Chapter 41

Callum was already dressed when Ariana padded out of the bedroom in one of her little night robes. He was leaning against the kitchen counter, sipping an espresso, flipping through something on his phone, and looking very composed.

“Morning,” Ariana mumbled, blinking against the soft morning light bleeding through the windows.

Callum looked up and smiled—an actual, relaxed smile. “Good morning, Mrs. Guerrero.”

Ariana arched an eyebrow. “You’re going to keep calling me that, huh?”

“Until you get used to it,” he said, setting the cup down. “Get dressed. We’re going out.”

She paused. “Out where?”

“Breakfast. A proper one. No room service. And then…” he walked toward her, brushing a hand across her waist, “I want to show you a glimpse of my world. Tonight, I want you by my side at the club. Meet my people. Let them know who you are.”

Ariana tilted her head. “The wife you married for PR?”

“The woman they’ll know not to mess with,” he replied, voice low, “because she matters to me more than they realize.”

That quiet admission sat between them for a beat too long, and Ariana’s heart picked up its pace. She smiled, slowly. “Alright. I’ll wear something dangerously fabulous.”

He leaned down and kissed her temple. “That’s my girl.”

................

The breakfast café was tucked away on a private terrace in Tribeca, discreet and elegant, but open enough to feel like a date. Ariana sipped on fresh orange juice while Callum ordered two courses like it was instinct.

“You’re spoiling me,” she said after the croissant course arrived with a trio of house-made jams.

“You’re my wife,” he said with a shrug. “Might as well enjoy the perks.”

Ariana laughed softly, but there was something real beneath it. Callum noticed the way she relaxed more easily now. The armor she wore back in Dallas had softened in Manhattan. The walls weren’t gone, but they were thinner. And tonight, he was about to test how much closer they could get.

They enjoyed the rest of the breakfast date in silence, both gazing at the cityview and humming to the soft classic music that was playing in the background.

That Night at the Club, the lights of the Cage Club spilled gold across Ariana’s skin as she stepped out of the car in a black silk dress that clung to every curve. Her hair was pulled into a loose updo, a diamond necklace gleaming at her throat—a wedding gift Callum had slipped into the outfit package she had received that morning with a note that simply read, “Mine.”

Inside, the music was already thrumming through the walls—bass-heavy and sultry. The VIP lounge was closed off for a private event: Callum’s circle. His associates. Influential men and women from different industries. Eyes turned when they entered.

Callum’s hand never left Ariana’s lower back. He leaned in as they walked.

“Remember, most of these people want something from me. They’ll act polite. But you... you just need to be you. That’s what disarms them.”

Ariana smiled. “You say that like I’m your secret weapon.”

“You are.” Callum let out a soft giggle.

He introduced her as his wife, calm and confident. The room buzzed with curiosity. She shook hands, accepted compliments, and laughed when appropriate. But under the glow of the lights, with champagne warming her veins, Ariana’s inhibitions slipped a little.

By the time the DJ turned the music up, Ariana was tipsy. Not drunk. Just warm and gleaming and unfiltered. She slid close to Callum on the dance floor, a playful smile tugging at her lips.

“Are you just gonna stand there and brood,” she teased, “or actually dance with your wife?”

Callum’s brow quirked. “You want to dance with a guy who owns the place?”

"Yes i do." Ariana smirked. She took his hand and pulled him toward the center.

The beat shifted to something low and thumping. Ariana pressed her body against him, swaying her hips with rhythm, her back brushing his chest. Callum froze for a second, hands instinctively gripping her waist, then sliding lower.

“You’re playing with fire.” he muttered against her ear.

“I’m already burning” she whispered back, tilting her head. They danced to the tune of the music for what seemed like hours but the tension between them grew like wild fire. Before Ariana could protest, Callum spun her around and kissed her.

Hard.

Public, consuming, and raw.

The club might have vanished for all he knew. The people, the deals, the threats—none of it existed when she kissed him back like she needed air and he was it. Her hands threaded into his hair as his mouth devoured hers with months of tension and longing.

He only pulled away when he heard her gasp for breath, both of them flushed and breathless.

“We need to leave,” he said hoarsely.