The billionaire's secret vow

Aria woke with a strange stillness hanging in the air. The side of the bed where Damian usually slept was rumpled, but when she reached out, the sheets were cold. He had been gone for hours.

She sat up slowly, brushing her tangled hair from her face. Sunlight streamed through the tall windows of the bedroom, illuminating the elegant molding and muted tones of the walls. For a moment, she let herself forget where she was. Then the memory of yesterday—the rules, the tension, the locked door with Elena engraved on the plate—came rushing back like an icy wave.

She climbed out of bed and made her way to the en-suite bathroom. After a long, hot shower and dressing in a soft floral dress that flowed just pat her mid thigh, she stepped into nude sandals and applied light makeup. She might be trapped in a cold marriage, but she refused to look like it.

The scent of eggs and freshly brewed coffee led her downstairs. She paused at the foot of the grand staircase, took a breath, and then entered the sunlit breakfast room.

Damian was already there, seated at the long mahogany table with his phone in one hand and a glass of orange juice in the other. He glanced up at the sound of her heels, and for a fraction of a second, something in his eyes softened.

But it vanished so quickly she wondered if she imagined it.

“You’re late,” he said, taking a sip of juice.

“I didn’t know there was a schedule to waking up,” she replied with a cool smile.

His gaze traveled down the length of her figure before returning to her face. “That dress is inappropriate.”

She arched a brow and sat across from him. “It’s just a dress.”

“It’s a distraction,” he muttered.

“To you, maybe.” She reached for a piece of toast. “I’m perfectly comfortable.”

He didn’t reply. Instead, he set his glass down with a soft clink and folded his arms. “We need to discuss your movements.”

“Am I on house arrest now?”

“No. But I’ve assigned you a bodyguard.”

She blinked. “I’m sorry, what?”

“Jaxon,” he said. “My head of security. He’ll be with you wherever you go. Starting today.”

“I know you are joking, right?” she said, half-laughing.

Damain started at her blankly.

“You’re assigning me a babysitter?” she nearly shouted.

“I’m assigning someone to ensure you are safe, and make sure you don’t stir trouble.”

“Right,” she said, voice tight. “Because heaven forbid I water lilies unchaperoned.”

At that moment, a tall, broad-shouldered man entered the room, dressed in black slacks and a charcoal-grey shirt with a clean-cut jawline and military precision in every step. He looked like he’d rather be walking into a warzone than a domestic breakfast scene.

“This is Jaxon,” Damian said. “He answers to me.”

“Clearly,” Jaxon muttered under his breath.

Aria tried not to laugh. Oh, she liked him already.

Jaxon glanced at her, gave a curt nod, and looked back at Damian. “You want me following her around flower arrangements now? Really?”

“She’s my wife,” Damian replied. “Which means she’s now a target.”

Jaxon’s jaw clenched. “Fine.”

Aria stood. “Well, Jaxon. I’ll be at my shop. I suggest you bring a book. It’s going to be a long, uneventful day.”

The morning air was crisp as Aria stepped out of the town car in front of her flower shop in Brooklyn The building stood just as she left it—welcoming, colorful, and warm, like a piece of her heart she’d tried to keep untouched.

Inside, the familiar scents of lavender, eucalyptus, and fresh roses greeted her. Jaxon followed like a silent shadow, arms crossed, eyes sweeping the shop like it was a military post.

“This place smells weird,” he grunted.

“It’s a flower shop,” she replied. “It’s supposed to.”

He didn’t respond. Just leaned against a wall and stared at the passersby through the shop window.

Around midday, the bell above the door chimed, and Zara burst in like a glittering hurricane in a leopard-print blouse and oversized sunglasses.

“There she is!” Zara threw her arms around Aria dramatically. “Married and hiding from your best friend.”

“I’m not hiding. I was going to come see you,” Aria said, hugging her tightly. “It just… happened.”

Zara pulled back, holding her by the shoulders. “Do I need to stage an intervention? Is this man keeping you in a tower?”

“More like a mansion with mood lighting and emotional repression.”

Zara laughed. “You don’t look miserable, though. Actually, you look kind of—” She paused, her eyes narrowing. “Is that a bodyguard?”

Aria turned to see Jaxon glaring at them from the far wall. Zara raised her brows.

“He looks like he’d kill a man with a spoon.”

“He probably has,” Aria muttered.

They talked and laughed until the sun began to set. Aria felt something inside her slowly ease, like a tight knot uncoiling in her chest. This—this was normal. This was who she was.

“Come on,” Zara said, slinging her purse over her shoulder. “I’ll drive you back to your castle.”

They stepped outside, chatting as they reached Zara’s sleek black car. The ride back was filled with laughter and Zara teasing her about being a ‘mafia princess.’ As they pulled up to the mansion’s grand entrance, Jaxon stepped out of a separate security car and stalked toward them.

“Oh right. I forgot about the babysitter,” Zara muttered under her breath, then turned to Jaxon. “Don’t worry, I didn’t try to kidnap her.”

Jaxon narrowed his eyes. “Next time, don’t take detours.”

“Oh, I like him,” Zara said dryly. “He’s got the charm of a rabid porcupine.”

“And you’ve got the subtlety of a sledgehammer. Go home.” he shot back.

Sparks flew. Or rather, knives did.

Aria stood between them, amused and slightly horrified.

“Well,” she said, opening the door, “this should be fun.”

Zara blew her a kiss and drove off, leaving Jaxon glaring after her.

Aria entered the mansion with a faint smile tugging at her lips. Something told her that her best friend had just met her match.

Back in the grand hallway, Jaxon turned to Damian, who was waiting with a glass of scotch in hand. He had come home early today.

“She’s sharp,” Jaxon said.

Damian didn’t look up. “Keep a close eye on her. I want everything reported to me.”

“She’s not what you think,” Jaxon added.

Damian’s gaze darkened. “Neither was my sister.”