Chapter 306: She’s a Girl’s Girl

"Because I want to see you succeed, Aria," Vittoria answered smoothly. "But I do have one condition."

Aria’s heart plummeted straight into the soles of her heels.

She instinctively braced herself. Her mind instantly supplied the classic, toxic daytime-soap-opera dialogue. She fully expected the Italian millionaire to narrow her dark eyes and demand the ultimate sacrifice.

"What is it?" Aria asked, her voice tight. ’Do I have to divorce him? Do I have to leave New York and never speak to Damien again?’ she questioned in her thoughts.

"My condition is simple," Vittoria stated. "You pay me back with your own money. Not a single cent of this two-million-dollar loan can come from Damien’s bank accounts. You wire me the funds from the sweat of your own brow. Do we have a deal?"

Aria’s jaw dropped.

She stared at her for a moment. ’That’s it?!’

"Deal," Aria breathed, her voice trembling with gratitude. "Absolutely, one hundred percent deal."

"Excellent," Vittoria smiled.

She clicked the pen, scribbled a series of numbers onto the check, and signed her name with a flourish. She ripped the paper from the booklet and held it out to Zoe.

"To Tiffany Kensington," Vittoria winked.

Zoe took the check as if she were being handed a newborn baby. Her hands were shaking so violently the paper rattled.

"Go," Vittoria ordered softly, zipping her clutch. "You have an invoice to pay."

Zoe didn’t need to be told twice.

"I love you!" Zoe shrieked at the women, spinning on her platform heels and throwing the bathroom door open. "I will literally name my firstborn child after you!"

Zoe sprinted out into the hallway racing toward the financial desk.

Aria let out a long, shuddering exhale, sagging against the vanity. She looked at Vittoria, her chest tight with emotion.

"I don’t even know how to thank you," Aria whispered.

"Pay me back with interest," Vittoria smiled, adjusting the collar of her suit. "I’ll see you out there, Mrs. Sinclair."

Vittoria glided out of the bathroom, leaving Aria alone.

Aria clamped her hands over her mouth and did a frantic, silent, happy-dance. She had done it. She owned fifty percent of Vale Entertainment.

Aria smoothed down her red dress and strolled out into the post-auction champagne mixer; the atmosphere was buzzing. The double doors of the auction hall had been thrown open, leading into a sprawling ballroom where a live jazz band was playing a sultry, upbeat tune. Waiters carrying silver trays of caviar and champagne wove through the crowd.

Aria spotted Damien immediately.

He was standing near the velvet ropes of the VIP section, nursing a glass of scotch. His white dress shirt was unbuttoned at the collar, the sleeves rolled up to his forearms, making him look out of place among the stuffy tuxedos.

Aria walked up to him, casually swiping a flute of champagne from a passing tray.

"You look happy," Damien noted, his golden eyes sweeping over her flushed face.

"I’m just enjoying the ambiance," Aria lied smoothly, taking a sip of the bubbly. "The music is great."

Across the ballroom, Aria caught sight of Vittoria Rossi. The Italian CEO was near the exit, slipping on a designer trench coat. Vittoria made brief eye contact with Aria and then disappeared through the revolving doors.

Aria watched her go. A complicated knot formed in her stomach.

She was incredibly grateful, but really? She was very uneasy. She now owed her husband’s ex-girlfriend two million dollars.

"Hey."

Aria turned.

Zoe had just sidled up to the high-top cocktail table next to them. She was standing a polite, respectful distance away from Aria, keeping up the disguise.

"Nice bidding in there," Aria praised lightly, playing the part of the friendly stranger.

"Thanks," Zoe replied in a bored tone, though her eyes were screaming with victory. "It was exhausting. I need hydration."

Zoe flagged down a waiter. "Sparkling water with lime, please."

Aria raised an eyebrow. "No champagne to celebrate?" 𝘧𝓇ℯℯ𝑤ℯ𝘣𝓃ℴ

"Absolutely not," Zoe deadpanned, her eyes flashing. "I am a hydrated, sober nun. Alcohol is a disease and I am cured."

Aria suppressed a giggle.

"Have you seen Diana?" Aria asked Damien, looking around the room.

Damien gestured vaguely toward the far side of the ballroom.

Aria followed his gaze and cringed.

Diana was stationed by the open bar, parked in her wheelchair. She was sloppily drunk. She was waving an empty martini glass at a terrified bartender, slurring something about the ’decline of modern society’ while a cluster of high-society wives avoided eye contact with her.

"Yikes," Aria muttered, taking a long drink of her champagne.

Aria finished her first glass of champagne and quickly grabbed a second. The stress of the night was all crashing into her bloodstream. The alcohol hit her fast, warming her limbs and loosening her inhibitions.

She felt giddy. She felt powerful.

The jazz band shifted tempos, slipping into a slow sultry blues rhythm.

Aria looked up at Damien. He was watching her, his gaze focused, never leaving her face.

An idea sparked in Aria’s brain.

Aria set her empty glass down. She took a slow, deliberate step back from the cocktail table, moving toward the open edge of the dance floor.

She let the music take over.

She swayed her hips to the bass line, her movements fluid and slow. She dragged her hands down the smooth silk of her dress, rolling her shoulders back to thrust her chest forward. She cast a dark, lidded look over her shoulder, maintaining unwavering eye contact with her husband.

Damien froze.

The glass of scotch in his hand halted halfway to his mouth. His golden eyes instantly darkened. His jaw clenched so tight a muscle ticked in his cheek.

Aria smirked, turning her body fully to the music. She arched her spine, letting the red silk hug every curve, intentionally driving him crazy from ten feet away.

She loved the raw, predatory possessiveness settling over his features. He looked like he wanted to rip through the crowd, throw her over his shoulder, and carry her out of the building.

Aria closed her eyes for a second, letting her head fall back to the rhythm, lost in the game she was playing.

And then, she felt it.

A large, clammy hand suddenly clamped down hard on her right butt cheek.

"Nice ass, sweetheart," a slurred voice breathed into her ear.

The scotch glass Damien had been holding shattered. The crystal literally exploded in his hand, raining glass, blood and amber liquid onto the floor.