The roses wilted before the ceremony ended.
Aria Lancaster stood at the altar, her white dress heavy with silence, surrounded by whispers. Guests shifted in their seats. Cameras clicked—paparazzi devouring the scandal with glee.
No groom.
She clenched her fists under her bouquet. Her fiancé, Daniel Thorne—the man she had known for five years—was gone. No calls. No explanations. Just a final message from his assistant:
"He's not coming."
She should've cried. Should've collapsed. But Aria had been raised as a Lancaster. And Lancasters didn't show weakness—not even when their hearts were shattering.
Her father's face was pale, his breathing uneven. Her mother's nurse whispered urgently in her ear. The investors from Europe had already started leaving. With this disgrace, the Lancaster empire would crumble within weeks.
And then came the shadow.
"I can help you," a low voice murmured beside her.
She turned. Damien Blackwood. Dark-haired, ice-eyed. The man who had publicly humiliated her father six months ago in a hostile takeover. The man who smiled as her family lost everything.
Aria's stomach twisted. "I'd rather die than take your help."
"Then your mother dies instead," he said coldly. "And your father goes to prison."
The bouquet slipped from her hands.
"What do you want?" she whispered.
He handed her a black envelope. Inside: a contract.
Marriage. One year. No love. No divorce. Absolute obedience.
"I want a bride," Damien said. "And you, Aria, need a savior."
She looked up, meeting his eyes. There was no mercy in them. Only challenge.
In that moment, Aria Lancaster made the most dangerous decision of her life.
She signed