My Gay Husband

The rain lashed against the windows of the limousine, a relentless drumming that drowned out the sounds of the city outside. Aria Romano stared blankly through the tinted glass, her fingers clenched around the bouquet of white roses in her lap. They felt heavy, like shackles disguised as petals. She wasn't sure if it was the chill in the air or the icy fear gripping her chest that made her shiver.

"Are you nervous?" her father asked, his voice laced with a desperation he didn't bother to hide.

Nervous? The word didn't even begin to cover it. She was on her way to marry a man she had never met, a man who was known to be cruel, unfeeling-a man who didn't even want her. But she couldn't say any of that, not when her father's eyes were filled with a pleading she had never seen before. He had made a deal with the devil to save his business, and Aria was the sacrificial lamb.

"I'm fine," she lied, her voice barely above a whisper.

"Fine?" Her father's gaze faltered, and he looked away, unable to meet her eyes. "This will secure our future, Aria. You have to understand that."

Secure our future. The phrase rattled around in her mind like a hollow promise. Her father's debts had spiraled out of control, and the Salvatore family had offered a solution-a marriage that would seal an alliance and settle the score. What no one spoke of, what they all pretended not to notice, was the glaring fact: Damien Salvatore was gay. The mafia prince, the cold, calculated heir who had never looked twice at a woman. This wasn't a marriage-it was a transaction, a mockery of vows she'd never dreamed she'd have to take.

The car pulled to a stop in front of the imposing gates of the Salvatore mansion, and her heart seized in her chest. The estate loomed like a beast in the storm, its dark silhouette outlined by flickering lightning. It was a fitting place for a nightmare to begin.

The door swung open, and a bodyguard motioned for her to step out. She hesitated, casting one last look at her father, who sat with his head bowed, his hands clasped together as if in prayer.

"You'll be fine," he murmured, but he didn't sound convinced.

With a deep breath, Aria stepped out into the rain, her white dress trailing behind her like a ghost. She felt the weight of it, like she was walking towards her own execution.

Inside, the mansion was all marble and gold, a display of wealth that screamed of power and control. The air was thick with the scent of roses and cigar smoke, a strange, unsettling combination that made her stomach churn. She was ushered into a grand room, where Damien Salvatore stood by the fireplace, his back turned to her.

He didn't move as she entered, didn't even acknowledge her presence. It was as if she were invisible, as if this moment-their wedding-was nothing more than an inconvenience to him.

"You're late," he said, his voice a low, cold drawl that sent a shiver down her spine.

Aria swallowed hard. "I came as quickly as I could."

He turned then, slowly, and she was struck by how handsome he was, in a dangerous, almost unreal way. Damien had the kind of face that could have been sculpted from marble-sharp jawline, high cheekbones, dark, piercing eyes that seemed to see right through her. He was dressed in a tailored black suit that fit him like a second skin, exuding a power that was impossible to ignore.

His eyes flicked over her, a quick, dismissive scan, and his lips curled into a smirk. "You look scared."

"I'm not," she lied again, forcing herself to meet his gaze.