When Ariana returned home that evening, she expected the mansion to be as silent and cold as usual.
Instead, the front door opened before she reached it.
Damian stood there.
Tall.
Still masked.
Still unreadable.
But there was something different in his posture—
a tightness in his shoulders,
a stillness in the air,
an intensity she hadn't seen before.
He had been waiting.
Ariana tried to smile.
"I'm home."
His eyes scanned her carefully.
"Did anyone bother you today?"
She stepped back slightly.
"I… um… not really."
Damian's jaw tightened.
"Not really is not an answer."
Ariana blinked.
"Everyone was actually… kind. Too kind. I don't want them scared of me. They're just coworkers."
"You're my wife."
The way he said it—quiet but powerful—made her chest warm and ache at the same time.
"Come," Damian said.
"We need to talk.
In His Study
Ariana sat in a large leather chair opposite Damian.
He didn't sit behind his desk as usual.
He sat right in front of her.
Close.
Too close.
"I didn't intend to stress you," Damian said slowly.
She raised her eyes.
"You didn't stress me."
"You were uncomfortable."
Ariana sighed.
"I just don't want people treating me differently. I'm still the same Ariana. I'm not…"
She hesitated.
"…I'm not really a Mrs. Steele. It's a contract."
Damian's fingers tightened on the edge of his seat.
"You are my wife," he repeated, firmer this time.
"Contract or not."
Ariana looked down at her hands.
"I don't even use your name."
"Because you don't want to," he said softly.
"And I respect that."
Silence filled the room—calm, heavy, unspoken.
Then Damian leaned back slightly.
"Ariana… do you regret agreeing to the marriage?"
Her head snapped up.
His voice was steady, but something in it felt fragile.
Something that made her heart twist.
"N-No," she whispered.
"I don't regret it. I just… don't understand why you chose me."
Damian stared into her eyes.
His voice dropped, deeper, gentler.
"Because you're the only woman who ever looked at me…
and didn't see a monster, a golden ticket, or a mask."
A pause.
"You saw a man."
Ariana's breath caught.
His honesty was overwhelming.
Before she could speak, Damian exhaled softly and reached for something on his desk.
A small velvet pouch.
He placed it in her hands.
"What's this?" she asked.
"Open it."
Inside was a delicate silver bracelet, simple but beautiful.
"I can't take this—"
"It's not luxury," Damian said calmly.
"It's symbolic."
Ariana looked up, confused.
"Symbolic?"
Damian lowered his gaze.
"It means you're not alone in this house."
Her chest tightened painfully.
Something unspoken passed between them.
Something neither of them dared to name yet.
As Ariana Stood to Leave
She paused at the door.
"Damian?"
He looked up immediately.
She swallowed gently.
"I didn't eat lunch until… the assistant brought it. But not because I don't care. I just… didn't want anyone to think I'm being spoiled."
He stood slowly.
"You're not spoiled," he said quietly.
"You're cared for."
Her heart fluttered again.
Ariana nodded, cheeks warm.
"Thank you. For the lunch."
Something softened in Damian's eyes.
"It won't be the last."
And for the first time, Ariana felt it—
the first crack in his mask.
Not the one covering his face…
but the one covering his heart.