Bound by One Night

A heavy silence hung in the air as the limousine carried Damien and Aria away from the glittering gala. Aria could barely sit still, her mind replaying the evening's close call on a loop. She glanced at Damien beside her. He was staring straight ahead, his expression unreadable in the dim light.

They had escaped the event early, but the tension in the car was palpable. Aria entwined her fingers tightly in her lap, bracing for the questions she knew were coming.

Finally, halfway through the drive, Damien broke the silence. "Victoria won't bother you again," he said quietly, voice controlled. "But… she brought up something tonight that I need to understand."

Aria's stomach flipped. She had hoped they might postpone this conversation until morning, but clearly Damien's patience only went so far. She swallowed. "Damien, I—"

He held up a hand gently. "Just answer me this." He turned to face her fully, eyes searching. "Your maiden name. Is it Lancaster?"

Aria's throat went dry. There it was, laid out plainly. No point denying it now; the half-truth she'd given Victoria would never hold up under Damien's scrutiny.

Her fingers trembled on her skirt. "My mother's maiden name is Lambert," she began softly. "That part was true."

Damien's brow furrowed, unsatisfied. "And Lancaster?"

Aria drew a shaky breath. In the darkness, she could barely meet his gaze. "Lancaster is… the name I was born with," she admitted, voice barely above a whisper. "I changed it years ago."

Damien inhaled slowly, absorbing that. "So all this time, you've had a different legal name." His tone wasn't accusatory; if anything, it was laced with bewilderment. "Why change it, Aria? Who are the Lancasters?"

Aria pressed back against the leather seat, heart hammering painfully. Even now, with the opportunity laid out, she faltered. How could she compress a lifetime of pain and complications into a neat explanation?

Her silence made Damien run a hand through his hair. He seemed at a loss. But when he spoke again, his voice was surprisingly gentle. "Listen… you don't have to give me all the details tonight. I know it's a lot. But I need to know at least the basics. The truth."

Tears pricked Aria's eyes. She'd expected anger or betrayal, but Damien sounded... concerned. Disappointed, yes, but more worried for her than anything else. He had every right to be furious, yet here he was tempering his emotions for her sake.

She blinked rapidly, willing the tears away. "The Lancasters were my family," she said at last, the words tasting bitter. "A very… prominent family. We had wealth, status, all of it. But things went wrong. My father…" Her voice caught, memories threatening to overwhelm.

Damien's hand found hers in the dark, his fingers warm and steady as they folded around her trembling ones. The tender gesture unlocked something in Aria. A tear slid down her cheek before she could stop it.

"I'm sorry," she whispered, voice breaking. "I should have told you I wasn't really an Evans. I just—after everything that happened with my family, I never wanted to be Aria Lancaster again."

Damien shifted closer on the seat, his face etched with concern. Gently, he brushed away her tear with his thumb, the touch sending a shiver through her. "Aria," he said softly, "I wish you'd trusted me with this sooner. But I get why you didn't." He cupped her cheek, his palm warm against her skin. "I'm not going anywhere. We'll deal with whatever comes."

A shaky breath escaped her. He wasn't shouting, wasn't condemning her. He was reassuring her. The relief was overwhelming. She closed her eyes, another tear slipping free. "I was afraid," she admitted hoarsely. "Afraid you'd look at me differently… or think I married you under false pretenses."

Damien's brow creased. "Is that what you think of me?" He gently tilted her chin, forcing her to meet his gaze. "That I'd throw you aside because of your name? I'm many things, Aria, but I'm not that shallow."

A half-sob, half-laugh bubbled from her. "I know," she said, wiping her wet cheeks. "Deep down, I know."

He sighed and pulled her into a loose embrace. Aria let her head rest against his shoulder, the tension in her easing for the first time in days. Damien's arms around her felt safe—like maybe, somehow, this would all be okay.

"I will expect the full story eventually," he murmured into her hair. "But not tonight."

Aria nodded against him. "Soon," she promised softly. It was the most she could give.

They stayed entwined for the rest of the ride, saying nothing more. For now, an uneasy truce formed between them: Damien wouldn't demand the whole truth immediately, and Aria wouldn't withhold it forever. It was more than she'd hoped for a day ago.

When the car pulled up to the house, Aria felt equal parts relief and apprehension. Relieved that the public ordeal was over, apprehensive for the private challenges still to come. Damien helped her out and they walked into the silent mansion side by side.

The foyer was dim. It was well past Noah's bedtime; he'd surely be asleep with the nanny looking after him. But as Aria set her clutch on the entry table, a faint cry echoed from upstairs.

Both she and Damien froze, then traded a knowing look. Noah.

Aria didn't hesitate. Gathering her gown's skirt, she hurried up the stairs, Damien close behind.

Noah's room was softly aglow with the light of his turtle-shaped nightlight. Mrs. Ruiz, the nanny, stood by the bed with a worried frown. Noah was sitting up, face flushed and eyes glassy with tears.

"What happened?" Aria asked, rushing to Noah's side. She pressed a palm to his forehead—he was burning up.

Mrs. Ruiz gave an apologetic shake of her head. "He has a fever, ma'am. It came on about twenty minutes ago. I was about to call you. He's been asking for you."

"Mama," Noah whimpered, small hands reaching for her.

Aria's heart clenched. She sat on the edge of the bed and gathered her little boy into her arms. He was so warm and limp, and he burrowed against her with a miserable sniffle. "I'm here, sweetheart," she crooned, gently rocking him.

Damien hovered beside them, worry stark on his face as he touched Noah's back. "Is he okay?"

