The house was no longer silent—it pulsed with noise, with ceaseless vibration. Aria's phone had not stopped ringing since dawn. Each shrill chime was another demand, another reminder that her private decision had become public property overnight.
Henry's family.Her own family.Friends of friends.Numbers she didn't even recognize.
Every call carried the same intention: pressure, persuasion, disapproval.
She turned the phone face down on the table, the screen lighting up every few seconds like an accusing eye. The buzzing crawled into her nerves until she felt sick. She pushed it across the table as though the device itself had burned her fingers.
When it finally went quiet for two full minutes, the silence was worse. Then the messages started. One after another, her mother's name filled the notification bar:
Aria, answer me immediately.You cannot do this.Think about your father, think about me.Do you want to shame us all?This marriage is not just yours.We raised you better than this.
Aria buried her face in her hands. Each word stung with precision, like tiny blades cutting the resolve she had tried to nurture. The phone chimed again and again, insistent, merciless. She didn't reply. She couldn't.
Instead she sat on the living room sofa, wrapped in a blanket though the room was warm, her body curled tightly against itself. She didn't move when the knocking began—sharp, commanding.
"Aria!" Her mother's voice carried through the wood. "Open this door right now."
Her father's deeper tone followed. "Don't make us wait. Open it."
She thought about ignoring them too, but the pounding grew harsher, louder, until it felt like they might break the door down. Trembling, she rose, padding across the room on unsteady legs, and turned the lock.
The door swung inward before she had fully stepped aside.
Her mother swept in first—tall, severe, her perfume clinging heavily to the air. Her father followed, every step sharp with authority, his eyes already narrowed with anger.
Aria shrank back, clutching the blanket closer around her shoulders.
"Darling, what have you done?" her mother said, her voice a blend of horror and disbelief. She reached out as if to touch Aria's cheek but stopped halfway, letting her hand fall. "This is madness."
Aria said nothing. The words caught in her throat.
Her father's gaze was colder. "You've embarrassed us all," Charles snapped. "Do you have any idea the storm you've unleashed? The calls I've been fielding since sunrise? The investors, the partners, the whispers already spreading like wildfire through society?"
Aria's lip trembled. "Why… why does what I feel never matter?" she whispered. Her voice cracked under the weight of tears. "Why do my choices, my life, mean nothing compared to what everyone else expects of me?"
Her mother stiffened. "Don't be childish, Aria. You were raised for this. Every lesson, every sacrifice we made—do you think it was for you to throw away? Your marriage isn't about you. It never was."
The words cut deep, but it was her father's fury that silenced her completely.
"You dare," Charles thundered, "to risk everything for a selfish whim? To threaten the stability of two families, of businesses built over decades, because you feel slighted? How dare you."
"I just—" Aria's tears spilled over. "I just wanted to be seen. To live as myself, not as a decoration in someone else's life—"
"Enough!" Her father's roar shook the room. "Do you realize what you are saying? How ridiculous you sound? You talk of feelings while I balance empires! While your husband's family secures our legacy! And you—" His face darkened, veins standing out along his temples. "You threaten to destroy it all for… for freedom?"
Her sobs grew louder. "Then why have I been alive at all, if not to be myself? If every breath is already decided for me?"
The words broke something in Charles. His face twisted, not with pity but with rage. "Ungrateful girl," he spat. "You dare to question the path laid out for you? You are nothing without this family, nothing without him. And if you persist in this childish rebellion, then you are no daughter of mine."
Her mother gasped softly, but said nothing.
Aria staggered back, clutching the blanket tighter, as though it could shield her. "Father—please—"
Charles's hand shot out, seizing her arm in a crushing grip. Pain flared instantly, hot and sharp.
"You will listen," he hissed, his fingers digging into her skin until she whimpered. "You will remain in this marriage. You will play your part. Or I will strip you of everything—every cent, every protection. Do you hear me? You will be penniless, abandoned. And I will make sure society devours you whole."
"Stop—you're hurting me—"
"Good. Perhaps you'll remember this lesson." His grip tightened further, fury radiating from every line of his face.
Aria cried out, but he did not release her.
"You think you can survive without us? Without him? You are a fragile little girl who knows nothing of the world. Without this family, you'll starve. Without Henry, you'll be destroyed. And if you force my hand, I will ensure it. I will take every ounce of comfort you have left and burn it to ashes."
"Charles," her mother said faintly, but there was no conviction behind the plea.
Aria's knees buckled, her sobs choking her. "Please," she whispered, "you're hurting me…"
Finally, with a disgusted sneer, her father shoved her away. She stumbled against the sofa, her arm throbbing. Already the skin was purpling beneath his grip.
Charles straightened his jacket, his breathing heavy but controlled. "You will apologize to Henry. You will apologize to his family. Tonight, we dine together, all of us. You will tell them you were not thinking clearly. That this was an impulsive cry for attention. Do you understand?"
Aria pressed a trembling hand against her bruised arm. Her tears blurred everything. She could barely breathe.
"Yes," she whispered. The word tasted like ash.
Her mother nodded firmly. "That's better. We'll arrange the dinner immediately. Henry's family will appreciate the gesture."
Charles pulled out his phone. Aria listened in numb horror as he dialed. His voice shifted into polished charm.
"Good afternoon, Mr. Lannister. Yes, this is Charles Acherley. I wanted to clarify a misunderstanding. My daughter, Aria… well, she acted foolishly. You know how young women can be—emotional, dramatic. She regrets everything already. Of course, she is devoted to your son. Tonight, we'll host a dinner, both families together, to reaffirm our bond. Yes, yes, thank you. We look forward to it."
When he hung up, he turned back to Aria, his eyes sharp with warning.
"You will behave," he said coldly. "Or you will regret the day you were born."
Her mother's gaze was softer but no less firm. "Darling, do you understand? If you don't correct this, you will have no family. No name. Nothing."
Aria could only nod through tears.
"Good," her father said. "We'll see you at dinner."
With that, they swept out, the door slamming shut behind them.
Aria sank to the floor, sobs wracking her body. She pressed her face into her knees, muffling the sound, but the tears wouldn't stop. Her arm throbbed, the bruise blooming darker with each passing minute.
An hour later, the front door opened again.
"Aria?" Henry's voice carried through the hallway. "I—" He stopped short when he saw her on the sofa, blanket fallen to the floor, tears staining her cheeks.
In two strides he was beside her. "What happened?" His voice was sharp, panicked.
She shook her head, unable to form words.
Then his eyes caught the discoloration on her arm. He froze. Slowly, deliberately, he reached out and rolled up her sleeve. The bruise was vivid—an ugly, mottled purple spreading across her pale skin.
His entire body went rigid. "Who did this?" His voice was low, dangerous, trembling with suppressed fury.
Aria choked on another sob, unable to answer.
"Aria." His hand cupped her cheek, gentle despite the storm in his eyes. "Tell me. Who put their hands on you?"
She shook her head again, burying her face against his chest. The words would not come.
Henry's arms closed around her, pulling her tightly against him. He held her as though he could shield her from every cruelty in the world. His jaw clenched so hard she could hear his teeth grind.
"I swear to God," he whispered fiercely, his voice shaking with rage, "whoever did this will regret ever breathing."
Aria sobbed harder, clinging to him, the scent of his cologne anchoring her in the storm. She was too broken, too shocked to speak. But in Henry's embrace, for the first time all day, she felt a shred of safety.
Henry's eyes burned as he looked down at the bruise again. He pressed his lips against her hair, whispering a vow only she could hear.
"No one hurts you, Aria. Not while I live."