The morning air in the penthouse was unusually tense.
Ariana sat at the breakfast table, absentmindedly stirring her tea while scrolling through her phone.
Then she saw it.
The headline glared back at her in bold, unforgiving letters:
"Lancaster's Mysterious Bride: A Marriage of Convenience?"
Her breath caught as she scanned the article. There were blurry paparazzi photos from the charity gala her standing beside Damien, her smile frozen under the weight of flashing cameras. The piece speculated about their sudden, secretive marriage, hinting at business motivations and hidden agendas.
The words felt like tiny cuts.
Moments later, Damien entered the room, phone already in hand, his expression hard and controlled.
"You've seen it," he said flatly.
Ariana nodded, setting her phone down.
"Who leaked this?" she asked quietly.
"Someone with too much time and too little power," he replied, voice cold as steel.
"Richard Caldwell?" she guessed.
A muscle in Damien's jaw twitched the first sign of anger she'd seen so clearly.
"Most likely," he said. "This won't be the last attempt."
Ariana swallowed.
"I thought we were supposed to keep a low profile."
Damien's gaze sharpened.
"We are. Which is why this is being handled."
He pulled out his phone and issued quick, clipped orders to Elise and his legal team.
Within an hour, Elise arrived, her expression calm but firm.
"We've traced the photographer. The source was indirectly tied to Caldwell's media associates," she explained.
"What happens now?" Ariana asked, anxiety bubbling beneath her composed exterior.
"The story will be buried within the next twelve hours," Damien said, his voice absolute. "The photographer will face legal consequences. The tabloids will receive certain... incentives to lose interest."
Ariana exhaled slowly.
"You really can control everything."
Damien's eyes met hers.
"I protect what's mine, Ariana."
The possessive undertone in his words sent an unfamiliar heat through her chest.
Later that afternoon, as Ariana sat by the penthouse balcony, the weight of the day settled on her shoulders.
The cameras. The gossip. The fact that strangers were dissecting her life like vultures circling prey.
She jumped slightly as Damien appeared beside her, silent as ever.
"You're safe," he said softly, his voice lacking its usual edge.
"But for how long?" she whispered.
"As long as I say so."
Ariana looked up at him, studying the sharp angles of his face, the carefully controlled exterior that rarely cracked.
For the first time, she sensed something behind that armor not just cold calculation, but the weight of responsibility, and perhaps... something more.
That night, while she lay in bed, Damien stood once again in his private study, staring into the city lights.
"They've made their first move," he thought.
"But they'll learn there's a price for crossing me."
The war had not yet begun but the first shot had been fired.