Chapter 1: The Proposal
Rain tapped against the limousine's tinted windows like impatient fingers. Aria Lancaster sat motionless, her slender hands folded tightly in her lap, the pressure of her pearl bracelet biting into her wrist. She wore the last remaining designer dress she owned—a navy-blue sheath that clung to her body like it belonged somewhere better.
Somewhere richer. Somewhere warmer.
"Miss Lancaster," the driver called softly through the intercom. "We've arrived."
Her heart thudded once, loud and disobedient. She forced herself to breathe and stepped out into the gleaming marble lobby of Westwood Tower, the empire of the man everyone whispered about but never challenged.
Damien Westwood.
Tech tycoon. Billionaire recluse. CEO of the most powerful corporation on the continent—and the only man who hadn't yet turned his back on the ruined Lancaster name.f
At least, not completely.
The elevator ride was silent, but her thoughts weren't. You're doing this for your mother. For your family's last chance. Don't think about the price.
The doors slid open with a hush.
And there he was.
He stood at the end of the grand office, tall and motionless, like a shadow carved into glass and steel. The first time she'd seen him, he'd been wearing a mask at a charity gala, silent and unreadable. Now, the mask was gone—but he was no less unreadable.
Black suit. No tie. Cold silver eyes that pinned her in place the moment she stepped inside.
"Miss Lancaster." His voice was low, crisp, and oddly musical—as though each word were measured before release.
"Mr. Westwood," she replied, steady but not entirely brave.
He didn't ask her to sit, but she sat anyway. Her fingers trembled slightly as she unclasped her bag and pulled out the signed document.
"I reviewed the agreement," she said. "If you're still willing to proceed, I'll uphold my end."
Damien's gaze drifted down to the contract—marriage in name only, one year of public appearances, and in return… a silent rescue. Her family's last property cleared of debt. Her mother's treatments covered. The Lancaster name spared from utter disgrace.
"You're braver than I expected," he said, folding the paper without glancing at it.
Aria forced a smile. "I'm not brave. Just desperate."
He studied her for a long, unreadable moment. Then—finally—he spoke again.
"Good. Desperate people don't ask too many questions."
Something cold brushed down her spine. His words were harmless on the surface. But something beneath them felt sharp, like the tip of a knife hidden beneath silk.
Damien walked to a side cabinet and pulled out a ring box. "This was custom-made. You'll wear it in public starting tonight."
He opened it.
Aria gasped before she could stop herself. The ring shimmered with a black stone—not onyx, but something else. Something darker. Almost… alive.
"What stone is that?" she asked, eyebrows furrowed.
His lips quirked, barely.
"Let's call it… rare."
She didn't like the way he said it.
The air in the room shifted. Heavy. Like the ceiling had dropped a few inches lower. Aria blinked and shook it off, accepting the ring with trembling fingers.
She slipped it on. It pulsed. Just once. Like it had a heartbeat.
She jerked back. "Did you—?"
"It fits," Damien said coolly, turning his back to her. "The car will pick you up at seven. You'll meet me at the gala as my wife. Wear red. Don't be late."
Aria rose slowly, clutching her handbag to her chest like armor. "You're not even going to pretend to like me, are you?"
For a moment, he didn't answer.
Then he turned to her, eyes unreadable.
"I don't need to pretend. Not with you."
Outside, lightning cracked.
And far above the mortal skyline, in the hidden realm that hummed just beyond human eyes, something old and watching stirred.