Chapter 4
The following week, Nathan's calls came from fifteen different numbers.
Each one, I blocked without answering.
His messages grew increasingly frantic:
**[Aria, this is ridiculous. Call me back.]**
**[I made a mistake. We can work this out.]**
**[Serena means nothing. She's just... it's complicated. Let me explain.]**
**[Why won't you answer? Are you trying to punish me?]**
**[Fine. If you want to play games, I can be patient. You'll realize you need me eventually.]**
The arrogance in that last message almost made me laugh.
Then came the voicemail that changed everything:
"Aria." Nathan's voice was eerily controlled. "My grandmother is asking about you. She doesn't know about the divorce yet. Come to her birthday dinner this Saturday. Play the part one last time. You owe her that much."
He was right about one thing — I adored Grandma Cross. She was the only person in that family who ever treated me like I mattered.
But "play the part"? Pretend to still be his wife?
I was composing a firm refusal when Dominic walked in, glancing at my expression.
"What did he do now?"
I showed him the voicemail. His jaw tightened.
"You want to go?"
"Grandma Rose has been good to me," I admitted. "She deserves to hear the truth from me directly. Not from Nathan's spin."
Dominic nodded slowly. "Then we go together."
"Dominic, that might—"
"You're my wife now." His tone brooked no argument. "Where you go, I go."
Saturday arrived faster than I expected.
The Cross family estate blazed with lights, luxury cars lining the circular driveway. This was Grandma Rose's 80th birthday — a massive social event.
Dominic pulled up in his signature black Rolls-Royce. The valet's eyes nearly fell out of his skull.
Everyone in this city knew this car. It was practically an urban legend.
"Ready?" Dominic offered his arm.
I took a breath. "Ready."
We walked in together.
The grand ballroom was filled with the city's elite — business leaders, politicians, old-money families. Nathan stood at the center, Serena clinging to his arm in a red gown that screamed "look at me."
He'd actually brought his pregnant mistress to his grandmother's birthday.
The audacity almost impressed me.
Nathan spotted me first. His champagne glass froze halfway to his lips.
Then his eyes moved to the man beside me.
Then to Dominic's hand resting possessively on the small of my back.
Then to the massive diamond on my ring finger — a 12-carat cushion-cut that Dominic had slipped on my finger that morning with a sheepish smile: "It was my mother's. She'd want you to have it."
Nathan's face drained of all color.
"Aria." He strode toward us, abandoning Serena mid-sentence. "What the hell is this? Who is—"
He stopped dead.
Recognition finally hit him like a freight train.
His mouth opened. Closed. Opened again.
"D-Dominic Ashford?"
Dominic smiled — the cold, predatory smile of a man who held all the cards.
"Nathan." His voice was silk over steel. "I don't think we've been properly introduced. I'm your ex-wife's new husband."
Every conversation within earshot died simultaneously.
Nathan staggered back half a step.
Because Dominic Ashford wasn't just any billionaire.
He was the majority shareholder of Cross Industries. The man who'd been silently funding Nathan's company for years. The man who could destroy Nathan's entire career with a single phone call.
And he'd just announced — in front of 200 of the city's most influential people — that he'd married Nathan's discarded wife.
Nathan's face cycled through white, red, and green in rapid succession.
"That's... that's impossible," he stammered. "You two don't even know each other!"
Dominic pulled me closer, his thumb drawing lazy circles on my hip. "We've known each other since medical school. I've been in love with her for five years."
Whispers exploded through the ballroom like wildfire.
"Five years?" "She was married to Cross that whole time!" "Ashford waited for her?" "My God, the patience..." "Cross must be dying inside."
Serena materialized at Nathan's elbow, her face ashen. "Nathan? Nathan, what's happening?"
But Nathan wasn't listening. His eyes were locked on my ring finger, on Dominic's arm around my waist, on the effortless intimacy between us.
"You planned this," Nathan breathed. "You planned this whole thing—"
"No." I met his gaze steadily. "I planned nothing. You handed me the divorce papers. I simply signed them."
"Those weren't for—" He caught himself, but too late.
Too late.
He'd just admitted, in front of witnesses, that he'd pre-prepared divorce papers.
The murmurs grew louder. More judgmental.
Grandma Rose's voice cut through the crowd from her wheelchair near the stage:
"Nathan. Come here. Now."
The command in her frail voice was absolute.
Nathan's face was gray as he walked toward his grandmother like a man approaching the gallows.
