Chapter 3: The Cold Groom

The music outside the bridal chamber swelled, then slowly faded, replaced by muffled laughter and clinking glasses. The celebration was still going on, but in here, the world was silent.

Aria stood before the door, her back straight, her hands clasped loosely in front of her. She had already slipped into her wedding gown, the same white silk she remembered all too well. Every detail matched her memories the embroidery on the veil, the pearl buttons on the sleeves.

But this time, she wasn’t shaking.

Her gaze was steady, her heart sharp.

The latch clicked.

The door opened.

He walked in.

Damian Cross.

He was tall, his broad shoulders outlined perfectly in a black suit. His presence filled the room instantly, like a shadow swallowing the light. His face was as she remembered coldly handsome, sharply cut features, lips pressed into a hard line. His eyes, dark and unreadable, swept over her once before he shut the door behind him.

The click of the lock echoed louder than the wedding music outside.

For a heartbeat, neither of them spoke.

In her first life, this silence had crushed her. She had bowed her head, wrung her hands, whispered a trembling greeting. She had prayed he would be gentle, prayed he would smile just once.

Now, standing here again, she almost laughed.

Aria lifted her chin. “You’re late.”

Damian’s eyes narrowed, the smallest flicker of surprise in their depths. His bride was supposed to be meek, soft, desperate to please. The last thing he expected was sharpness.

“Your duty,” he said flatly, “is to wait.”

His voice was deep, smooth, but colder than the marble floor she once bled on.

Aria’s lips curved into a faint smile. “A wife can wait. But a bride deserves at least a few words from her groom. Don’t you think so, Mr. Cross?”

Her tone was calm, almost playful. But beneath it was a sharp edge.

Damian studied her, his gaze heavy, assessing. “You speak differently than I expected.”

“Do I?” She tilted her head, her eyes locked on his. “Perhaps you don’t know me as well as you think.”

His jaw tightened. He stepped further into the room, his polished shoes clicking against the floor. The air thickened with his presence.

Damian Cross was a man used to control. He controlled boardrooms, businesses, people. He had never needed to raise his voice; his silence was enough to make others bend.

But tonight, his bride wasn’t bending.

He stopped just a few steps away from her. His gaze flicked briefly over her gown, her face, her steady posture. Finally, he asked, “What do you want from this marriage?”

In her past life, she had whispered, your love. The memory made her chest ache with bitter shame.

Now, her answer was different.

“What every marriage promises,” Aria said smoothly. “Respect. A name. Protection.”

Not love. She let that word burn silently on her tongue.

Damian’s eyes darkened. For a moment, he said nothing. Then his lips curved into something that wasn’t quite a smile. More like an acknowledgment.

“At least you’re honest,” he said. “That will make things easier.”

Easier? Her stomach twisted at the irony. In her last life, nothing about this marriage had been easy. Not the cold nights, not the humiliations, not the betrayals.

But she only smiled faintly, lowering her lashes just enough to look calm. Inside, her mind was spinning.

Every word, every glance tonight mattered. Damian wasn’t her ally not yet. But if she played this role carefully, she could turn his indifference into her shield.

She remembered all too well: the Carter family would test her loyalty soon. Sophia would slither into her life again, poisoning her with false sisterhood. And Vivienne… Vivienne would try to destroy her before she even had the chance to stand.

This time, she would be ready.

Damian turned away slightly, loosening the cuffs of his shirt with long, precise fingers. “The celebration will continue outside for hours. We should make an appearance before the guests start whispering.”

Aria’s lips twitched. In her past life, she had rushed after him, eager to cling to his side, terrified of making him angry.

Now, she smoothed the skirt of her gown and said lightly, “Of course. After all, appearances are everything, aren’t they?”

She walked toward the door first, her steps graceful, unhurried.

Damian’s gaze followed her, something unreadable flickering in his eyes.

For the first time, he wondered if his new bride was really the obedient woman he had been promised… or something far more dangerous.

The banquet hall roared with laughter as Aria and Damian appeared side by side. From afar, they looked like the perfect couple handsome groom, beautiful bride, the union of two powerful families. Guests toasted with wine, smiling wide, but their eyes whispered secrets.

“The Carters must be thrilled.”

