The Moretti gala was the kind of event Aria Lane grew up seeing only in magazines, shimmering gowns, glittering chandeliers, old money, and newer scandals. It was the kind of world her mother used to daydream about, flipping through pages with longing sighs.
And now Aria was walking straight into it…
On Dante Moretti's arm.
As his contract wife,
as the woman everyone wanted to know and destroy.
The Moretti limousine pulled up to the grand hotel hosting the charity gala. Flashbulbs exploded outside like lightning as paparazzi swarmed the entrance.
Aria swallowed hard.
Dante glanced at her from the seat beside her. He wore a midnight-blue suit that made him look carved from shadows and moonlight, his silver eyes reflecting the city lights.
"You're nervous," he said quietly.
"I'm fine."
He arched a brow. "You're lying."
Her jaw tightened. "You drag me into a world that hates me, and you expect me not to be nervous?"
His gaze drifted to her emerald gown, a flawless silk creation his stylist chose, hugging her perfectly, making her look like temptation wrapped in innocence. A diamond necklace, one he clasped around her throat himself earlier, rested against her skin.
"You'll be fine," he said, voice softer than she expected. "Just stay close to me."
"I don't have a choice," she muttered.
Dante didn't deny it.
The car door opened, a doorman offered Aria a gloved hand, but Dante stepped out first, ignoring the cameras as he turned and extended his own hand to her.
"Aria," he murmured. "Look at me."
She did.
"You walk beside me," he said, voice low and commanding. "Not behind me. Not as a charity. As my wife."
Her heart thudded painfully,
Contract wife, not real, not chosen.
But the world didn't need to know that.
She placed her hand into his,
and they stepped into the storm.
The lobby glittered with gold and crystal, a string quartet played in the background, their music elegant and cold like everything else in this world. Women in gowns that cost more than apartments stared openly as Aria entered.
The whispers began instantly.
"That's her…"
"The nobody he married…"
"She looks cheap next to him…"
"Do you think she tricked him?"
"I heard she was pregnant..."
"No, it was blackmail…"
"Definitely blackmail."
Aria's pulse hammered. She kept her face neutral, tilting her chin up.
Her mother once said: When you feel small, pretend you're a queen.
Tonight, she pretended.
Dante's hand tightened on her waist.
"Ignore them," he murmured.
"That's hard when they're staring right at me."
"They're staring at me," he corrected. "They always do."
But Aria didn't miss the tension in his shoulders.
He hated this.
He hated that they were targeting her.
As they approached the ballroom, a woman stepped directly into their path, beautiful, tall, diamond earrings that looked like they cost a fortune. Her lips curled into a mocking smile.
"Dante," she purred. "I didn't believe the rumors. But here she is."
Dante's face hardened. "Elena."
So this was Elena Armitage, Manhattan socialite, heiress, and one of the elitist vipers Aria had heard whispers about.
Elena turned to Aria with a false smile. "You poor thing."
Aria blinked. "Excuse me?"
"It must be exhausting," Elena sighed dramatically, "trying to keep up with us."
Aria steadied herself. "I'm not trying to keep up with anyone."
"Oh no, of course not," Elena said sweetly. "You couldn't."
Dante's jaw tightened dangerously. "Elena..."
"Relax," Elena interrupted, patting him on the chest as if they were old lovers. "I'm just welcoming her. She must be overwhelmed. A… common girl like her, thrust into our circle."
Aria felt heat surge up her throat. "I'm not common."
"Sweetheart," Elena smiled venomously, "your dress alone says otherwise."
Aria stiffened, because the gown, even though beautiful, was simpler than the others. She felt painfully out of place.
Dante stepped forward, voice icy. "Touch her again, Elena, and I'll remove your family from every Moretti contract in the city."
Elena's face paled. She stumbled back. "Dante, I didn't mean..."
"Move," he said coldly.
Elena fled.
Aria stared up at him, stunned.
"You didn't have to do that," she whispered.
"Yes," he said darkly, "I did."
They entered the ballroom.
It was breathtaking, crystal chandeliers, a gold dome ceiling, fountains overflowing with roses, but none of that mattered. The whispers followed them like a swarm of insects.
"Why her?"
"She's not even refined."
"His mother must be furious."
"She's a phase. Nothing more."
Aria's chest tightened.
Dante led her toward a private table. But every step felt heavier, every stare sharper. The world judged her from head to toe, her posture, her expression, the way she held her glass.
She didn't belong here.
She didn't belong anywhere.
Dante sensed it. He leaned down.
"Say the word," he murmured, "and we leave."
Her breath caught.
"You'd leave? In front of all these people?"
"They're irrelevant. Your comfort isn't."
Aria stared at him, confused, conflicted.
This was not the ruthless man who forced her into a contract. This was someone… else.
"No," she said finally, straightening. "I'll stay."
His eyes warmed, just a fraction.
"Good girl."
Aria's stomach flipped at the tone. She hated how her body reacted. She hated that he noticed.
Then a voice cut through the air.
"Well, well. If it isn't the bride."
A woman approached, mid-50s, elegant, dripping with pearls. Her lips curled as if she smelled something foul.
"You must be Aria Lane," she said, stressing the last name. "The charity case."
Aria froze.
Dante didn't.
"Mrs. Vale," he said sharply. "Walk away."
"Please." Mrs. Vale laughed. "I'm just curious what your father thinks of your… choice."
"My father is dead," Dante said coldly.
"And yours, dear?" Mrs. Vale sneered. "Is he proud you slept your way into a marriage contract?"
Aria's breath stopped.
Dante's rage exploded so violently the air shifted. His hand slammed onto the table beside them, hard enough to make guests jump.
"Apologize," he growled.
Mrs. Vale paled. "Dante..."
"Now."
"I… I didn't realize..."
"You did," he said. "And if you ever speak to my wife again, you will lose everything your family owns."
The woman stumbled back and practically ran.
Aria stood frozen, heart pounding.
Wife.
He had said wife.
Not contract bride.
Not obligation.
Not problem.
Wife.
She swallowed. "Dante… you didn't have to cause a scene."
"Yes," he said, stepping closer, voice low enough only she could hear. "Yes, I did."
She looked away. "Why? To protect your reputation?"
"No," he said quietly. "To protect you."
Her chest ached.
She hated this. Hated how he could be cruel one moment, protective the next. Hated how he blurred lines she desperately tried to keep sharp.
She blurred them too.
When the music changed, Dante reached for her hand.
"Dance with me."
She froze. "Here?"
"Here," he said, not asking, inviting.
Her breath trembled as he pulled her into the center of the ballroom. People watched. People whispered. But when Dante's hand slid to her waist, the world faded.
He leaned in.
"Let them look," he murmured. "Let them choke on their envy."
Aria's heart raced.
"And you?" she whispered. "What do you want?"
His silver eyes burned into hers.
"You."
The word landed like a blow. Raw. Unfiltered.
But before she could respond, a loud murmur cut through the room. Phones lifted. Guests whispered louder.
Aria stiffened. "What's happening?"
Dante turned.
Across the room, a reporter raised a camera.
And on a massive projector screen, a headline flashed:
"DANTE MORETTI'S SECRET CONTRACT BRIDE?"
The ballroom exploded into chaos.
Dante's face darkened with murderous fury.
Aria's world shattered.
And their night, which had begun with whispers…
was about to end in war.