Aria barely had time to exhale from the suffocating night of the gala before Dante's world swallowed her again.
The next morning, she woke in the penthouse with her head pounding, the echo of whispered judgments left to right still there. She had hoped today would be quiet anything to recover from last night's performance.
But quiet never existed in Moretti Tower.
Not for his wife.
Not for her.
She stepped out of the bedroom wrapped in a robe, hair still damp from the shower, when she nearly collided with Sofia, Dante's head of household staff.
The woman froze, eyes widening at the sight of Aria.
"Signora Moretti…" Sofia's voice shook. "We have a problem."
Aria's stomach dropped. "What happened?"
Sofia thrust a tablet toward her with trembling hands.
Aria looked.
And the world stopped.
The Headlines were:
"Moretti's Mysterious Bride: Gold-Digger or Captive?"
"Aria Lane - Unknown Artist, Overnight Billionaire Wife."
"Sources say she didn't know how to use a wine glass."
"Virgin Bride? Her innocence caught on camera."
Photo after photo filled the screen, Aria at the gala, stiff, nervous, wide-eyed. Every awkward moment magnified. Every slip of her expression turned into a headline.
But the worst was a slow-motion video clip replaying on repeat:
The server offering champagne.
Dante denying it.
Aria's startled flush.
Her hand trembling slightly.
The caption:
"Too naïve for champagne? Who is this girl?"
Sofia wrung her hands. "They're calling it the naïve bride scandal, signora. They say you've never attended events of this level. That you're..."
"Inexperienced?" Aria whispered.
Humiliated heat crawled up her neck.
That wasn't the worst.
At the bottom of the article was a grainy zoomed-in shot of her wedding ring. Small, simple, barely catching the light.
"A billionaire who buys diamonds for board members gives his wife a modest ring? Who IS she?"
Her throat tightened.
She didn't choose that ring. Dante had shoved it onto her finger like another strategic move.
But now the world thought it was proof she didn't belong.
The elevator chimed.
Dante strode out of it with two of his lieutenants trailing behind him, eyes already narrowed like he sensed the tension.
"What happened?" he demanded.
Sofia wisely fled, leaving Aria standing alone in the hallway with the tablet in her hand.
She held it out without a word.
Dante took it.
His jaw locked.
He watched the clip once.
Twice.
On the third replay, his fingers tightened around the device until the metal casing creaked.
"You didn't drink the champagne," he said quietly. "So they decided you were… inexperienced."
Aria's voice cracked. "They're calling me stupid, Dante."
"They're calling you innocent," he corrected.
"That's worse."
He finally tore his gaze away from the screen and looked at her. Really looked.
Her damp hair.
Her robe.
Her bare feet curled against the cold marble.
Her trembling hands.
Something shifted in his expression.
Something sharp and protective.
"Get dressed," he said softly.
"Why?"
"Because we're going to fix this."
Fourty minutes later she was seated beside him in his black Maybach, wearing a simple cream dress that Sofia had chosen to soften her image.
Dante hadn't spoken since they left the penthouse.
He sat rigid, gloved fingers tapping against his knee, eyes dark with calculation.
Aria finally broke the silence. "It's not a big deal. Social media will move on in a few hours..."
"No," he cut in. "They crossed a line."
Her heart thudded. "By saying I looked inexperienced?"
"By assuming you're weak." His voice dropped into a dangerous calm. "By thinking they can use you to embarrass me."
Aria blinked. "This isn't about you."
"Yes," he said. "It is. Everything tied to me becomes a weapon."
The cold truth of it burned in her chest.
She swallowed. "Where are we going?"
"To the only place in this city where perception can be erased," he said. "Or rebuilt."
She frowned. "Which is?"
He finally looked at her.
"The press room."
When they arrived at the Moretti Group media floor, Aria's breath caught.
Camera crews.
Reporters.
Live-stream backdrops.
Microphone stands.
All waiting.
All watching.
Dante didn't give her time to panic. His hand closed around hers, firm and steady. Not gentle, but grounding.
"Stay close," he murmured.
She was too overwhelmed to argue.
As they stepped onto the small stage, every voice in the room went silent.
Dante faced the crowd. "I'll speak first."
Aria tensed, but before she could step back, he pulled her into his side, his hand resting at her waist in a gesture that looked protective but felt possessive.
"The rumors circulating regarding my wife," Dante began, voice deep and icy, "are unfounded and insulting."
Aria's breath halted.
Wife.
He said it with purpose. Weight. Finality.
"She did not attend last night's gala for attention or status," he continued. "She was there because she belongs at my side."
Whispers rose.
Aria flushed, overwhelmed.
But Dante wasn't finished.
"And for those questioning her background…" His arm tightened slightly around her. "…her character speaks for itself. She has more dignity and integrity than anyone in this room."
Reporters scribbled violently.
Aria felt her chest tighten.
But then, one voice rang out:
"Mrs. Moretti, is it true you had never attended an event like this before? That you seemed… naïve?"
Aria froze.
The room waited.
Dante looked ready to break someone.
But Aria stepped forward before he could answer.
"I wasn't nervous because of the event," she said quietly. "I was nervous because every person in that room was waiting for me to fail."
The cameras zoomed in.
She swallowed, forcing herself to meet their stares.
"I'm not from this world. I didn't grow up in wealth. I don't know all your rules yet." She lifted her chin. "But that doesn't make me unintelligent, and it doesn't make me fragile."
A ripple moved through the room.
Dante looked at her with an expression she couldn't decode.
"And for the champagne incident?" she added.
The cameras leaned in.
"I didn't drink because my husband told me not to."
A collective gasp.
Dante went utterly still beside her.
Aria finished softly:
"I trust him."
The moment the press conference ended, Dante seized her hand and pulled her into a quiet hallway.
"What you did," he said lowly, "was dangerous."
She braced for anger.
"But it was also," he admitted grudgingly, "effective."
Aria blinked. "You're… not mad?"
His silver eyes locked onto hers.
"I told you," he said, voice dropping, "innocence is a weapon in this world. But only if it's yours to wield."
Her breath caught.
He stepped closer. Too close.
"Don't ever let them shame you again."
"Dante..."
"You are my wife," he said. "And that means something."
She stared at him, heart pounding.
Not because of the scandal.
But because for a moment for a brief, terrifying moment...
Dante Moretti looked at her
like she wasn't a burden.
Like she wasn't a weapon.
Like she mattered.