The days that followed settled into a strange rhythm one that neither Ariana nor Damien fully adjusted to.
Each morning, Ariana would wake in her lavish bedroom, greeted by sunlight filtering through floor-to-ceiling windows. The staff was professional, efficient, and distant. Elise ensured her schedule was meticulously maintained: fittings, etiquette lessons, charity events, and carefully orchestrated public appearances.
Behind the luxury, however, was a growing sense of unease.
That evening, after returning from yet another charity luncheon, Ariana entered the living room to find Damien already seated, a glass of whiskey in his hand. The city lights framed him like a living portrait cold, powerful, unreachable.
"You're home early," she said, attempting light conversation.
Damien looked up briefly.
"My meeting was canceled."
Ariana sat across from him, smoothing her dress, searching for some form of normal interaction.
"We haven't really talked since the gala."
"There's nothing to talk about," Damien replied, his voice clipped.
Ariana's jaw tensed.
"I think there is."
Damien raised an eyebrow.
"Such as?"
She inhaled slowly, trying to steady her nerves.
"This arrangement... it's suffocating."
His eyes narrowed.
"You agreed to it."
"I agreed to the terms, yes. But I didn't realize I'd be living like... like a shadow."
"You are not a shadow, Mrs. Lancaster," Damien said coolly. "You are my wife. Publicly."
"And privately?" she asked softly.
He didn't answer immediately. His silence was heavier than any response.
"This is not a real marriage," he finally said.
"You knew that from the beginning."
Ariana's heart twisted.
"Do you enjoy this? Controlling everything, everyone?"
For a brief moment, something flickered behind Damien's eyes a crack in his perfect composure.
"It's necessary," he said, voice lower now. "Control prevents chaos."
Ariana stared at him, frustration boiling inside her.
"Maybe some chaos would make you feel alive."
He stood abruptly, his tall frame casting a shadow over her.
"Be careful, Ariana," he warned softly.
"You're crossing lines you don't understand."
A chill ran down her spine, but she refused to back down.
"I'm not one of your employees, Damien."
Their eyes locked in a silent battle of wills. The tension between them was electric, charged with unspoken emotions neither dared name yet.
Later that night, Ariana couldn't sleep. The encounter replayed in her mind over and over. Every word, every look, every silence.
She stood by the window, arms wrapped around herself.
Twelve months suddenly felt much longer than it had before.
In the room across the hall, Damien sat alone in his private study, staring into the amber liquid in his glass.
She's different, he thought.
And that's dangerous.