Aria couldn't sleep.
Her mind kept circling back to the nursery. The untouched crib. The name on the wall Elena.
What had happened? Had Damien lost a child? A niece? Someone else's baby?
Whatever the story, it cracked the surface of the cold billionaire she thought she understood. Underneath all that steel… was grief.
But she couldn't afford sympathy.
Not when her revenge was still ticking.
Not when a new secret grew quietly inside her.
Aria sat on the edge of her bed, staring at the contract she'd pulled from her drawer.
Marriage Agreement
Clause 14: Neither party shall interfere in the other's personal affairs.
Clause 18: Physical intimacy is not required.
Clause 21: The marriage shall last for a minimum of twelve (12) months.
Twelve months.
Three weeks down.
And she was already drowning in emotions she wasn't supposed to feel.
The next morning
Damien was already seated at the head of the dining table, a black tablet in one hand, coffee in the other.
He didn't look up when she entered.
"I see you've decided to obey the contract and have breakfast with me again," he said dryly.
She sat, tone equally cool. "I figured I'd give you the pleasure of my company before I poison your eggs."
His lip twitched. Almost a smile. Almost.
Silence fell again.
But this time, it was laced with something else. Curiosity. Tension.
And then he said, without looking at her, "You went into the west wing."
Aria's fork froze midway to her mouth.
She set it down slowly. "I did."
"You weren't supposed to."
"I noticed."
A pause.
Then Damien finally looked up. His gaze was unreadable, but not cold.
"You saw the nursery."
It wasn't a question. It was a confirmation.
Aria met his eyes. "Was she your daughter?"
Damien's expression didn't shift, but something flickered in his eyes.
"No," he said quietly. "My sister's."
"She passed?"
He nodded once. "Two years ago. Car crash. Elena was three. They both died instantly."
A heavy silence fell between them.
Aria hadn't expected the ache in her chest. She hadn't expected to feel anything for him. But grief... was universal.
"I'm sorry," she said, genuinely.
Damien looked down at his coffee. "That room stays locked because... if I open it, I remember the sound of her laughter. And it breaks me all over again."
The words hung between them raw, human, vulnerable.
It was the first time he had ever spoken to her like a man, not a machine.
After breakfast, Damien stepped outside to take a call. Aria stayed behind, her hand pressed against her stomach.
"He's not a monster."
The thought crept in, uninvited.
No. She couldn't think like that.
She had a mission. A reason.
But even so… she was beginning to understand him. And that was far more dangerous than hating him.
Later that day, Damien returned with papers.
"Legal matters," he said, handing her a folder.
Aria opened it.
A new contract?
No. An amendment.
Clause 23: If either party conceives during the marriage period, custody of the child shall be jointly negotiated and determined upon the end of the contract.
Her throat tightened.
He was preparing… just in case.
Her eyes flicked up to him. "Do you expect me to get pregnant, Damien?"
He looked her dead in the eye. "No. But I cover all possibilities."
"And if I did?"
He paused. "We'd figure it out. Together."
The sincerity in his voice made her heart ache.
He didn't know.
Not yet.
But soon, he would.
And when that day came… she would lose control of everything.
That evening, Aria went for a walk in the garden.
It was quiet, the world bathed in a soft pink glow from the setting sun. She needed to clear her head, breathe.
Behind her, footsteps crunched on the stone path.
Damien.
She didn't turn, just spoke softly. "Why did you really marry me, Damien?"
A pause.
Then, "You were convenient."
She smiled without joy. "And you were rich."
They stood in silence for a while.
Finally, he said, "My board needed a stable image. Investors don't trust men who can't keep personal lives in order. A wife solved that."
"And what happens when the twelve months are over?"
"I suppose we part ways and pretend this never happened."
Aria turned to face him, eyes sharp. "Can you really pretend?"
His voice lowered. "Can you?"
For a moment, it felt like they were standing at the edge of something vast too fragile to name, too powerful to ignore.
But then Aria stepped back.
"Goodnight, Damien."
And she walked away leaving him with a storm brewing in his chest.