Aria stood on the pedestal like a mannequin, half-dressed in silk and diamonds while two stylists pinned, adjusted, and whispered behind her.
The gown was silver—liquid moonlight. It slid down her frame like a second skin, with a thigh-high slit and a neckline that practically declared war on modesty.
"This one," said the younger stylist with a glint in her eye, "screams 'billionaire's wife.'"
Aria smiled faintly. That's exactly what I'm pretending to be, isn't it?
A door opened behind her. The air changed.
Leon stepped inside.
Everyone froze.
He said nothing for a moment, his eyes scanning her from head to toe. He didn't leer. Didn't smile. But something flickered—an emotion too brief to catch.
"You'll wear that to the Crane Foundation gala," he said, voice cool.
One of the stylists cleared her throat. "We still have the emerald option, Mr. Crane—"
"This one," Leon said. "It's perfect."
Aria waited until they were alone before stepping down from the pedestal. "You didn't even ask if I liked it."
"I'm not paying you to like the dress."
She arched a brow. "Or to like you?"
"Precisely."
Her lips quirked, but it didn't reach her eyes. "You've got your walls up so high, I'm surprised you can breathe behind them."
Leon met her gaze. "I didn't marry you for conversation, Aria."
"No, you married me because the board doesn't trust bachelors who sleep with supermodels."
He didn't deny it.
"You're not the first man trying to clean up his image," she continued. "But most of them don't chain themselves to ghosts."
Leon's gaze sharpened. "Ghosts?"
"You don't talk about your past. You don't even mention your real reason for rushing into this arrangement."
"Neither do you."
The silence between them stretched—taut, electric.
Then he handed her a box.
Inside, nestled in velvet, was a necklace. Diamonds like teardrops.
Aria shut the box with a snap. "I don't need to be bribed."
"It's part of the public image."
"Right," she muttered. "Because nothing says functional marriage like playing dress-up and faking smiles."
Leon moved closer, but not too close. "You want out already?"
She tilted her chin. "Not yet. But I'm not some broken doll you can pose for the cameras."
He studied her for a long, unreadable moment. "Noted."
The night of the gala arrived like thunder.
They stepped out of the black town car into a flashstorm of cameras. The Crane Foundation's annual charity ball was the event of the season. Lights, laughter, diamonds dripping from every neck.
But none shined brighter than Aria.
Gasps followed her as she moved down the crimson carpet on Leon's arm. He didn't smile, but his hand rested at the small of her back—firm, grounding. Possessive.
"Smile," he whispered under his breath. "Even if it kills you."
"Don't worry," she said between her teeth. "You're already halfway there."
Inside the ballroom, violins sang above the din of polished laughter. Waiters drifted by with champagne flutes. Aria felt eyes on her from every direction—some curious, some skeptical, others… something darker.
"She's stunning," a man murmured to Leon's left.
"Out of nowhere, too," said another. "No family, no lineage."
"That's the appeal," Leon replied flatly.
Aria took a sip of her drink. The champagne tasted like expectations.
Midway through the night, Leon was called away for a brief meeting with donors. Aria wandered toward the back of the room, toward a quieter corner near the gallery wall.
That's when a voice stopped her cold.
"Aria?"
She turned slowly.
A man stood there in a tailored navy suit. Early thirties. His hair had grayed slightly at the temples, but his eyes were sharp—too sharp.
She didn't recognize him by face.
But the way he said her name…
"Sorry," she said quickly. "You must have me confused with someone else."
"I doubt that," he replied, smile thin. "You used to go by something else, didn't you? Back when you danced at the Rothschild gala three years ago?"
Her breath caught.
He leaned in, voice low. "Tell me, does your new husband know who you really are?"
Her pulse roared in her ears.
Leon returned a moment later, expression unreadable as always. "Everything all right?"
Aria's lips parted, then shut. She forced a smile.
"Fine," she said. "Just getting to know your admirers."
Leon's gaze flicked between them, but the man had already melted into the crowd.
He offered Aria his arm. "Let's go. We've been seen."
She hesitated—then took it.
As they left the gala behind, cameras flashing like gunfire, Aria's heart refused to settle.
Someone remembered.
And the past she thought she'd buried… had just surfaced.