“Damian Cross finally married? Who would’ve thought?”

“She looks so nervous. Poor thing. Cross Group’s CEO isn’t known for warmth.”

Aria caught every word, every glance. In her past life, she had burned with humiliation, her cheeks red, her steps clumsy as she tried to smile through the whispers.

Now, she wore her gown like armor. She held Damian’s arm not with desperation, but with calm control. Her chin was lifted, her smile light but distant. The picture of grace.

Beside her, Damian stood like a wall tall, sharp, untouchable. He didn’t glance at her, didn’t speak a word, but his presence alone silenced anyone who dared look too long.

Together, they were a storm wrapped in silk and steel.

After hours of toasts, dances, and endless congratulations, Damian finally led her back to the bridal chamber. The music faded behind them, replaced by the steady sound of his footsteps.

The door shut with a quiet click.

Aria’s heart raced, but not with fear. With focus. This moment, this night, had been a nightmare in her first life. She remembered trembling, waiting, desperate for his approval. She remembered how he looked at her once, cold and disinterested, before leaving her alone.

Now, things were different.

Damian removed his jacket and placed it neatly on a chair. His movements were precise, efficient, controlled. He turned, his dark eyes falling on her.

“You’ve played your part well,” he said.

Aria tilted her head. “And you? Did I make a good accessory for your evening?”

His brows rose slightly. The bride of his memories would’ve smiled shyly, eager to please. This one? Her tone was calm, edged with something sharp.

“Sharp tongue for a new wife,” Damian murmured. He stepped closer, his presence heavy. “Be careful. It can cut deeper than you realize.”

Aria’s lips curved. “Better a sharp tongue than a bitten one.”

His gaze lingered on her, unreadable. For a long moment, the air between them was tight, charged.

Finally, Damian leaned against the desk, arms crossed. “You’re not what I expected.”

Aria walked slowly to the vanity, her gown trailing softly behind her. She picked up the brush, running it through her hair as if his words didn’t weigh on her.

“Expectation,” she said lightly, “is the fastest way to disappointment.”

Damian’s eyes narrowed, but he said nothing. He studied her reflection in the mirror instead, as if trying to peel back her layers.

She met his gaze in the glass, calm and steady. “Don’t worry, Mr. Cross. I know what you want from this marriage.”

“Oh?” His voice was low. “Do tell.”

“You want convenience. A wife who won’t cause scandals. Someone who looks the part, smiles when needed, and knows when to stay silent.”

The corner of his lips twitched not quite a smile, not quite denial.

“And what do you want?” he asked.

Aria placed the brush down, turning to face him fully. Her gown shimmered faintly under the candlelight.

“What every woman in my position would want,” she said smoothly. “A name. Protection. Stability.”

Not love. Never again.

Damian’s gaze locked on hers, sharp and probing. Most women he met stuttered under that stare, but Aria held it without flinching.

Silence stretched, thick and heavy.

Finally, Damian straightened. “If that’s all you want, you’ll find this arrangement very simple.”

Her lips curved into a faint, unreadable smile. Simple? Nothing about what lay ahead would be simple. Not with Sophia. Not with Vivienne. Not with the Carters breathing down her neck.

But outwardly, she only nodded. “Then we understand each other.”

Damian picked up his jacket, slipping it over his shoulder. “Rest. Tomorrow, the real work begins.”

He turned and walked toward the door.

Aria’s heart thudded once. In her past life, this was the moment that broke her. When he left her on their wedding night without a glance, she had curled into bed and cried silently, believing she wasn’t enough.

But tonight, as his hand touched the doorknob, she spoke.

“Goodnight, Mr. Cross.”

Her voice was calm, steady, and completely without longing.

Damian paused, glancing back at her. Something flickered in his eyes confusion, perhaps. Or curiosity.

Then he left, the door clicking shut behind him.

Aria stood in the quiet room, her chest rising and falling. She looked toward the window, where the city lights burned against the dark sky.

In her last life, that sight had made her feel trapped, small.

Now, it made her feel alive.

“Let them come,” she whispered, her eyes narrowing. “Sophia. Vivienne. The Carters. Even you, Damian Cross. This time, I’ll be ready.”