Chapter 1
The church in Mayfair smelled of old money, polished wood, and regret.
Lia Bennett stood at the altar in ivory silk, staring straight ahead.
She refused to look at the man beside her.
Damian Voss.
London’s most hated billionaire.
And the boy she had been promised to when she was eight years old.
The vicar’s voice carried through the quiet church.
“Do you, Damian, take this woman to be your wife?”
Damian’s jaw tightened.
His hands stayed buried in his pockets. He hadn’t looked at Lia once that morning.
Not when she walked down the aisle.
Not when she reached the altar.
Not even when she stood beside him.
“I do.”
Two words.
Cold. Final.
Like he was signing a prison sentence.
Then the vicar turned to her.
“Do you, Lia, take this man to be your husband?”
Lia swallowed.
Her father sat in the front row. Her uncles were behind him, watching with the same solemn expressions they had worn throughout the ceremony.
They had all told her the same thing.
This was the only way.
The only way to keep the peace.
The only way to bury what had happened sixteen years ago.
“I do,” she whispered.
The ring slid onto her finger.
Platinum. Heavy.
It felt less like a wedding ring and more like a chain.
There was no kiss.
The moment the vicar pronounced them husband and wife, Damian turned and walked away.
Just like that.
Her husband had left her standing at the altar.
The reception was held at Voss Tower, forty-two floors above London.
Champagne flowed freely. Crystal glasses glittered beneath expensive chandeliers. Important people laughed too loudly and smiled too often.
Everyone was pretending.
Lia stood beside the floor-to-ceiling windows, staring down at the Thames.
Her wedding dress suddenly felt like a costume.
“Mrs. Voss.”
She turned.
Damian’s PA stood behind her, holding a black envelope.
“Mr. Voss’s instructions.”
Lia took it.
Inside was a keycard to the Kensington penthouse and a small note written in Damian’s sharp handwriting.
Separate rooms.
Don’t speak to the press.
Don’t speak to me.
-D
That was all.
Her father had called the marriage a “union to heal old wounds.”
Her uncles had called it “family duty.”
No one had called it love.
Damian left for New York that same night.
No goodbye.
No explanation.
Nothing.
Three weeks passed.
The Kensington penthouse was silent.
Damian had left the morning after their wedding.
There had been no text.
No call.
Not even a simpleI’ll be back.
Just another message from his PA.
Separate rooms. Don’t embarrass me.
-D
Lia had the entire penthouse to herself.
Six bedrooms.
Marble floors.
A view of London that probably cost more than her father’s house.
And somehow, it still felt like a hotel she wasn’t allowed to leave.
The staff called her “Mrs. Voss” and moved around her as though she might break.
The tabloids called herThe Banker’s Daughter Who Bought a Husband.
Damian called her nothing.
So Lia filled her days with nothing, too.
Morning coffee at a twelve-seat dining table designed for a family that didn’t exist.
Afternoons at the Voss Foundation because her father insisted she needed to “show her face.”
Evenings spent alone with a cup of tea and the sound of rain against forty-two floors of glass.
Then, one night, Damian came home.
It was raining heavily.
Lia was in the kitchen making tea when she heard the front door open.
Then footsteps.
Slow.
Measured.
The sound of expensive shoes crossing marble.
She turned.
Damian stood in the doorway.
Black coat.
Wet hair.
Rainwater dripping from the shoulders of his coat.
He looked exhausted.
And angry.
His eyes settled on her.
“What are you doing up?”
“Making tea.”
Her answer was simple.
Damian walked past her without another word and stopped at the bar.
He poured himself a drink.
“You’re not supposed to be here this late. The staff leaves at nine.”
Lia frowned.
“I live here too.”
The words left her mouth before she could stop them.
She immediately regretted saying them.
Damian gave a quiet laugh.
There was nothing warm about it.
“Do you?”
He lifted the glass to his lips.
“For now.”
Lia stared at him.
He was handsome in the way a knife was handsome.
Sharp.
Beautiful.
Dangerous.
Neither of them spoke.
Outside, rain hammered against the windows.
“Goodnight, Damian.”
She turned toward the hallway.
“Lia.”
She stopped.
His voice had changed.
“Dinner tomorrow. Eight p.m. Voss Tower.”
She looked over her shoulder.
“Be there.”
She didn’t answer.
She simply walked to her room and closed the door.
Voss Tower looked like a palace at eight the following evening.
Crystal lights hung from the ceiling. Waiters moved between tables. London’s elite filled the room, all of them pretending they weren’t staring at the billionaire’s new wife.
At the head table sat Damian.
Black suit.
Perfect posture.
Unreadable expression.
Lia took the seat beside him.
“What are we really doing here?” she whispered.
“My father wants photographs.”
Damian didn’t look at her.
“For the press.”
He paused.
“Happy couple.”
Ah.
Right.
Photos.
As if summoned by the words, a photographer appeared.
Flash.
Flash.
Damian’s arm wrapped around her waist.
His grip was firm.
Possessive.
His smile was flawless.
His hand felt like ice through the fabric of her dress.
“Smile, Lia,” he murmured through clenched teeth.
She smiled.
It hurt.
“Closer,” the photographer called.
Damian pulled her against him.
His cologne surrounded her.
His jaw brushed dangerously close to her ear.
“Act like you like me.”
“I’m trying,” she whispered back.
The photographer took another series of pictures.
Then the camera lowered.
Damian’s arm immediately fell away.
As if touching her had become unbearable.
“Dinner,” he said loudly enough for the table to hear.
Then, without looking at her, he added quietly,
“Eat. Then go home.”
They ate in silence.
Steak.
Wine Lia barely touched.
Damian answered questions about business.
She answered questions about their marriage.
How they met.
How happy they were.
How excited they were about their future.
Lie after lie.
By the time dinner ended, Lia felt exhausted.
Damian stood.
“Car’s waiting.”
Then he walked away.
He didn’t look back.
The penthouse was even quieter when Lia returned.
She kicked off her heels and sank onto the sofa.
The silence pressed in around her.
For the first time that night, she allowed herself to breathe.
She let the straps of her gown fall and sank onto the sofa.
The house was too quiet. Too cold.
Her skin felt restless. Aching in a way that had nothing to do with loneliness.
Her breathing turned uneven. Her hands moved before her mind could stop them.
She was chasing something. Anything to feel alive.
She hated how lonely she felt.Hated that she missed being touched.Hated even more that the man she kept thinking about was her husband.
Footsteps in the hallway.
She shot up, heart slamming, yanking her gown back over her shoulders.
The housekeeper appeared in the doorway.
“Mrs. Voss?”
Lia looked up.
“Mr. Voss left something for you.”
The woman placed a small box on a silver tray.
Lia stared at it.
“What is it?”
“I don’t know, ma’am.”
She opened the box.
Inside was a diamond necklace.
Cold.
Beautiful.
Ridiculously expensive.
Beside it was a phone which rang almost immediately
She picked it and heard Damian’s voice from the other end of the Line
Wear this to the gala Saturday.
Lia frowned.
Then what he heard next made her stomach dropped.
And Lia? Go upstairs and finish what you started.
She stopped breathing even when the call disconnected.
For several seconds, she simply stared at the phone.
How did he know?
Slowly, she looked up.
Her eyes moved across the room.
The hallway.
The walls.
The dark corners.
Then she noticed it.
A tiny red light.
Almost invisible.
A camera.
Her blood ran cold.
She wasn’t alone in this penthouse.
She had never been alone.
Damian had been watching.
