Married For Vengeance, Pregnant With His Secret

"You may now kiss the bride."

The words echoed off the cathedral walls like a curse Aria Lawrence hadn't prepared for.

She stood frozen, palms damp inside satin gloves, her lips pressed into a practiced line. The cold band of platinum on her finger weighed heavier than any ring should. Across from her, Damien Voss the infamous billionaire CEO and her new husband lowered his head with the precision of a man signing a contract.

Not leaning in with love. Not passion. Not even pretended affection.

Just obligation.

His lips brushed hers like paper touching fire. Cold. Barely there. Burned anyway.

The click of a hundred camera shutters followed. Flash. Flash. Flash.

And just like that… she was married to her sister's ex-fiancé.

The same man her family blamed for Elena's death.

How had it come to this?

How had Aria, the quiet girl who never wanted the spotlight, ended up becoming the wife of Damien Voss New York's most dangerous bachelor?

It had started, like most tragedies, with grief.

Elena's death had shattered their home like a bottle against concrete. Everyone blamed drugs. Everyone except Aria.

She'd seen the shadows in her sister's eyes, heard the trembling in her voice. Elena had been afraid of something. Or someone. And that someone had walked away from her funeral with dry eyes and a perfectly pressed suit.

Damien Voss.

Now, Aria wore his ring.

She told herself it was justice.

Not revenge.

"Smile," Damien whispered as they turned to face the guests.

Aria plastered one on, empty and elegant. Around them, the crowd of socialites clapped politely an audience that smelled of wealth and watched with curiosity rather than warmth.

Their wedding was a business deal. She'd agreed to it for three reasons: money, security, and a chance to get closer to the man who'd been there when Elena died.

And maybe, just maybe… find the truth.

After the ceremony, they were ushered into the grand Voss estate ballroom. Crystal chandeliers glittered like icicles, casting shadows Aria couldn't ignore. Her heels clicked against marble floors, echoing her nerves.

"You handled the ceremony well," Damien said, offering her champagne.

She took the glass but didn't drink. "I'm a fast learner."

His gaze lingered on her longer than necessary. Calculating. Curious. Cold.

"We'll keep up appearances for the media," he said. "Joint interviews. Photos. Two months of hand-holding and dinner parties. Then we disappear. Quietly annulled. You get the money. I get the headlines to go away."

She nodded. "And my conditions?"

"No intimacy. No personal questions. No family drama."

Aria's lips curled. "You forgot 'no emotions.'"

Damien's eyes flickered with something unreadable. "Those, too."

She should've hated him.

Maybe she already did.

But hate, she realized, wasn't sharp. It was slow. Heavy. Like drowning under a wave you didn't see coming.

And he was the ocean.

Later that night, in the privacy of the suite he designated as "hers," Aria stared at herself in the mirror.

White gown. Red lips. Dead eyes.

She peeled off the dress with trembling fingers and replaced it with silence. Alone, she opened her journal, flipped to the page marked with a sunflower sticker Elena's favorite and wrote:

Day 1 of the deal.

He doesn't remember what he did to her.

But I'll make him remember.

And when he does… I'll walk away with the truth.

Outside her window, a sleek black car idled longer than it should.

Inside it, someone took photographs.

And in the shadows of the estate, not everyone wanted the truth to come out.