Ariana barely slept that night.
Not because of fear—
but because of uncertainty.
The Elite Women's Gala was tomorrow…
a place where powerful women gathered, judged, compared, and destroyed reputations with a smile.
Women who would hate her on sight.
Damian's wife.
The girl from nowhere.
The nobody.
Mrs. Rowan entered Ariana's room early in the morning, carrying a clipboard and a warm smile.
"Good morning, dear. Today will be busy."
"I'm… nervous," Ariana admitted.
Mrs. Rowan patted her hand gently.
"You'll be fine. Mr. Steele made it clear you must be treated with the utmost care."
Ariana's chest warmed.
"Of course he did," she murmured without meaning to.
---
The Fitting Room
A fashion consultant arrived by noon.
A stylist.
A makeup artist.
A hairdresser.
Two assistants with racks of dresses.
Ariana stood frozen in the middle of the room.
"I-I don't need all this," she whispered.
The consultant smiled politely.
"You are Mrs. Steele. The wife of Arrendellia's most influential man. It is necessary."
Ariana wanted to protest—
but the moment she put on the first dress, everything fell silent.
A long, flowing gown.
Soft champagne color.
The fabric shimmered like liquid light.
Simple. Elegant. Not loud.
Exactly her.
The stylist gasped.
"This one. Only this one."
Mrs. Rowan clasped her hands together.
"You look… breathtaking."
Ariana looked at her reflection.
She barely recognized herself.
Was this really her?
The poor girl who didn't know Damian's name?
Who took buses to work?
Who lived simply?
Now she looked like someone who belonged in a room of elites—
even though she wasn't sure she ever would.
****
Hair & Makeup
As professionals worked around her, brushing her hair, blending makeup gently onto her skin, Ariana's thoughts drifted.
Would Damian think she looked strange?
Too dressed up?
Trying too hard?
She felt a flutter of worry.
She wanted him to think she looked… decent.
Just decent.
But then she remembered his words:
"You are my wife.
There is no world you don't belong in."
Her heartbeat calmed only a little.
****
Damian Arrives Early
Damian returned home much earlier than usual.
The mansion grew quiet the moment he stepped inside.
He walked through the halls, heading toward the preparation room—
because Mrs. Rowan had sent him a message:
"She's almost ready."
He stopped at the doorway.
The door was slightly open.
And then…
He saw her.
Ariana was standing in front of a full-length mirror, adjusting the soft fabric of her gown, looking nervous.
Damian froze.
Completely froze.
Ariana turned—
And Damian forgot how to breathe.
She stepped forward nervously.
"D-Damian… do I look weird?"
"Weird?" he repeated quietly.
Then he walked forward slowly, like each step was beyond his control.
When he stood in front of her, he said nothing for a moment.
Finally, his voice came—low, rough, almost stunned.
"You look…"
He swallowed.
"…beautiful."
Ariana's breath caught.
Her cheeks went warm instantly.
His voice… the way he said it… it didn't feel like a compliment.
It felt like an admission.
Damian cleared his throat slightly, regaining control.
"You don't need to be afraid," he said.
"I'll be with you the entire evening."
Ariana looked up at him.
"With your mask?"
Her voice was small.
Damian paused.
Then, unexpectedly, he said:
"No."
Ariana's eyes widened.
"You're… not wearing it?"
"Not tonight."
"W-Why?"
Damian held her gaze for a long moment.
Then he said quietly:
"Because when I open myself to love…
people will see my face."
A pause.
"You make that possible."
Ariana's heart nearly stopped.
He wasn't saying he loved her—
not yet—
but this was the closest she had ever seen Damian to vulnerable truth.
She swallowed hard, touched, overwhelmed.
"I… I don't know what to say."
"You don't have to," Damian murmured.
Then he extended his hand.
"Shall we go?"
Ariana placed her small hand into his.
And Damian tightened his hold gently—
as if he wasn't just taking his wife to a gala…
but walking with the only person who had ever reached the hidden part of him.