The CEO's Rejected Wife And Secret Heir-Chapter 173 – Double Celebration
Aria’s POV
"I promise you," he said, "that I understand what that cost. I will never take it lightly. I will spend the rest of my life being worthy of it — not perfectly, because I’m not capable of perfect, but honestly, and entirely, and with everything I have." He squeezed my hands. "You made me whole, Aria. You and Noah remade me into something I actually want to be. I love you. I will love you every day, loudly, in every way I know how and some I’m still learning." The corner of his mouth moved. "And I will always, always know where you keep your coffee."
A small sound of laughter moved through the guests as I took one breath. "You were my worst nightmare," I said.
He nodded, absorbing this.
"You were the thing I was most afraid of that came back to find me. You were the living proof that I had once trusted completely and been catastrophically wrong, and every time I looked at you I had to fight against the part of me that said — see? This is why you keep the walls up. This is why you don’t let anyone in." I held his gaze. "And you were also the person who showed up, every single time. Who showed up for Noah before he knew you. Who showed up for me in a hundred ways I told myself didn’t matter and knew they did." I felt my eyes go bright and didn’t try to stop it. "You are my greatest love, Damien. Not in spite of the history but including it — because the history is how I know exactly what you chose to become. It took you long enough," a ripple of laughter again, soft and warm, "but you got there."
"Thank you for not giving up," I said. "On yourself. On us. On the idea that it was possible to do this better the second time." I tightened my hands around his. "I choose you. Today, and every day. For real this time."
The officiant’s voice was quiet and certain: "Do you, Damien Blackwood, take Aria Monroe"
"I do," he said. Before the sentence was finished.
"Do you, Aria Monroe, take Damien Blackwood"
"I do." Not a breath of hesitation.
The rings went on — Noah delivering the box with the focused triumph of someone completing a mission he’d been assigned and executed flawlessly — and then the officiant said the words, and Damien’s hand came to my face, and he kissed me with everything he had, tender and thorough and completely real, and I kissed him back exactly the same way as people applauded.
Noah, loudly, said "YES!"
When we pulled apart, I was laughing and crying simultaneously, which should have been undignified but somehow wasn’t, and Damien was still holding my face, his thumbs brushing my cheeks, his eyes clear.
"There," he said softly, just for us. "That’s the one we should have had."
"We have it now," I said.
"Yeah." He pressed his forehead to mine. "We have it now."
Between us, Noah pressed himself against both our legs with both arms, claiming his place in the center of it the way he always claimed his place.
I looked up at Damien.
He looked down at me as our son held on.The last echo of applause was still warm in the air when Damien pulled me close and pressed his forehead to mine, both of us breathing the same breath, and for a long moment neither of us said anything because there was nothing left to say that the vows hadn’t already covered.
"Mrs. Blackwood," he murmured, low and private, like it was only for me.
"Don’t," I warned, but I was already smiling.
"Too late." He kissed the corner of my mouth. "It’s legally binding now."
Around us, the rooftop reception had settled into warmth — waitstaff threading between guests with champagne flutes and small plates, the string lights strung overhead turning everything amber, the low hum of conversation weaving under soft music.
Noah was near the cake table with Mrs. Dora, pointing at the three tiers with the focused urgency of someone filing an official grievance about portion sizes. I watched him tug her sleeve and gesture upward and she bent patiently to listen, and something in my chest pulled so tight it almost hurt.
My family. Right there. Both of them.
Damien followed my gaze and his arm tightened around my waist. 𝓯𝙧𝙚𝒆𝙬𝙚𝒃𝙣𝙤𝒗𝓮𝓵.𝙘𝙤𝙢
"He’s going to try to eat the flowers off the second tier," he said.
"He already tried during the rehearsal." I leaned into him. "Mrs. Dora has a system."
He laughed, quiet and real, and I turned my face into his shoulder for just a moment — just long enough to feel his solid broad shoulders, my husband, mine, chosen — before Olivia appeared at my elbow with the particular expression she wore when she was containing something enormous.
"I need you," she said, glancing at Damien. "Four minutes."
Damien looked between us. "It’s my wedding reception."
"And it will still be your wedding reception in minutes." She smiled sweetly and peeled me away from him before he could lodge a formal objection.
She pulled me into the alcove near the far railing, as the noise of the reception softened to a murmur. Her eyes were too bright. Her hands were doing the thing they did when she was trying very hard to hold still.
"Olivia." I studied her face. "What happened?"
She exhaled slowly. Then she pressed her lips together, fighting the smile, and lost."Lucas," she said. "This morning. Before the ceremony, when you were getting ready — he had them deliver it to the hotel. A key." She pulled a small velvet box from her clutch and opened it. Inside, resting on white satin, was a single car key and a tiny folded card. "A 1967 Ford Mustang fastback. The exact one. The exact color, i have been talking about that car since I was nineteen years old and he actually found one and"
"Olivia."
"And a building." Her voice cracked slightly on it. "He bought me a building in the medical district for private practice. Said it can serve as one of my branch since I’ve been talking about opening it and he was tired of watching me talk about it."
I stared at her as she stared back.
Then I grabbed both her hands and she burst out laughing and we did the thing we hadn’t done since the ridiculous, undignified jumping that neither of us would ever admit to in public — right there in the alcove at my wedding reception with the city glittering below us.
"He bought you a building," I managed.
"I know." She was breathless. "I know, Aria, I don’t know what to do with him, he’s completely"
"Perfect," I said. "He’s completely perfect for you."
She pressed both hands over her mouth, eyes wet, nodding.
I squeezed her hands hard. "We’re telling everyone."
"This is your day"
"Our day," I said. "We are absolutely telling everyone. Come on."
Lucas was mid-conversation with Barnes when I steered Olivia back into the reception, and he saw her face before he saw mine and immediately stopped talking. Something shifted in his expression — the particular, helpless warmth of a man who has done something he’s very pleased about and is watching it land.
"Well?" he said.
"Well," Olivia said, and held up the key.
The room didn’t understand immediately — it rippled through in pieces, Damien catching it from my expression before anyone spoke, his eyebrow lifting, Lucas being immediately descended upon by Maya from the office who apparently had strong feelings about the Ford Mustang as a romantic gesture.
Noah appeared from behind Mrs. Dora’s skirt, assessed the situation, and announced to no one in particular: "Aunty Olivia is happy."
"She is," Damien agreed, appearing at my side.
"Because Lucas did something nice," Noah continued.
"Very nice," I said.
Noah considered this, then nodded and returned to the cake table, apparently satisfied that the situation was resolved.
Damien’s mouth was in my ear. "You’re stalling," he said quietly.
I went still.
"You’ve been holding something since before the ceremony," he continued, low and certain. "I could see it in your face during the vows. Something you’re waiting to say."
I turned to look at him. His ice-blue eyes were steady on mine, patient. And just like that I was back there, hours ago. Before any of this.
Hours Earlier
I was awake before my alarm. The nausea hit the moment I sat up . I pressed my hand to my mouth and breathed through it carefully and told myself it was nerves. Normal nerves. Anyone would be nauseous the morning of their wedding.
I stood up slowly and moved to the window, the city was still grey and quiet below, the rooftop venue two floors up already being arranged by people who had arrived before sunrise. I watched them move around the chairs and flowers and breathed slowly and waited for the nausea to pass.
It didn’t.
I went to the kitchen and made tea I didn’t drink and sat at the counter in my robe and tried to locate the nerves underneath it — tried to find the fear but there was no fear. I was not nervous about marrying Damien.
