Aria's head throbbed like a drumline in an empty auditorium. The sunlight filtered through thick curtains, harsh and unforgiving, revealing the aftermath of a night she couldn't fully remember. Her limbs were tangled in crisp white sheets, one foot bare, the other covered by a silk slipper she didn't recognize. She blinked, trying to make sense of the haze—the smell of expensive cologne lingering in the air, a faint perfume she didn't own, and the soft hum of Las Vegas city life creeping through the half-open window.
The room itself was pristine, almost too pristine, decorated with cold elegance: floor-to-ceiling windows, white marble floors, and a chandelier that glimmered like liquid diamonds. Aria's pulse quickened as she noticed a small stack of folded papers on the nightstand, tied together with a black ribbon. Curiosity clawed at her as she reached for it, fingers trembling. The topmost paper, stark and official, bore her name in elegant script—and beside it, another: Damian Yuan.
Her breath caught. Her stomach knotted.
Married?
The word echoed in her skull like a mocking drumbeat. Married... to Damian Yuan, the man whose reputation alone could topple governments in business circles, whose icy smile had haunted magazine covers and business headlines for the better part of the past decade. The Damian Yuan who had been rumored to be impossible, untouchable, untamed. The Damian Yuan who, for reasons her still-drunken brain couldn't compute, now had her signature inked on a marriage license.
Panic surged. She bolted upright, hair tangling around her shoulders, knocking over a glass of water that shattered on the marble floor. Her pulse raced, thoughts spinning, searching for a logical explanation. This has to be a mistake. A prank. Something.
And then she heard the door click open.
Damian.
He stood there, tall, impossibly put-together in a crisp designer suit despite the hour. His dark hair was perfectly combed, and the way he leaned against the doorframe made her stomach twist into a knot of desire and terror all at once. His eyes—icy, calculating, and infinitely unreadable—found hers, and something unspoken passed between them: the knowledge that nothing could undo what had been done.
"Morning," he said, his voice low, smooth, with that unnerving edge of control that made the air in the room feel charged, alive.
"Morning?" Aria echoed, voice shaky. "Morning? You're... you're here... I—I think there's been a mistake!"
Damian straightened, his eyes narrowing slightly—not in anger, but in a way that made her want to recoil and lean in at the same time. "Mistake?" His words were deliberate, each syllable precise. "You woke up next to me, in my hotel suite. You're wearing my robe. And, by the looks of it, you signed a legally binding marriage certificate yesterday."
Her mouth fell open. She struggled to breathe. "I—I didn't... I mean... this can't—"
Damian stepped forward, closing the distance in a way that made her heart hammer against her ribs. His presence was magnetic, overwhelming, impossible to ignore. He was close enough that she could smell his cologne—sharp, intoxicating, dangerous. Her pulse betrayed her, thumping not with fear but with something else entirely, something that made her skin heat and her stomach flip.
"Aria," he said softly, but there was steel beneath the gentleness, a tone that allowed no argument. "We are married. And despite your current... panic, annulment is not an option. At least, not easily."
Her hands flew to her face. "Not an option? Not an option?! You don't even know me!"
He gave her a slow, almost imperceptible smile, one that did not reach his eyes but sent a shiver down her spine. "I know enough. Enough to know that I won't allow this to be undone over a... misunderstanding. Vegas weddings are spontaneous, yes—but they are legally binding. And the paperwork has already been processed."
Aria staggered backward, nearly tripping over the edge of the bed. Her mind spun, every logical thought shattering into fragments. "You... you're joking. This has to be a joke!"
"I don't joke," he said simply, stepping closer again. His presence was suffocating, magnetic, and impossible to ignore. "Not about marriage. Not about you. And certainly not about the consequences of either."
Her stomach twisted with a mix of fear and something else, something she wasn't ready to name. The man standing before her exuded dominance, control, and power—the kind that made women swoon and panic in equal measure. She wanted to run, to scream, to throw something at him... but every fiber of her being refused to move.
