Page 36 of The Billionaire’s Contract Bride

Damien stepped into her personal space. “There are thirty-two witnesses, a judge, and three board members waiting beyond those doors. If we are not legally wed before the succession vote at noon, Victor gains temporary control of my company.”

“Then answer me.”

A muscle in his jaw twitched. “Celeste Laurent.”

The name lingered heavy in the air between them.

“Vivian’s daughter?”

“Niece.”

“Where is she?”

“Gone.”

“Gone where?”

“If I knew, she would not be gone.”

The response contained something Aria hadn’t anticipated. Not guilt—pain. It flickered in his eyes and vanished before she could be certain it was real.

“Did you hurt her?”

Damien stared at Aria for a long moment. “Not in the way you mean.”

“That isn’t a denial.”

“No.”

Classical music swelled beyond the double doors.

Damien offered his hand once more. “You wanted a truth. I gave you one.”

“Half of one.”

“That is more than anyone else in that room will ever give you.”

Aria looked at his extended palm. Slowly, she placed her hand in his. His fingers closed around hers with quiet, absolute finality. She told herself it didn’t fit. It was the last lie she told herself as an unmarried woman.

The courtroom had been transformed into a stark, private chapel. White roses climbed the marble pillars, and tall candles burned in the high arched windows. Thirty-two guests sat in rows divided by a narrow carpeted aisle.

None of them were there for Aria.

Every eye turned as the double doors opened.

She recognized Augustus Blackthorne immediately. Damien’s grandfather sat in the front row—silver-haired and straight-backed despite the cane resting beside him. His pale eyes were colder than Damien’s and twice as old.

Beside him sat a handsome man in his fifties whose sharp smile never quite reached his eyes.

Victor. Aria knew it before anyone spoke a word.

The judge stood beneath the seal of the state. Damien guided her forward, his thumb brushing once across her knuckles—a gesture that looked affectionate to the gallery, but felt to her like a quiet warning not to run.

The ceremony was swift: legal declarations, names, promises stripped of religion and romantic fluff.

Then the judge asked Aria if she entered the marriage of her own free will.

Silence settled over the room.