Chapter 135
Aria’s POV
He looked up sharply.
“I didn’t believe her,” I added quickly. “But it’s just… the timing. Right after she showed up. I can’t help wondering p>
“It wasn’t because of her,” he said firmly, setting down the piping bag. His gaze was steady, unflinching. “Vanessa and I have no history together. “
“I made this decision because of you, Aria. Because I love you.No one else influences me.”He leaned forward, his voice dropping.
“Was there some impulse involved today? Yes. But more than that, it’s what I wanted. What I’ve been wanting p>
Relief flooded through me, and I smiled. “Okay. I believe you p>
“Don’t you want to know?” he asked quietly. “About her? About what happened between us p>
I shook my head. “If you want to tell me, I’ll listen. But if it’s painful—if it’s a part of your past you’d rather leave behind—you don’t have to. I won’t ask p>
I held his gaze. “Everyone has a past. You said it’s over, so it’s over. I only care about your present. And your future. With me p>
Before I could react, Damian pulled me into his arms.
“Thank you,” he whispered against my hair. “For being like this. For being you p>
His embrace was warm, solid, grounding.
I wrapped my arms around him, resting my cheek against his chest.
“The past doesn’t matter anymore,” he murmured. “From the moment we signed that certificate, Aria, my future belongs to you. Only you p>
“Mine too,” I whispered back.
After we finished the cake—a surprisingly decent effort, considering Damian’s complete lack of experience—we left the studio and headed to the luxury shopping district.
I insisted on buying him a birthday gift: two tailored shirts and matching ties from a brand I knew he liked.
When I went to pay, Damian tried to hand over his card, but I beat him to it.
“This is from me,” I said firmly.
He smiled, shaking his head, but didn’t argue.
The moment we left that store, however, he steered me directly into the jewelry boutique next door.
“Damian, what p>
“Wedding gift,” he said simply, already scanning the display cases.
He selected a pair of matching rings and two sleek bracelets—simple, elegant designs that somehow managed to be both understated and breathtakingly expensive.
The total came to nearly three hundred thousand dollars.
I’d spent thirty thousand on his shirts.
“This is supposed to be your birthday,” I protested. “I’m the one giving gifts p>
“You gave yours. Now I’m giving mine.” He slid the ring onto my finger, then held out his hand expectantly. “Help me put mine on p>
I laughed despite myself. “You know you’re going to get teased at work for wearing a matching couple’s bracelet, right p>
“Good,” he said, his voice dropping to that low, intimate tone that made my stomach flip. “Let them all know p>
He said it quietly enough that the sales associate couldn’t hear, but the way he looked at me—possessive, tender, utterly shameless—made my ears burn.
I quickly focused on fastening the bracelet around his wrist.
He didn’t wear it on his left wrist with his watch. Instead, I clasped it onto his right wrist, where it sat alone against his skin.
The thin platinum band looked striking against the strong lines of his hand and wrist—elegant, masculine, somehow perfectly him.
“You know,” I said softly, “you have really beautiful hands p>
Damian’s lips curved. Without a word, he reached out and took my hand in his, threading our fingers together.
“Now I do,” he murmured.
His palm was warm, his grip firm and steady.
I tried to pull away—my face was definitely bright red by now—but he held on tighter.
“Come on,” he said, tugging me gently toward the exit. “What’s next on the agenda p>
“Dinner,” I managed. “I’m starving p>
We found a cozy restaurant nearby, and by the time we finished eating, it was nearly nine o’clock.
I expected Damian to suggest heading home, but instead, he stood and held out his hand.
“One more stop,” he said.
“Where p>
“You’ll see p>
He drove us to a massive supermarket—one of those 24-hour places with aisles that seemed to stretch on forever.
I looked at him, confused. “What do you need here p>