Page 34 of The Billionaire’s Contract Bride

Damien’s silence was answer enough.

The courthouse’s secure rear entrance was guarded by armed security. Damien led Aria through a private marble corridor toward double mahogany doors. Faint classical music echoed from inside.

“You said a judge,” Aria whispered.

“There is a judge.”

“Why is there music?”

“Appearances.”

“How many people are in there?”

“Thirty-two.”

“You invited thirty-two people without telling me?” She hissed angrily.

“You would have objected.”

“Of course I would have!”

“Which would have changed nothing.”

Aria stopped outside the doors. “I need a minute.”

“You have forty seconds.”

“Damien—”

“Thirty-five.”

Aria turned on her heel and walked into the adjacent women’s lounge before she said something the security microphones might capture. Inside, she locked herself in a stall and pressed her hands to her stomach, breathing through the nausea.

This was happening. In moments, she would marry a man who had watched her for over a year, engineered her financial collapse, and threatened a reporter for his microphone accidentally touching her.

Her mother was alive because of him. That was the lock; her signature had merely turned the key.

Aria stepped out to the sinks and splashed cold water over her wrists.

“The first one wore white.”

Aria spun around.

A woman stood near the far mirror. She was tall, striking, perhaps in her early fifties, wearing a dark emerald dress and a diamond necklace. Aria hadn’t heard her enter.

“Excuse me?”

The woman opened a gold compact, touching powder beneath her eye. “The first woman Damien intended to marry. She wore white to the announcement dinner.”

Aria’s pulse slowed into a heavy rhythm. “Who are you?”

“Someone who has survived the Blackthorne family far longer than most.”

“What happened to her?”

The woman snapped the compact shut. “Three days before the wedding, she vanished.”

“What was her name?”