That evening, Ariana tried to keep herself busy in the mansion—reading, reorganizing her small closet, and avoiding thinking too much about Damian's ex-fiancée.
But the mansion wasn't quiet.
Servants rushed around, whispering urgently.
Ariana stepped out into the hallway.
"What's happening?"
One maid bowed quickly.
"Madam, Mr. Steele just returned… and he's in a terrible mood."
Ariana's heart tightened.
Without thinking, she hurried downstairs.
In His Study
The door was half-open.
Damian stood inside, hands braced on his desk, shoulders rigid.
Papers were scattered.
A glass had shattered on the floor.
His breathing was harsh—like someone trying to hold himself together.
Ariana froze.
She had never seen him lose control.
Not even once.
"Damian…?"
He stiffened but didn't turn around.
"It's nothing," he said quietly.
"Go rest."
She stepped closer.
"You're upset."
"I said I'm fine."
He wasn't.
Not even close.
Ariana gently approached until she stood beside him.
"What happened?"
Damian didn't look at her, but his voice dropped low and rough.
"Someone leaked a photo of you."
Her eyes widened.
"M-Me?"
"At your workplace. Leaving the building."
His jaw tightened.
"They're calling you a gold-digger. A social climber. A nobody pretending to be Mrs. Steele."
Ariana's stomach twisted painfully.
"I don't care what strangers say," she whispered.
"You should," Damian growled softly.
"They're attacking you because of me."
She touched his arm gently.
A small, barely-there touch.
But Damian froze.
He lifted his head slowly.
"You shouldn't see me like this," he murmured.
"I'm not good company tonight."
"You're human," Ariana whispered.
"It's okay to be upset."
Something in him cracked.
Not visibly.
Not dramatically.
Just quietly.
The mask hid his face, but she could feel the storm in him.
Her voice softened.
"Come sit."
Damian allowed her to guide him to the couch—
a miracle on its own.
He sat, elbows on his knees, head lowered.
Ariana hesitated only a moment before taking a seat beside him.
Silence filled the room.
But it wasn't heavy.
It was intimate.
After a long moment, Damian spoke.
"When my ex-fiancée left me, everyone mocked me," he said quietly.
"It didn't matter. I am used to being disliked. Feared."
He turned his head slightly.
"But I cannot tolerate them insulting you."
Ariana's chest tightened.
"You don't need to fight my battles."
"I do," he whispered.
"You are my wife."
Her breath caught.
Damian closed his eyes briefly.
"I don't… want you to suffer because of me."
Ariana swallowed hard.
"I'm okay."
He shook his head.
"You shouldn't be."
She hesitated, then spoke softly.
"I'm not leaving."
Damian's head lifted.
Ariana met his eyes through the mask.
"I'm staying," she whispered.
"No matter what the internet says. Or what people say. Or what anyone thinks."
Something shattered in his expression—
something raw
and unguarded
and vulnerable.
"Ariana…" he breathed.
For the first time…
Damian Steele looked like a man trying not to fall apart.
And for the first time…
he wasn't hiding it.