Each one, I blocked without answering.
His messages grew increasingly frantic:
**[Aria, this is ridiculous. Call me back.]**
**[I made a mistake. We can work this out.]**
**[Serena means nothing. She's just... it's complicated. Let me explain.]**
**[Why won't you answer? Are you trying to punish me?]**
**[Fine. If you want to play games, I can be patient. You'll realize you need me eventually.]**
The arrogance in that last message almost made me laugh.
Then came the voicemail that changed everything:
"Aria." Nathan's voice was eerily controlled. "My grandmother is asking about you. She doesn't know about the divorce yet. Come to her birthday dinner this Saturday. Play the part one last time. You owe her that much."
He was right about one thing — I adored Grandma Cross. She was the only person in that family who ever treated me like I mattered.
But "play the part"? Pretend to still be his wife?
I was composing a firm refusal when Dominic walked in, glancing at my expression.
"What did he do now?"
I showed him the voicemail. His jaw tightened.
"You want to go?"
"Grandma Rose has been good to me," I admitted. "She deserves to hear the truth from me directly. Not from Nathan's spin."
Dominic nodded slowly. "Then we go together."
"Dominic, that might—"
"You're my wife now." His tone brooked no argument. "Where you go, I go."
Saturday arrived faster than I expected.
The Cross family estate blazed with lights, luxury cars lining the circular driveway. This was Grandma Rose's 80th birthday — a massive social event.
Dominic pulled up in his signature black Rolls-Royce. The valet's eyes nearly fell out of his skull.
Everyone in this city knew this car. It was practically an urban legend.
"Ready?" Dominic offered his arm.
I took a breath. "Ready."
We walked in together.
The grand ballroom was filled with the city's elite — business leaders, politicians, old-money families. Nathan stood at the center, Serena clinging to his arm in a red gown that screamed "look at me."
He'd actually brought his pregnant mistress to his grandmother's birthday.
The audacity almost impressed me.
Nathan spotted me first. His champagne glass froze halfway to his lips.
Then his eyes moved to the man beside me.
Then to Dominic's hand resting possessively on the small of my back.
Then to the massive diamond on my ring finger — a 12-carat cushion-cut that Dominic had slipped on my finger that morning with a sheepish smile: "It was my mother's. She'd want you to have it."
Nathan's face drained of all color.
"Aria." He strode toward us, abandoning Serena mid-sentence. "What the hell is this? Who is—"
He stopped dead.
Recognition finally hit him like a freight train.
His mouth opened. Closed. Opened again.
"D-Dominic Ashford?"
Dominic smiled — the cold, predatory smile of a man who held all the cards.
"Nathan." His voice was silk over steel. "I don't think we've been properly introduced. I'm your ex-wife's new husband."
Every conversation within earshot died simultaneously.
Nathan staggered back half a step.
Because Dominic Ashford wasn't just any billionaire.
He was the majority shareholder of Cross Industries. The man who'd been silently funding Nathan's company for years. The man who could destroy Nathan's entire career with a single phone call.
And he'd just announced — in front of 200 of the city's most influential people — that he'd married Nathan's discarded wife.
Nathan's face cycled through white, red, and green in rapid succession.
"That's... that's impossible," he stammered. "You two don't even know each other!"
Dominic pulled me closer, his thumb drawing lazy circles on my hip. "We've known each other since medical school. I've been in love with her for five years."
Whispers exploded through the ballroom like wildfire.
"Five years?" "She was married to Cross that whole time!" "Ashford waited for her?" "My God, the patience..." "Cross must be dying inside."
Serena materialized at Nathan's elbow, her face ashen. "Nathan? Nathan, what's happening?"
But Nathan wasn't listening. His eyes were locked on my ring finger, on Dominic's arm around my waist, on the effortless intimacy between us.
"You planned this," Nathan breathed. "You planned this whole thing—"
"No." I met his gaze steadily. "I planned nothing. You handed me the divorce papers. I simply signed them."
"Those weren't for—" He caught himself, but too late.
Too late.
He'd just admitted, in front of witnesses, that he'd pre-prepared divorce papers.
The murmurs grew louder. More judgmental.
Grandma Rose's voice cut through the crowd from her wheelchair near the stage:
"Nathan. Come here. Now."
The command in her frail voice was absolute.
Nathan's face was gray as he walked toward his grandmother like a man approaching the gallows.