story. My truth. I won't let him control the narrative."
---
The press conference was arranged within hours. Aria stood at a podium, cameras flashing, Damon seated behind her.
She took a deep breath.
"My name is Aria West-Knight. And I'd like to clear the air."
Silence.
"Yes, I was once engaged to Ethan Ross. He betrayed me. Lied to me. And left me in debt and despair. I rebuilt my life piece by piece. And when Damon offered me a business proposal, I accepted—not because I'm a gold digger, but because I'm a survivor."
The cameras kept clicking.
"Our marriage may have started with a contract. But the respect we've built is real. And that's more than I can say about some past relationships."
She stepped down. Damon took her hand and they walked out together, the roar of the media behind them.
---
That night, Damon poured them both drinks.
"You didn't have to do that," he said quietly.
"Yes, I did," she replied. "I'm tired of being silent."
He looked at her. "What do you want from this, Aria? Really?"
She hesitated. "I want to stop pretending I'm not hurt. I want honesty. I want to matter, even if this ends."
He stepped closer. "You do matter."
And then, he kissed her.
Not like before. Not for the cameras. Not for anyone else.
Just for them.
It was soft. Slow. Real.
She melted into him, letting go of everything she'd been holding in.
When they pulled apart, breathless, he whispered, "This wasn't in the contract."
She smiled. "Good."
---
The next morning brought more headlines—but this time, they were different:
"Power Couple Shuts Down Rumors with Heartfelt Truth."
"Aria West-Knight Wins Over Public with Powerful Statement."
And just like that, the lie that started it all began to feel less like fiction… and more like fate.
But the truth had only just started to unravel.
Because somewhere in the city, Ethan Ross wasn't finished.
And he wasn't planning to lose again.
[To Be Continued…]