"I think it's just a fever," the nanny offered. "I gave him medicine a few minutes ago. It should bring his temperature down."

Noah coughed, a tiny, congested sound, then whimpered, "Don' feel good."

"I know, baby," Aria murmured, cradling him closer. She smoothed his sweaty curls off his forehead and began to hum his favorite lullaby.

Damien crouched, bringing himself eye level with Noah. "Hey, buddy," he said softly. "Daddy's here too." He stroked Noah's arm, and Noah turned his fever-bright eyes toward his father.

A weak smile touched Noah's lips at the sight of both his parents there. "Story?" he mumbled, sniffling.

"Maybe tomorrow, when you're better," Damien whispered. He reached over and grabbed the plush dinosaur tangled in the sheets, tucking it into Noah's arms. "For now, you just rest."

Noah nodded pitifully and tucked his face against Aria's shoulder.

The next hour passed in a blur of concern. Mrs. Ruiz brought a cool damp cloth, which Aria used to gently dab Noah's forehead. Damien left briefly and returned with the thermometer and a glass of water, insisting on double-checking Noah's temperature and making sure he drank a few sips.

Through it all, Noah clung to Aria, and Aria clung to the fact that Damien was right there with her. The earlier discord between them was set aside without a word—they were a team, tending to their child.

Mercifully, the fever began to ebb. Noah's temperature lowered to a less alarming number, and his eyelids grew heavy as the medicine coaxed him back toward sleep. Aria continued humming and stroking his back until his breathing evened out.

By the time Noah finally drifted off, Aria's voice was hoarse and her gown was wrinkled from hours of kneeling by the bedside. Damien stood behind her, his hand resting on her shoulder in a silent gesture of solidarity.

Mrs. Ruiz quietly excused herself once it was clear Noah was resting. Aria carefully eased Noah back against his pillows and pressed a kiss to his damp forehead. Damien adjusted the blankets over their son, a tender, worried crease still between his brows.

They tiptoed out of the room together, leaving the door cracked. In the hallway, Aria sagged against the wall, closing her eyes. The adrenaline of worry was ebbing, leaving exhaustion and emotional overload in its wake.

Damien stepped close, and Aria felt his fingers brush her cheek. "You okay?" he asked softly.

She managed a tired smile. "I will be. It was just a fever."

He nodded, but concern lingered in his dark eyes. "He'll be fine. Kids are resilient." His hand moved from her cheek to tuck a stray lock of hair back into her updo. The gesture was gentle, almost intimate. "You should get some rest too."

Aria wasn't sure if it was the stress of the night or the remnants of relief, but the urge to seek comfort was too strong to resist. She leaned forward, resting her forehead against Damien's shoulder. "Thank you," she whispered. "For being here."

Damien's arms came around her without hesitation. One hand cradled the back of her head, careful of the pins in her hair, and the other settled firmly around her waist. Aria closed her eyes, melting into the solid warmth of him.

"There's nowhere else I'd be," he murmured into her hair. "You're—" He stopped himself, but Aria heard the unspoken word family as clearly as if he'd said it.

They stood there in the dim hallway, wrapped around each other, both too drained to hold up their walls. In the circle of Damien's arms, Aria felt safe. Cared for. Perhaps even forgiven.

She wasn't sure how long they stayed like that—long enough for her racing heart to calm and her breathing to sync with his. Eventually, Damien pulled back just enough to look at her. His hands remained on her waist. "How are you?" he asked, searching her face. "After everything tonight?"

Aria gave a shaky laugh. "I've been better... but I've also been worse."

A faint smile curved his lips. "We'll get through it," he said quietly, as if making a vow.

Aria believed him—or at least, she wanted to. In that moment, with his forehead resting gently against hers in the hush of their sleeping home, it was easy to imagine they really would be alright.

Downstairs, the soft chime of Aria's phone on the foyer table abruptly shattered the moment. They both tensed. It was nearly dawn; who could be messaging now?

Exchanging a wary glance, they made their way down, fingers still loosely intertwined. Aria retrieved her phone from her discarded clutch and felt her stomach swoop. Her screen was flooded with missed calls and text alerts. The newest message contained a link from an unknown number.

Damien moved to her side as Aria, pulse quickening, tapped the link. A gossip site article popped up, bold and breathless:

"Billionaire's Secret Wife – Is Mrs. Blackwood the Disgraced Lancaster Heiress?"

Below, there were side-by-side photos: one of Aria at the gala just hours ago, and one of her at age nineteen—dressed in a white debutante gown, a younger Charles Lancaster at her side. The caption gleefully pointed out the resemblance.

Aria's free hand flew to her mouth. A soft, strangled sound escaped her. Beside her, Damien swore under his breath, wrapping a supportive arm around her waist as if to steady them both.

It had happened. The very thing she'd feared from the start. Her secret was out—blared on every gossip site for the world to read.

Aria felt faint. If Damien hadn't been holding her, she might have sunk to the floor. "Oh God," she managed, voice trembling. "Damien..."

"I know," he bit out, fury and resolve coloring his tone. He pulled her tight against him as if shielding her from the words on the screen. His jaw was clenched, but when he looked at her, his eyes were steady. "We'll handle this," he said, fierce determination in each syllable. "Do you hear me, Aria? We'll face it together."

Aria clutched his lapel, trying to anchor herself. Outside, beyond the heavy front doors, she could already hear the faint sounds of early morning commotion—reporters who had gotten wind of the story gathering at the gates. The world was about to descend on them.

Tears blurred her vision, but Aria nodded against Damien's chest. Together. He was still here, still holding her.

Whatever came next, they would meet it side by side.