Chapter 8 Aria Comes To The De Luca Mansion

The early morning sun cast a soft golden hue over the De Luca estate. A sleek black car purred quietly in the driveway, waiting patiently. Inside, Aria stood by the entrance with her suitcase by her side, her eyes slightly puffy from lack of sleep. She turned and hugged Fiona tightly. “Take care of yourself,” Fiona whispered into her ear, squeezing her a little longer than usual. “You too,” Aria replied softly, pulling back with a faint, brave smile. “Thank you for everything.” "Try not to get yourself killed" Fiona said and they both laughed. "I'll leave now" Aria said. Fiona nodded, trying not to look too emotional. Aria picked up her suitcase and walked out. The driver opened the door for her, and without a word, she slid into the back seat. The car pulled away, leaving the comfort of Fiona’s care behind, driving her straight into the lion’s den. Back at the De Luca mansion, Marco sat at the long breakfast table, his fingers drumming against the edge of his glass, sharp taps echoing through the silent room. His jaw was tense, and his mind was clouded with suspicion. Whatever surprise his father had in store, he had a feeling it wasn’t going to be anything good. A few moments later, Damian entered the room, dressed in an impeccably tailored black suit. He looked composed, calm, even smug. The air shifted immediately. Two maids quickly scurried past, whispering to each other, their eyes flickering toward Damian with equal parts awe and fear. “Good morning, son,” Damian said smoothly, picking up a glass and pouring himself some coffee from the silver pot on the sideboard. Marco didn’t bother looking at him. “What’s the surprise?” Damian raised an eyebrow and sipped his drink. “Patience.” Marco clenched his jaw. Before he could say anything else, the front door opened. Footsteps echoed through the hall. Aria stepped into the room. She looked stunning, almost unreal, dressed in a champagne-colored dress that hugged her curves with elegance. Her hair was styled in a sleek bun, and her lips were painted in a soft rose tone. A staff member rolled her suitcase in behind her, but Aria didn’t look around. She held her head high, eyes focused straight ahead, refusing to acknowledge the man sitting at the table. Marco’s eyes widened slightly before narrowing to slits. He stood up slowly, the chair scraping back. “What is she doing here?” he demanded, voice low and dangerous. Damian set his cup down and stood as well. A sly grin spread across his face. “Meet my new bride.” The room froze. The maids gasped audibly and quickly turned away, pretending to busy themselves. Marco’s expression twisted in disbelief. “You’re kidding.” “I never joke about important things,” Damian said casually. Marco turned to Aria, his tone growing harsh. “You’re marrying him?” Aria’s eyes met his, calm and unreadable. “I already did.” A pulse of rage shot through Marco’s chest. “What the hell is this, Aria? Are you doing this to get back at me?” She gave a short, bitter laugh and stepped forward. “Why would I get back at someone who thinks I’m not worth it?” Marco went still. That one sentence told him everything, she had heard what he said. Damian watched them carefully, the corners of his mouth twitching with amusement. Then he stepped in between them, his voice calm but edged with steel. “I don’t care what history you two have. But under my roof, there will be no shouting, no disrespect.” Marco looked his father in the eye, his voice laced with disbelief. “You knew she was my ex-fiancée.” Damian paused. His gaze shifted to Aria. For the first time, his smile faded. His eyes darkened, and his jaw tightened. The look he gave her was piercing, almost accusing. Aria lowered her gaze ever so slightly. There it was, she hadn’t told him. But Damian recovered quickly. He turned back to Marco with a dismissive wave of his hand. “It’s obvious you didn’t want her. You called off the engagement, didn’t you? If she wasn’t worth it to you, why does it matter if I marry her?” Marco clenched his fists, but he couldn’t argue. Not without admitting how much he regretted what he said. How badly he wanted to take it back. “Fine,” Marco muttered. He turned and stormed out of the room without another word. The door slammed shut. Aria let out a slow breath, but her relief was short-lived. Damian turned to her with a look she hadn’t seen before, sharp, calculating, and cold. “Follow me,” he said flatly. Her heart skipped a beat. He didn’t raise his voice, but there was something chilling in the way he said it. Aria hesitated for a second before obeying. She followed him silently down the hall and up the grand staircase. Damian led her into a luxurious master bedroom. It was massive, dark wood, velvet curtains, and a huge bed that dominated the room. But right now, all she noticed was how quiet it was. Damian walked over to a leather chair near the fireplace, poured himself a drink from the crystal decanter on the side table, and sat down, one leg crossed over the other. Aria stepped in hesitantly, her heart pounding in her chest. He didn’t look at her for a moment. Just sipped his whiskey slowly, letting the silence grow thick. Then, finally, he looked up. “Spill it.” Her brows furrowed. “Spill what?” Damian’s eyes locked onto hers, intense and unwavering. “Why didn’t you tell me you had a history with my son?” Aria’s breath caught in her throat. This was it. The moment she had feared since she signed that marriage contract. Damian’s expression was unreadable, but the coldness in his gaze was undeniable. And now, standing in his territory, bound to him by marriage, Aria had no idea what he would do next.