Page 33 of The Billionaire’s Contract Bride

A reporter lunged past a security barrier, thrusting a heavy microphone forward until it struck Aria hard on the shoulder.

Damien caught the reporter’s wrist mid-air.

Everything stopped.

Damien didn’t look angry, which made the moment infinitely worse. “Touch her again,” he said in a low, even tone, “and your hand will become professionally unnecessary.”

The reporter went pale.

Lucien moved in and cleared the man away as Damien opened the car door for Aria as if nothing had happened.

Once inside the tinted rear cabin, she rounded on him. “Was that really necessary?”

“Yes.”

“You threatened to break a journalist’s arm!” She cried, exasperated.

“I allowed him to consider several probable outcomes.”

“That isn’t better!”

Damien reached across the leather seat and caught her chin between his fingers. The grip was firm, not painful, as he turned her head to examine the faint red mark near her shoulder.

“He touched you,” Damien said simply.

“A microphone bumped me!”

“Because he was holding it.”

“You can’t destroy everyone who stumbles into me!”

“Watch me.”

Aria yanked her chin from his grip.

The sedan sped toward the city courthouse, flanked by three armored SUVs and a swarm of press motorcycles.

“Where is your family?” she asked, breaking the tense silence.

“Waiting inside.”

“Who knows this marriage is a contract?”

“You. Me. Lucien. My primary counsel.”

“Not Helena?”

“Helena knows what she needs to know.”

“Your grandfather?”

“He suspects everything and proves nothing.”

“Your uncle Victor?”

“He would kill for proof.”

Aria turned to him. “Literally?”