Aria stood in front of the mirror, trying to decide if she looked like a woman in love or a hostage dressed for ransom.
The silk gown Darius's assistant had delivered that morning clung in all the right places, its deep emerald green making her eyes look sharper, colder. The matching heels were higher than anything she'd ever worn — a deliberate test of her balance, she suspected.
The car ride to the gala was silent. Darius sat beside her in the backseat, his black suit perfectly cut, his watch gleaming faintly under the passing streetlights. He didn't look at her until the car slowed in front of the hotel.
"When we walk in, smile," he said. "Not too wide. Just enough for them to think you're happy to be here."
"And if I'm not?"
"Then you fake it," he replied, offering his hand as the driver opened the door.
The flash of cameras hit her first. A wall of reporters lined the velvet rope, their shouts cutting through the winter air.
"Mr. King! Is this your fiancée?"
"How long have you been together?"
"Wedding date?"
Darius's hand settled on the small of her back — steady, warm, possessive. He guided her up the steps with a practiced smile for the cameras. "This is Aria," he said smoothly. "And yes, she's the future Mrs. King."
The words sent a ripple through the crowd.
Inside, the ballroom glittered with chandeliers, the air thick with the scent of champagne and money. Men in tuxedos and women in gowns glanced their way, whispers trailing in their wake.
Darius leaned in, his voice low in her ear. "Remember, they're not here to welcome you. They're here to measure you."
She straightened her shoulders. "Let them try."
For the next hour, Aria was paraded from conversation to conversation — charity board members, investors, socialites with diamond necklaces worth more than her apartment building. She shook hands, accepted compliments on her "glow," and smiled through veiled questions about her past.
It wasn't until she stepped aside to catch her breath that she realized Darius was watching her from across the room. Not just watching — studying. His gaze held a kind of quiet approval, but also a challenge.
Vincent Draven, a tall man with a predatory grin, slipped into her line of sight. "So you're the one who finally tamed the Lion," he said.
Aria smiled politely. "I wouldn't use the word tamed."
"Oh, I like you," Draven said, eyes glittering. "Careful, Mrs. King-to-be. Around here, a sharp tongue is an invitation."
Before she could respond, Darius appeared at her side. His hand found hers, firm enough to end the conversation without a word.
"Time to go," he said.
The car door closed behind them, shutting out the noise of the night. Aria turned to him. "I think I passed your little test."
He looked at her then — really looked — and something unreadable flickered in his eyes. "You survived," he said. "That's a start."