Page 25 of The Billionaire’s Contract Bride

“Who measured me?” She demanded, turning around.

Helena’s calm demeanor cracked. “I don’t know, Aria.”

“Who ordered all of this?”

“A high-end styling service delivered the wardrobe.”

“When?”

“Three weeks ago.”

The black dress slipped from Aria’s fingers, pooling on the floor.

Three weeks ago.

Before the elevator stalled. Before the contract. Before Damien claimed their meeting at the hospital was a twist of fate.

“Did you know my name back then?” Aria asked, her voice dangerously quiet.

Helena remained silent.

“Did you know who this suite was being built for?”

The older woman looked at her with genuine pity. “Mr. Blackthorne informed the staff that his future wife would be arriving soon, yes.”

“His future wife,” Aria repeated, cold dread spreading through her veins. “Did he show you a picture?”

“Aria—”

“Did he?” Her tone was almost as cold as the one Damien used frequently.

“Yes.”

The suite felt like it was closing in on her. “I want to see it.”

“I don’t have it.”

“Where is it?”

“In Mr. Blackthorne’s private office.”

Aria spun around and marched toward the exit.

Helena stepped forward to block her path. “It is nearly three in the morning. You are exhausted, hurt, and overwhelmed. Confronting him right now will not go well.”

“Get out of my way.”

“I am trying to protect you.”

“Then tell me where his office is.”

Helena sighed softly. “At the very end of the west corridor.”

Aria stormed out of the suite.

She crossed the upper gallery, hurried down the floating staircase, and marched down the dark hallway Damien had taken earlier. The west corridor was dimmer than the rest of the penthouse, lined with large abstract canvases in moody shades of crimson and slate.

At the end stood a pair of heavy double doors.