The first public appearance as husband and wife came sooner than expected.
A charity gala hosted by the Ashford Foundation—an annual event attended by every socialite, business magnate, and gossip columnist with a camera flash. The kind of night where one misplaced glance could make headlines, and one stiff smile could spark a dozen false stories.
Amelia stood before the full-length mirror in her bedroom, trying to quiet her nerves. The gown Damien had arranged for her was tasteful—midnight blue, floor-length silk with a soft neckline. Nothing too revealing. Nothing too grand.
It was the first time in a long while she'd worn something that fit her perfectly. As if someone had seen her—not just her measurements, but her presence—and tailored fabric to her energy.
When the door clicked behind her, she turned.
Damien stood at the threshold, his eyes scanning her with quiet attention.
She expected a compliment. Or maybe a nod.
Instead, he said something else—something better.
"I'm glad it's you."
Amelia's breath caught, though she didn't let it show. "Is that your version of romantic praise?"
"No," he said gently. "That's my version of honesty."
She smiled, tilting her head. "Then I'll return the favor. You look… slightly less terrifying in a tuxedo."
That earned a soft chuckle from him. "Careful. That almost sounded like affection."
"Don't worry," she teased. "It's still under warranty."
The Gala – Later That Night
The ballroom was opulent, a golden sea of chandeliers, champagne flutes, and camera flashes.
Damien's hand rested lightly on the small of Amelia's back—not possessive, just anchored. A silent message: we are a team.
She admired how seamlessly he moved through the crowd. Every handshake confident, every answer calculated. But what struck her most was how he included her in every conversation—not as a prop, not as a pawn.
He introduced her with a quiet sort of pride.
"This is my wife, Amelia."
And each time he said it, it didn't sound like strategy.
It sounded like truth.
The Curveball
They were mid-conversation with a board member when a familiar voice cut through the hum of champagne-soaked chatter.
"Damien. I almost didn't recognize you without the usual icy glare."
Amelia turned to see a striking woman in a crimson gown approach them—tall, poised, with a smile just sharp enough to cut glass.
Damien's expression didn't shift. But Amelia caught the smallest flicker of tension in his jaw.
"Sylvia," he said smoothly. "Still thriving on attention, I see."
The woman's eyes slid to Amelia. "And this must be the new Mrs. Ashford. How… refreshing. Do you have a background in fashion? Or just good instincts?"
Amelia offered a calm smile. "Actually, I studied design. But I left school to care for someone close to me. Priorities, you know."
Sylvia blinked, caught off guard by the grace of the answer.
Damien, ever still, let out a low murmur. "You've never been one to lose composure, Sylvia. Let's not start tonight."
Sylvia's smile tightened. "Of course. Wouldn't want to cause a scene."
She left with a nod and a flick of her hair.
As the space cleared again, Amelia looked at Damien. "Ex?"
"Briefly," he said. "A long time ago. It didn't end with fireworks, but it didn't start with sincerity either."
Amelia appreciated the honesty. No games. No secrets.
"Do I need to worry?" she asked—not with insecurity, but with genuine curiosity.
He met her gaze with steady eyes. "No. If I ever give you a reason to, I'll say it to your face."
She nodded. "Good. Then I'll return the favor."
That Night – The Drive Home
Neither of them spoke much on the way back.
Not because of tension—but because nothing needed fixing. No misunderstandings. No veiled comments.
Just shared silence. Comfortable. Strong.
Amelia glanced at him once, his eyes focused on the city lights outside the window.
"You know," she said quietly, "this might be the most peaceful fake marriage in history."
Damien turned his head slightly. "Possibly. Though it's only been three days."
"And we've only mildly insulted each other."
He smiled faintly. "We're setting records."
Later – Before Bed
As Amelia stood in her doorway, ready to say goodnight, Damien spoke from the hallway.
"Amelia."
She turned. "Yes?"
"If there's ever anything you don't want to do—any event, any photo, anything—say it. We're equal participants in this, not actors in a one-man show."
It was the kindest thing he'd said all day. Maybe the kindest anyone had said to her in a long time.
"I will," she said. "And thank you—for not pretending."
He gave a small nod. "Pretending is exhausting. And you… don't deserve exhaustion."
She watched him walk away before quietly closing her door.
There was no wedding night. No pressure. No expectations.
But what there was—what surprised her most—was trust.
And it was growing faster than either of them had planned.
🖤Next Chapter Preview:A weekend at Damien's family estate forces them into close quarters—and closer scrutiny. But the version of Amelia he presents to the world might be closer to the truth than he ever expected to admit…