Chapter 35: Chapter XXXV
Ariana sat motionless in the sleek leather chair, a soft black robe draped around her shoulders as the stylists circled her like a hawk—spraying, pinning, perfecting. The penthouse’s spare room had been transformed into a full-blown glam suite, complete with soft classic music playing, racks of clothing, and a team of artists who took their job more seriously than she could have imagined.
“Eyes closed, darling” the makeup artist cooed. “We’re going for ethereal with a hint of goddess. You know, the kind of woman who marries a billionaire before noon but still looks like she doesn’t need him.”
Ariana couldn’t help but laugh softly. “That’s oddly specific.”
“Darling, in this city, specific is survival. We need to ensure that when your face appears on the cover of those magazines, you’re killing it from every angle.”
The stylist, a flamboyant man named Richard with more rings than fingers, stepped forward, fanning himself dramatically. “I must say, when Callum told me he was marrying someone real, I nearly choked on my collagen water. But you…” He gestured at her with a flourish. “You’re art. Real, yes, but dangerously beautiful.”
“Thank you, I think?”
He snapped his fingers. “Let’s do the final look. Get her into the ivory suit. Hair swept, lips natural but soft. Think ‘bridal espionage’—like she’s walking down the aisle and testifying in court.”
As the team buzzed around her, Ariana watched her reflection shift into something unrecognizable yet deeply her. The ivory blazer cinched at the waist with subtle crystal embellishments. Her makeup was polished but understated, her hair swept into a graceful updo with loose strands framing her face.
She looked… beautiful. And just a little haunted.
Callum hadn’t spoken much this morning—just a text that simply read:
They will be there to pick you at 10. I’ll be waiting for you at the courthouse.
And so she let herself be turned, styled, and sculpted—until the woman in the mirror looked like someone who could marry a man like Callum Guerrero and walk out of court untouched.
Richard stepped back and nodded in approval. “You’re a vision. Now go, darling. Make the world believe.”
The black SUV pulled up outside the courthouse. Ariana stepped out first, the soft click of her heels meeting the pavement as she ascended the stairs into the courthouse.
Cameras immediately flashed.
Paparazzi clustered at the barricades like vampires scenting blood. Questions were hurled through the noise—“Is it real?” “Why the secrecy?” “Are you pregnant?” “Are you in danger?”—but Ariana kept her chin high, lips poised in a neutral smile.
Then a car door opened again.
Callum stepped out, dressed in a charcoal black suit that looked carved onto his body. He adjusted his cuffs slowly, ignoring the flashing bulbs, before turning his gaze to her.
The moment his eyes met hers, the world faded just a little.
He stepped toward her, reaching for her hand with all the casual confidence of a man who was used to claiming space. But there was something else in his eyes—something quiet and questioning, like he was still unsure whether she’d take it.
She did.
Their fingers intertwined, and the press went wild.
“You ready?” he murmured.
“No,” she whispered back, “but I’m here.”
He gave her the faintest smile, then guided her up the courthouse steps.
Inside, the hush was deafening.
Their lawyer and Julian greeted them with a nod, then they were led into a side room—no frills, just a judge, two signatures, and the sterile scent of ink on paper. The legal ceremony took no more than ten minutes.
But the moment Callum turned to her, brushing his thumb gently over her hand before slipping the symbolic ring on her finger—it felt like time slowed.
“Mrs. Guerrero,” he said softly, the formality laced with something far more intimate.
She swallowed. “That’s going to take some getting used to.”
“Good,” he said, his eyes locked on hers. “We’ve got time.”
They walked out hand in hand.
This time, they didn’t flinch from the cameras. Callum paused at the top of the stairs, pulled her gently into his side, and kissed her temple.
It was supposed to be for show.
But when his lips lingered, and his fingers brushed against the small of her back like a promise… she felt it.
Ariana smiled for the cameras—because that was what she was supposed to do.
But deep inside, the ache forming in her chest was no longer about pretending. It was about how real this was beginning to feel.
And that terrified her more than the flashing bulbs and whispered lies ever could.
As they descended the courthouse stairs, hand in hand, the crowd of reporters grew louder—cameras flashing like gunfire, voices tripping over one another to be heard.
“Callum, are you marrying her to cover something up?”
“Is she pregnant?”
“Is this tied to the warehouse scandal?”
Callum’s jaw flexed. Ariana felt the way his grip on her hand tightened—just slightly—but his face remained unreadable. She could feel his tension though, simmering just beneath that smooth surface.
Then one reporter, a tall brunette with a smug expression and a glittering press badge around her neck, stepped forward and raised her voice over the chaos.
“Ariana,” she called, directly this time, “do you worry that being with someone like Callum Guerrero puts you in danger?”
The crowd quieted for a beat.
Callum’s mouth opened—ready to step in, to take the fall, or maybe to shut it down entirely. But before he could speak, Ariana turned toward the reporter with a small, graceful smile.
“I think,” she said, calm but with an edge of steel, “that being with anyone powerful comes with attention. But danger? No. Callum has only ever protected me.”
There was something commanding about her tone—an elegance in how she handled it, not denying the chaos surrounding them, but flipping it on its head. The reporter blinked, thrown off by the poise.
A few cameras caught the moment, the crowd murmuring.
Callum looked at her, brows slightly raised. There was a flicker of surprise there—but also… pride.
Without missing a beat, he leaned in and whispered, “Nice save.”
She gave him a look, lips tugging at the corners. “You’re welcome.”
.................................
The drive to his family estate on the Upper western estate was a quiet one. Callum stared out the tinted window for most of it, though every now and then, he’d glance over at her—like he was trying to read something in her profile. She wasn’t sure what he saw.
As the black car turned into the circular driveway, Ariana’s nerves kicked in. Meeting Callum’s mother wasn’t just another box to tick—it was walking straight into a lion’s den without knowing the rules of engagement.
The house was pristine. Too elegant. A multi story Georgian mansion with white pillars, leaves climbing the walls, and a set of staff waiting just inside the door.
Callum escorted her in without a word, leading her down a wide marble hallway until they reached a sun-drenched drawing room.
And there she was.
Charissa Guerrero.
Elegant. Sharp. Impeccably dressed in a cream blouse and black slacks, pearls at her neck and a flute of something chilled in her hand. She turned slowly, her gaze flicking from her son to Ariana.
“Well,” she said, stepping forward with a slow grace, “this is unexpected.”
“Mother,” Callum greeted, his tone neutral. “We’ve signed the papers. It’s official now.”
Clarisse’s eyes moved back to Ariana. “I see. And how are you finding this whirlwind romance, dear?” She asked with a voice full of sarcasm.
Ariana met her gaze without flinching. “It’s been a journey,” she said honestly. “But your son’s been… surprising.”
Clarisse tilted her head, lips curling slightly—not quite a smile, but not full disapproval either. “Surprising, yes. He does have a flair for the dramatic.”
There was a beat of silence.
Then, in a move Ariana didn’t expect, Charissa extended a hand. “Well I guess we’ll be seeing you around more often so welcome to the family, I suppose. Things aren’t always so conventional around here.”
Ariana shook her hand, surprised at the firm grip. “Thank you.”
As they walked deeper into the room, Callum leaned closer and murmured, “That went better than expected.”
“Are you sure?” Ariana whispered back.
“No one’s bleeding. That’s progress.”
She stifled a laugh. Whatever storm was coming, for now, the eye of it was strangely calm.