Chapter 2 02

Aria stood in the empty hall, the silence around her deafening. The priest and the few witnesses-mostly bodyguards and associates of the Salvatore family-began to shuffle out, whispering amongst themselves, as if they were afraid their voices might disturb the tense, fragile stillness of the room. She watched them leave, feeling as though she were fading into the background of her own life.

No one looked at her with pity. No one dared. In this world, sympathy was a weakness, and weakness was a death sentence.

She slipped the bouquet from her hands and dropped it onto the floor, watching as the delicate petals scattered across the polished marble. It felt like a small act of rebellion, but it did nothing to ease the ache in her chest. With a deep breath, she forced herself to walk towards the grand staircase. Her heels echoed in the empty space, each step a reminder of her isolation.

The mansion was beautiful, in a cold, clinical way. Everything was pristine, from the sparkling chandeliers to the expensive artwork lining the walls. But it felt more like a museum than a home, as if everything had been placed there to impress and intimidate, not to be lived in.

A maid approached her, bowing slightly, her eyes downcast. "Mrs. Salvatore," she said, her voice respectful but detached. "I'll show you to your room."

Mrs. Salvatore. The title felt foreign on her tongue, like a cruel joke.

Aria nodded, following the maid up the staircase. She had expected Damien to at least make some kind of gesture, some act to uphold the illusion of a real marriage. But he hadn't even bothered. It was clear she was nothing more than a formality to him, a paper wife. Her chest tightened at the thought, but she swallowed down her emotions, forcing herself to focus on what lay ahead.

The maid led her down a long corridor, stopping at a heavy wooden door. "This is your room," she said softly. "If you need anything, just ring the bell."

Aria hesitated, her hand hovering over the door handle. "And Damien's room?"

The maid's face faltered for a split second, a flash of pity breaking through her professional mask. "Mr. Salvatore's quarters are in the west wing," she said. "He... prefers his privacy."

Of course he does. Aria's lips pressed into a thin line as she nodded, dismissing the maid. She pushed the door open and stepped inside, closing it quietly behind her.

The bedroom was just as opulent as the rest of the mansion-dark mahogany furniture, a massive bed draped in silken sheets, and a fireplace that crackled with a low, comforting fire. But it felt empty, devoid of warmth. The kind of room designed to impress guests, not to provide comfort to a wife.

She sank down onto the edge of the bed, her hands clenching the fabric of her dress. The silence pressed down on her, amplifying the sound of her own ragged breathing. It was ridiculous, she knew, but she had clung to a foolish hope that maybe, just maybe, things wouldn't be as bad as she had feared.

But they were worse.

A sharp knock at the door made her flinch. She stood up quickly, brushing a hand over her hair, trying to pull herself together. "Come in," she said, her voice steadier than she felt.

The door swung open, and Damien stepped inside, his expression as unreadable as ever. He didn't look at her; his eyes scanned the room, as if he were inspecting it for flaws.

"I see you've settled in," he said, his tone devoid of any real interest.

Aria forced herself to meet his gaze. "Is this how it's going to be?" she asked quietly. "You ignoring me, pretending I don't exist?"

He raised an eyebrow, finally looking directly at her. "What did you expect, Aria? A honeymoon? Candlelit dinners? You knew what this was when you agreed to it."

Her cheeks flushed with a mixture of anger and humiliation. "I didn't have a choice."

"Neither did I," he snapped back, his voice sharp enough to cut glass. He stepped closer, and for a moment she thought he might reach out, might touch her. But he didn't. He stopped just short, the space between them humming with tension.

"This isn't a game," he continued, his voice low and dangerous. "You're here because I need you to play a role. Smile, nod, and act like the perfect wife when we're in public. But don't expect anything more from me."

"And what about when we're alone?" she shot back, surprising herself with the bite in her tone. "What do you want from me then?"

Damien's eyes darkened, a flicker of something she couldn't quite place-something almost like desire. But it was gone in an instant, replaced by his usual cold mask. "Nothing," he said. "I want nothing from you."

The words stung more than she'd expected. She forced herself to nod, swallowing down the lump in her throat. "Fine," she said, her voice brittle. "Then I'll stay out of your way."

"Good," he replied curtly. He turned on his heel, already halfway to the door before she could say another word.

But then he paused, his hand on the doorknob. He didn't look back at her, but his voice was softer when he spoke again. "There's a dinner tomorrow night. You'll be expected to attend."

Aria nodded, even though he couldn't see her. "I understand."

Without another word, he left, the door clicking shut behind him. The sound echoed in the room, final and unforgiving. Aria let out a shaky breath, her hands trembling as she sank back down onto the bed.

So this was it. Her life as Mrs. Salvatore. Alone in a mansion, married to a man who couldn't care less if she lived or died. The realization settled over her like a heavy, suffocating blanket.

But as she stared into the flickering flames of the fireplace, she made a silent promise to herself. If this was her reality, she would find a way to survive it. She would learn the rules of this twisted game, and she wouldn't go down without a fight.

Because despite everything, despite the icy way he treated her, she had seen that flicker of something in Damien's eyes. A crack in his armor. A sign that maybe, just maybe, there was more to him than he let on.

And if there was one thing Aria Romano knew how to do, it was find the weakness in even the strongest walls.