Three years into becoming Mrs. Matteo Grant, I still sometimes said it like I was testing if it was real.
That morning, I stood in front of the mirror while sunlight spilled across the bedroom floor and whispered softly, almost like a prayer, “Happy anniversary, love… happy anniversary to us.” My hand drifted down to my stomach, resting there protectively. Barely six weeks along, so small no one would notice—but to me, it felt like my whole world had just started beating inside me.
I had been waiting for this day for weeks.
Matteo and I were never supposed to be a love story. We began as rivals—two powerful companies forced into an arranged marriage neither of us agreed to. He was sharp-edged, intimidating, always in control in a way that made people step back without realizing it.
And I… I refused to step back.
I met his arrogance head-on with my own stubborn pride. We clashed constantly—over business deals, over board decisions, even over trivial things like what we had for dinner. It should have broken us apart.
Instead, somewhere in all that chaos, I fell for him.
And I truly believed he had fallen too.
There were moments that fooled me into hoping. He’d appear beside me during late nights in the office with a cup of coffee I didn’t ask for. He’d drape his jacket over my shoulders when I fell asleep at my desk, pretending he didn’t notice how exhausted I was. Small things. Quiet things. The kind of gestures that slowly convinced me we were becoming something real.
So I planned today carefully.
His favorite dishes were already set on the dining table. I had a small gift box wrapped neatly—inside was a silver keychain engraved with the words Dad-to-be. I even lit candles I had saved since our honeymoon, thinking tonight would be the moment everything changed.
When he called and said plans had shifted, I didn’t argue.
“I’ve arranged something else,” Matteo said over the phone. His tone was calm as always—too calm, like glass hiding something dangerous beneath it.
So I changed into a cream dress, wore diamond earrings he once said suited me, and carried hope like it was something fragile I had to protect.
But the moment the car stopped in front of an unfamiliar building, that hope wavered.
It wasn’t a restaurant. Or an office. It was a private hall made of gold-tinted glass, guarded by men in black suits who didn’t even blink as we arrived.
“Matteo?” I asked quietly when he helped me out. “Where exactly are we?”
He didn’t answer. Not even a glance.
He simply guided me inside.
The lobby was alive with sound—laughter echoing off marble floors, glasses clinking, music humming softly in the background. People in tuxedos stood in clusters, women shimmering in expensive gowns, champagne flowing under crystal chandeliers.
My fingers tightened around his sleeve.
“This… is a gala?” I tried to smile. “You could’ve just told me—”
We stopped.
Right in front of a stage.
My breath caught.
Screens flashed numbers. People murmured into phones. A host stood at the center, voice lowered as if the room itself demanded secrecy.
“Lot Forty-Seven,” he announced. “A rare piece tonight.”
Confusion crept up my spine. I turned to Matteo, expecting an explanation.
But he was already looking at me.
And I didn’t recognize his eyes.
Cold. Detached. Empty in a way I had never seen before.
Then he spoke.
“She’s the lot.”
For a second, my brain refused to understand what I heard. I let out a short, shaky laugh, because surely that was the only reasonable response.
“You’re kidding, right?” I whispered. “Matteo… stop.”
He didn’t even blink.
“You’ll bring a high price,” he said flatly. “I need the money. You’ve always known your face and name could be used for value.”
My stomach dropped.
“What… are you saying?”
He turned away from me, addressing the host instead. “Begin.”
Everything happened at once.
Hands grabbed me before I could even step back. I struggled, panic rising as I was dragged forward.
“Matteo!” I screamed, voice breaking. “Stop this! Please—what are you doing?!”
But he didn’t move.
Didn’t react.
Didn’t even look at me.
The lights hit me as they pushed me onto the stage. Faces blurred in the crowd—watching, judging, as if I wasn’t a person anymore.
Just something to be priced.
“Two million starting bid,” the announcer called.
Laughter followed. Then raised bids.
“Three million.”
“Four.”
My vision blurred.
“Matteo!” I cried again, voice raw. “I’m your wife!”
Only then did he look up.
A faint curve touched his lips—not warmth, not affection… something tired, almost indifferent.
“I told you, Aria,” he said calmly. “We were never on the same side. And I need the funds. That’s all.”
It felt like something inside me split clean in half.
I begged after that. I said everything I could think of. I told them I was pregnant. I told them I would do anything—anything at all—if they would just stop.
But he turned away before I could finish.
When the final bid came through, the voice declared, “Sold.”
I don’t remember walking off that stage.
Only being dragged through corridors. Cold hands. Locked doors. A dim room that smelled like smoke and expensive alcohol. I kept repeating it like a prayer that might save me.
“I’m pregnant… please… don’t…”
No one listened.
Pain, noise, panic—it all blurred together until the door suddenly slammed open.
“Enough!”
A voice cut through everything like thunder.
Chaos erupted. Shouting. Fists hitting walls. Someone falling hard against furniture.
And then—arms caught me.
Steady. Strong. Real.
When my vision cleared, I saw him.
Vincent Wolfe.
Matteo’s rival.
“Stay with me,” he said firmly, holding me as if I might disappear. “You’re safe now.”
Safe.
The word didn’t feel real anymore.
And then everything went dark.
When I woke again, it was white ceilings, soft beeping machines, and the sharp smell of disinfectant. My body felt heavy, like it didn’t belong to me anymore.
I turned my head.
Vincent was sitting nearby, watching me in silence.
“My baby…” My voice cracked immediately. “Where is my baby?”
He didn’t answer right away. His gaze dropped instead.
That was enough.
A doctor came in moments later, clipboard in hand, face tight with pity that made my chest tighten even more.
“I’m so sorry, Mrs. Grant,” she said gently. “There was severe internal bleeding. The pregnancy couldn’t be saved.”
The room tilted.
“And…” she hesitated, softer now, “the damage is significant. It may not be possible for you to conceive in the future.”
Silence swallowed everything.
It felt like something was being pulled out of me—something I could never get back.
Tears slid silently into my hair as I stared at the ceiling, completely hollowed out.
Vincent stood up, his voice low but sharp. “He’s going to regret this.”
A laugh escaped me—but it sounded broken, wrong.
“He already destroyed everything.”
Vincent stepped closer. “Then don’t stay broken. Take it back.”
I turned my head slowly, eyes burning. “Why would you help me?”
His answer came without hesitation.
“Because I want him to fall too.”
For a long time, I just looked at him.
A stranger who pulled me out of ruin.
A man offering revenge instead of comfort.
Something inside me shifted—quietly, dangerously.
So when he finally said, “Marry me, Aria,” I didn’t think twice.
Because if I was already in hell,
I’d rather walk through it burning beside him—
than ever forgive Matteo Grant.
