Arya walked down the luxurious hotel corridor, each step feeling like treading on the bones of her past.

The air was filled with the lilies prepared for her wedding. The fragrance was intoxicating. Sharp, uninvited memories struggled to the surface.

She remembered her wedding day in her previous life.

Damian Kensington stormed into the wedding, trying to pull her away and take her away. He was the most powerful man in New York, having once looked her father straight in the eye and told him she was his and he had loved her for years. But she was affected by Blake's vicious whispers, yelling at him, calling him a monster, and telling him she would rather die than go with him.

She thought back to her later marriage. It was a slow and painful descent into hell. Blake systematically drained the Montgomery family's wealth. And Casey, her once most caring "best friend," slept in her husband's bed while playing the role of her best confidante in front of her.

But her most painful memory is of her baby.

She slipped on the stairs. It was a tragic "accident." But she later learned that Cassie had deliberately spilled oil on the marble steps. The image of the bloodstains, the burning pain—everything was so vivid in her mind that she couldn't shake it off.

Even after all that she went through, Damian was always there for her.

He was the one who argued with Blake at the board meeting. The one who tried to warn her to be careful of her husband. The one who sent people to rescue her when Blake finally locked her up.

She remembered her final moments, being buried alive. Blake and Cassie stood at the edge of the pit, laughter echoing, as they confessed everything.

She remembered Damian's fate. He had waged a reckless war against Blake to avenge her, a war that ultimately ended in a fire and car accident orchestrated by Blake. News reports indicated that his last words were her name.

A hot tear slid down her cheek. She wiped it away forcefully.

Grief is a luxury. Revenge is a necessity.

The sound of footsteps pulled her back to her thoughts. Blake and Cassie were walking towards her, their faces full of concern.

“Honey, you’re awake,” Blake said, rushing to her side and taking her hand. His touch felt like a spider crawling on her skin. “You look so pale. I was worried you were too tired.”

Alia withdrew her hand, her voice deliberately weak. "I'm fine. Just a little dizzy." She played her role perfectly. The unsuspecting bride was still under the effects of the sedative.

Cassie took her arm, holding it securely. "You look beautiful, Alia. Don't be nervous. We're right here with you."

Their body heat made her stomach churn. She forced a faint smile.

They "escorted" her to the entrance of the grand ballroom. Through the gaps in the heavy double doors, she could see hundreds of guests, a sea of ​​New York's elite. Her own hell awaited her.

Her father was supposed to walk her down the aisle. Instead, she saw him and her brother Ethan arguing heatedly with the hotel manager.

“A minor security concern,” Blake whispered in her ear, his breath hot and unwelcome. “Someone tried to hack into the hotel system. It’s nothing. The wedding will proceed as planned.”

A hacker? Alia's heart skipped a beat. Damian. It must be him.

Before she could react, the wedding march began to play. The door flung open. Everyone in the room turned to look at her.

Blake took her father's place, firmly holding her arm and leading her down the white, flower-petal-adorned aisle.

Flashbulbs went off. A fake smile played on her lips. They saw the perfect union of two powerful families. She saw a swarm of vipers.

The walk to the altar felt like an eternity. The priest stood there, a kind smile on his face.

Blake began her oath, her voice thick with intense, sensual emotion, speaking of destiny and eternal love. The words that had once brought her to tears of joy now sounded like nails hammered into a coffin.

Aria listened, her face as blank as a canvas.

“Miss Aria Montgomery,” the priest said, his voice echoing in the silent room, “do you take this man to be your lawfully wedded husband…?”

She didn't say anything.

The silence stretched long, heavy, and unsettling. The guests shifted slightly in their seats.

Blake gripped her hand tighter. “Alia?” he hissed softly.

She looked up and met his gaze. She opened her mouth, ready to use a beautiful word to destroy her own life, and theirs.

"No."

But before he could finish speaking, the massive oak door at the back of the ballroom slammed open like a battering ram.

A dozen men in sharp black suits and earpieces flooded the room first, moving with disciplined speed to secure the perimeter. Gasps and panicked whispers erupted from the guests.

Then, he appeared.

A tall figure, silhouetted against the light of the hallway. He walked into the ballroom, his presence sucking all the air out of the room. He wore a custom-tailored black suit, no tie, the top two buttons of his shirt undone. An aura of raw, dangerous power radiated from him.

Damian Kensington.

Aria's heart seized in her chest. He was here. Just like last time. But this time, she didn't feel fear. She felt... relief.

Blake's face contorted with rage. "Damian Kensington! What the hell is the meaning of this? This is my wedding!"

Damian's icy blue eyes never once flickered toward Blake. They were locked on Aria, and only Aria, as if her fiancé was nothing more than a piece of furniture.

The guests murmured amongst themselves. The name Kensington carried the weight of an empire in New York. No one dared to intervene.

He strode down the aisle, his long legs eating up the distance, until he stood before her on the altar. The scent of him-expensive cologne and something cold, like winter woods-enveloped her.

He loomed over her, his gaze a complex storm of anger, possession, and a sliver of pain she couldn't decipher.

"Aria," he finally spoke, his voice a low, rough growl. "Are you really so desperate to marry this man?"

In her past life, she would have screamed at him to leave.

This time, she met his intense gaze and gave a small, almost imperceptible shake of her head.

Damian's expression faltered, a flicker of surprise crossing his features.

Then, in a move that stunned everyone, Aria gathered the skirt of her wedding dress and took a deliberate step toward Damian, creating a clear space between herself and Blake.

"Aria, are you insane? Get back here!" Blake snarled, reaching for her.

Before his fingers could touch her, Damian's hand shot out, clamping around Blake's wrist. A sickening crack echoed through the silent room, followed by Blake's howl of pain.

"Don't put your filthy hands on her," Damian said, his voice lethal. He shoved Blake away like a piece of trash.

The next moment, he scooped Aria into his arms.

She let out a small gasp, her hands flying to his shoulders. His chest was a wall of solid muscle, his heartbeat a steady, powerful rhythm against her ear. It was the same feeling of safety she'd felt when he pulled her from a fire in her past life.

He turned and walked away, his bodyguards parting to form a path.

"Mr. Kensington, put my daughter down!" her father, Charles Montgomery, shouted, rushing forward with her brother, Ethan.

Damian paused, his gaze sweeping over them with cold disdain. "Mr. Montgomery, you of all people should remember the agreement between our families. She belongs to me now."

An agreement? Aria's mind raced. She'd never known about any agreement.

Her father's face went pale. He opened his mouth, then closed it, offering no further resistance.

From the side, Cassie watched, her face a mask of utter disbelief. She couldn't comprehend why Aria would go willingly with this man.

As Damian carried her past them, Aria turned her head. She met the venomous, confused eyes of Blake and Cassie.

She mouthed two silent words to them.

Game on.

Damian carried her through the hotel lobby, a swarm of reporters held back by his security team. He placed her gently in the backseat of a black Rolls-Royce, the door closing with a solid thud, shutting out the chaos.

Inside, the silence was deafening. Damian sat across from her, his face a hard, unreadable mask. He just stared, his eyes boring into her as if trying to peel back her skin and see the truth of her soul.

He had saved her, but he didn't trust her. Not one bit. The wounds she'd inflicted in their past life ran too deep.

She had to be the one to bridge the gap.

She smoothed down her dress, her voice barely a whisper. "Thank you."

Damian let out a cold, humorless scoff, turning to look out the window. "Don't misunderstand. I'm simply collecting what's mine. Don't try to pull any more of your tricks, Aria."