Aria
At 9:00 AM, Damien held his press conference.
I watched from backstage, Lucas beside me, as Damien stood in front of a room full of reporters and cameras and told the truth.
"Three years ago, I entered into a contract marriage with Aria Sterling," he said, his voice steady despite the camera flashes. "It was arranged by my grandfather as a condition of my inheritance. I was told it was temporary, that it was just a formality, that it didn't need to be real."
The reporters scribbled frantically.
"But I was wrong. About everything. Aria Sterling is one of the most remarkable people I've ever met. She's brilliant, she's brave, and she deserved so much better than the way I treated her. I let myself be manipulated by Sienna Blackwood, who fed me lies about Aria's motives. I believed those lies because it was easier than admitting I'd fallen in love with my wife."
My breath caught.
"Yesterday, I filed for divorce because Sienna convinced me that Aria was using me. That she'd trapped me. That she was nothing more than a gold-digger." Damien's voice grew stronger. "I was wrong. Aria never used me. She loved me. Genuinely, completely, without agenda. And I threw that away because I was too scared to love her back."
He looked directly at the camera.
"Aria, if you're watching this—I'm sorry. I'm so, profoundly sorry. You deserved better. You deserved honesty and trust and respect, and I gave you none of those things. But you saved me anyway. You uncovered the fraud, you exposed the conspiracy, you protected my company and my employees even though you had every reason to let me burn."
Tears were streaming down my face now. Lucas squeezed my shoulder.
"I don't expect forgiveness," Damien continued. "I don't deserve it. But I want the world to know—Aria Sterling is a hero. She's the reason Sienna Blackwood and Victoria Castellano are being investigated. She's the reason my company still exists. She's the reason justice is being served."
He paused, his voice breaking slightly.
"And she's the woman I love. The woman I'll always love. Even if she never forgives me."
The press conference dissolved into chaos—reporters shouting questions, cameras flashing.
But I barely heard it.
Because Damien had just declared his love for me in front of the entire world.
"Well," Lucas said quietly. "He's definitely not subtle."
"No," I agreed, wiping tears from my face. "He's really not."
"What are you going to do?"
I thought about it. About three years of marriage that had been both a lie and the most real thing in my life. About the hurt Damien had caused and the man he was trying to become. About forgiveness and second chances and whether love was ever really enough.
"I don't know," I admitted. "But I guess I have time to figure it out."
My phone buzzed. A news alert.
BREAKING: Sienna Blackwood Arrested at Airport Attempting to Flee Country
Victoria Castellano Taken into Federal Custody on Multiple Charges
Sources Say Both Women Are Being Offered Plea Deals in Exchange for Testimony Against Each Other
It was over.
Really, truly over.
I showed Lucas the alert, and he grinned.
"We did it. We actually did it."
"Yeah," I said, feeling the weight of the last four days finally lifting. "We did."
Damien finished his press conference and found us backstage. When he saw me, his expression was a mix of hope and fear.
"I meant every word," he said quietly.
"I know." I took a breath. "But public declarations don't undo private betrayals, Damien. You hurt me. Badly. And I'm not ready to just... forgive and forget."
"I understand." He nodded, though I could see the disappointment in his eyes. "What do you need from me?"
"Time. Space. Proof that you've actually changed and this isn't just guilt talking." I met his eyes. "And therapy. We both need therapy. Separately and probably together if there's any hope of salvaging this."
"Done. Whatever you need." He reached out tentatively, and I let him take my hand. "I'll wait as long as it takes, Aria. Years if necessary. I'm not making the mistake of giving up on you again."
"Good," I said. "Because I'm not making the mistake of being easy to win back."
Lucas cleared his throat. "I hate to interrupt this moment, but we should probably leave before the reporters find you back here."
He was right. Already I could hear them gathering outside, calling my name.
"Come on," Damien said, gesturing to a back exit. "My car is waiting."
We slipped out the back, and Damien's driver whisked us away to his apartment—the penthouse that had been our home for three years.
"Are you sure about this?" I asked as we rode the elevator up. "Coming back here?"
"No," Damien admitted. "But I had it completely cleaned. All of Sienna's things removed.
Everything that reminded me of the last four days erased. It's a blank slate now."
The elevator opened, and I stepped into the penthouse cautiously.
He was right. It looked different. Fresher. The flowers Sienna had brought were gone, replaced with nothing. The expensive perfume smell had been aired out. Even the furniture had been rearranged.
It looked like our home again.
Or at least, like it could be.
"I'm going to head out," Lucas said from the elevator. "Let you two talk. But Aria?" He met my eyes. "Call me if you need anything. Anything at all."
"I will. And Lucas?" I hugged him. "Thank you. For everything. I couldn't have done this without you."
"You're stronger than you think," he said quietly. "You didn't need me. But I'm glad I got to be part of it anyway."
He left, and suddenly it was just me and Damien in our too-big apartment, with too much history and too many questions between us.
"Are you hungry?" Damien asked. "I could make breakfast. Or order something."
"You cook now?"
"I've been learning. Turns out when you fire your chef and your housekeeper because you realize they were all reporting to Sienna, you have to learn basic life skills." He smiled ruefully. "I'm not very good yet. But I'm trying."
"Trying is good," I said.
He made scrambled eggs—slightly overcooked but edible—and we ate in companionable silence.
"What happens now?" Damien finally asked. "With us, I mean."
"I don't know," I admitted. "I'm still angry. I'm still hurt. But I also... I can't just turn off three years of loving you. It doesn't work like that."
"So what do we do?"
"We start over. Properly this time." I set down my fork. "We date. Like normal people. You take me to dinner, we have conversations, we get to know each other without the weight of a contract hanging over us."
"I'd like that." He reached across the table tentatively, and I let him take my hand. "And the marriage? The divorce papers?"
"Are already filed. In six weeks, we'll officially be divorced." I squeezed his hand. "And if, after those six weeks, we both still want to try this—to try us—then we can. As two people choosing each other. Not because of a contract or an obligation. But because we actually want to."
"I want to," he said immediately.
"You say that now. But you also said you'd love me in our marriage, and look how that turned out." I pulled my hand back gently. "Prove it, Damien. Prove you've changed. Prove this isn't just guilt or fear of being alone. Prove you actually know who I am and love that person, not just the idea of me."
"How do I do that?"
"Therapy," I said again. "Individual and couples. Actual communication. Honesty about what you're feeling instead of shutting me out. And time. Just... time to show me through actions that you mean what you say."
He nodded slowly. "I can do that."
"Good." I stood up. "Now if you'll excuse me, I need to go to my new apartment and sleep for about sixteen hours."
"New apartment?"
"The Tesla one. From the divorce settlement. It's mine now." I grabbed my bag. "I'm not staying here, Damien. Not yet. Maybe not ever. This place has too many memories of who I used to be."
"I understand." He stood too. "Can I at least drive you?"
I thought about saying no. About calling a car service or Lucas.
But this was what starting over meant. Small gestures. Small steps.
"Okay," I said. "You can drive me."