"I—this is insane!" she stammered, pacing the room as she tried to process the impossible. "I don't even know why I'm here... why I signed anything... I—"
"Alcohol, celebration, impulsiveness," he interrupted, his voice low and measured. "You weren't thinking clearly. That's the nature of spontaneous Vegas decisions. But laws don't care about hangovers and blurred memories, Ms. Collins."
Her breath caught at the way he said her full name. Her hands gripped the edge of the bed as her mind tried to argue with the man, the situation, the impossible reality of it all. "So... what do we do now?"
He moved closer again, slow, deliberate, his gaze locking onto hers. There was a tension between them, charged and palpable, the kind that made her heart hammer and her body ache with an unexpected heat. "Now," he said softly, "we live with it. We navigate it. And, if necessary... we protect each other. From the world, from mistakes, from consequences... and from ourselves."
Her body reacted before her mind could even begin to process it, a heat creeping across her cheeks and a tremor that traveled down her spine. She hated that she felt drawn to him, hated that the sight of him—so impossibly arrogant, so infuriatingly magnetic—made her pulse race.
"Protect each other?" she asked, incredulous. "From... from what?"
Damian's eyes softened slightly—not enough to be tender, but enough to make her chest ache. "From anyone who would threaten the life we accidentally started," he said. "And from ourselves, if our own impulses get out of control."
Her stomach fluttered, and she had the sudden, undeniable awareness that her impulses were already out of control.
"You're insane," she whispered, but there was no real venom in the words.
"I prefer the term... decisive," he corrected, stepping even closer, until she could feel the warmth radiating off him. "And as for annulment," he added, his gaze hardening just enough to make her catch her breath, "I don't entertain requests for it. Not when I have plans... not when they involve you."
Her head spun. Her pulse raced. Her body trembled with frustration, fear, and something far more dangerous—desire. She wanted to scream. She wanted to flee. And yet, a part of her, the part that hated herself for it, wanted to see how close he would get, how far he would push, what he truly wanted.
Damian tilted his head slightly, observing her, his dark gaze sharp, calculating, and utterly consuming. "I know this is sudden," he said, voice softening almost imperceptibly. "But so is fate. And sometimes... fate doesn't ask permission."
Her breath caught. Fate? Married to him? Could she even trust her own heart to survive this? She shook her head, trying to regain some semblance of control, some rational footing, but every thought of pushing him away was met with the undeniable pull of attraction, a magnetic tension that made her knees weak.
"Damian... I..." she began, but her voice faltered. Words failed her in the presence of a man who could read her every tremor, every hesitation, every unspoken longing.
He smiled faintly, not cruelly, but with an authority that made her feel both terrified and achingly alive. "Save it," he said, his voice dropping to a near whisper. "You'll have plenty of time to speak when you're ready. Right now... accept the reality."
Her stomach twisted, and she felt a fluttering in her chest that was equal parts panic and something dangerously, achingly thrilling. The room felt smaller, hotter, more suffocating than it had just moments ago. Her body reacted in ways she hated and didn't understand, and the realization hit her like a freight train: she couldn't ignore the way he made her feel.
And yet, she had no idea how to navigate what had just happened. A stranger. A billionaire. A man who refused annulment. Her head told her to run. Her heart—traitorous, foolish, aching—wanted to surrender entirely.
Damian's hand brushed against hers as he reached for a folder on the nightstand. The contact was light, almost accidental, but it ignited a shiver that traveled up her arm, leaving goosebumps in its wake. She pulled her hand back instinctively, but her pulse betrayed her. Her mind screamed at her to resist, to think logically, to escape the impossible situation.
But it was already too late.
Because in that single, electric, unintentional touch, she felt it—the pull, the tension, the undeniable spark of something that neither of them could walk away from, no matter how hard she tried.
Damian's eyes lingered on hers, unreadable yet searing. "Welcome to our... reality, Ms. Collins, or should I say Mrs. Yuan?" he said, voice low, smooth, lethal. "It's going to be... complicated. But I promise you—interesting."
And as Aria's knees threatened to buckle, as her mind reeled and her heart raced like a wild thing trapped in her chest, she realized one thing, crystal clear:
She was trapped.
Not by the city, not by the law, not even by logic.
She was trapped by him.