The reception was a carefully choreographed performance, and Aria was acutely aware that she was the supporting actress in Damien Blackwell's production.
The ballroom had been transformed during the ceremony. Round tables draped in cream linens surrounded a marble dance floor that gleamed under the chandeliers. Ice sculptures of swans how original flanked the elaborate dessert display. A live orchestra occupied one corner, playing refined classical pieces that probably cost more per minute than most people earned in a day.
Everything was tasteful. Expensive. Perfect.
And completely impersonal.
"Smile," Damien murmured as they paused at the entrance to the ballroom. His hand rested at the small of her back, possessive and warm through the thin silk of her dress. "We're newlyweds. Try to look at least moderately pleased about it."
Aria turned her head to look up at him, one eyebrow arched in a silent question: Should I? Really?
Something flickered in his eyes amusement, maybe, or irritation. With him, it was hard to tell. "Yes, really. I have a reputation to maintain."
She pulled out her phone with her free hand and typed one-handed, a skill she'd perfected over the years. "What about my reputation? Or do I not get to have one?"
"You're Mrs. Damien Blackwell now," he said, his tone matter-of-fact. "That's the only reputation that matters."
Before she could respond not that she could with words the ballroom erupted in applause as the master of ceremonies announced their entrance. Damien's hand pressed more firmly against her back, guiding her forward into the sea of faces.
Three hundred guests. Three hundred strangers, most of whom were undoubtedly wondering why a man like Damien Blackwell would marry a nobody who couldn't even speak.
Aria had spent the past two weeks imagining this moment, preparing herself for the judgment, the pity, the curiosity. But the reality was somehow worse than her imagination. She could feel their eyes on her like physical weight, cataloging every detail, searching for flaws, trying to understand the puzzle she represented.
The mute bride. How tragic. How… convenient.
She caught snippets of whispered conversations as they moved through the room toward the head table:
"…heard he needed a wife for the board of directors…"
"…can't even speak, poor thing…"
"…probably thinks she'll be easy to control…"
"…wonder how long this will last…"
That last one made Aria's jaw tighten. Everyone assumed she was temporary. A placeholder. Someone Damien would discard the moment she'd served her purpose.
Maybe they were right.
But she'd be damned if she'd make it easy for him.
They reached the head table, elevated slightly above the rest of the ballroom. Elena was already seated there, along with Damien's best man a handsome Asian man in his early thirties who Aria recognized from the ceremony as Marcus Chen, Damien's COO and apparently only friend.
Marcus stood as they approached, his smile warm and genuine in a way that made him seem like he belonged to an entirely different species than Damien.
"Congratulations, you two," Marcus said, though his eyes lingered on Aria with something that looked like concern. "Welcome to the family, Aria. May I call you Aria?"
She nodded, returning his smile. At least someone at this wedding seemed human.
"Don't get too comfortable," Damien said coldly, pulling out Aria's chair with mechanical courtesy. "She's my wife, Marcus. Not your new best friend."
"Someone's feeling possessive already," Marcus observed, his tone light but his eyes sharp. "Interesting."
"Someone needs to remember his place," Damien countered.
Aria felt a headache beginning to form behind her eyes. Was this what her life would be now? Watching Damien assert dominance over every interaction, treating her like a possession to be guarded?
She pulled out her phone and typed a message, then pointedly showed it to Marcus instead of Damien: "It's nice to meet you, Marcus. I hope we can be friends. I have a feeling I'm going to need some."
Marcus's eyes widened slightly as he read the message, then crinkled with poorly suppressed amusement. "I like you already. And yes, absolutely. Anyone who can make Damien's jaw clench like that is someone I want to know better."
Damien's jaw was indeed clenched. Aria could see the muscle jumping along his jawline as he took his seat beside her. "Are you done?" he asked, his voice dangerously quiet.
She typed again, this time showing him the screen: "I haven't even started."
The dinner service began before Damien could respond, which was probably for the best. Waiters appeared with the first course some kind of elaborate seafood presentation that looked like art on a plate. Aria picked up her fork, her stomach churning too much to actually be hungry, but she went through the motions.
Across the table, Elena was watching her with hawk-like intensity, clearly ready to intervene at the first sign of trouble. Aria caught her eye and gave a subtle shake of her head. I'm fine. Trust me.
The meal progressed through multiple courses, each more elaborate than the last. Damien barely touched his food, spending most of the dinner engaged in business conversations with various guests who stopped by the head table to offer congratulations and, more importantly, to curry favor with one of New York's most powerful men.
Aria observed it all in silence. She watched the way people deferred to Damien, the way his mere attention made grown men straighten their spines and women flutter their eyelashes. She watched the way he wielded his power like a weapon subtle, precise, devastating.
And she watched the way he completely ignored her existence unless someone directly addressed her, at which point his hand would find hers under the table, a show of unity that felt more like a claim of ownership.
"You're very quiet," a woman's voice said from Aria's right.
Aria turned to find an elegant blonde in her late twenties standing beside the table. The woman was stunning in a deliberately provocative way her red dress cut low, her makeup flawless, her smile sharp as a knife.
"Oh, I forgot," the woman continued, her tone dripping with false sympathy. "You can't speak, can you? How… unfortunate."
Damien's attention snapped to the woman immediately. "Isabelle."