The Billionaire's Spoiled Heiress

Aria's POV

There are three things I know for certain about being a billionaire's daughter. People smile at you even when they hate you. Teachers suddenly become very understanding when you forget an assignment. And your father can ruin your entire morning before you've even finished breakfast.

I was learning the third one the hard way.

"Aria."

I stopped halfway down the staircase. My father's voice had that tone the sit down, we're having a serious conversation tone.

I glanced at the clock above the entrance.

7:32 a.m. My driver was already waiting outside. School started at eight, and I had exactly twenty-eight minutes to get there without walking into Westbridge Academy looking like I'd been dragged out of bed.

I adjusted the strap of my bag. "Dad, whatever this is, can it wait until after school?"

"No."

I sighed. Of course it couldn't.

I walked into the dining room. My father sat at the head of the table, already dressed in a charcoal suit, phone beside his coffee, a tablet untouched in front of him. My stepmother, Isabelle, sat across from him. She looked up the moment I entered.

"Good morning, sweetheart."

"Morning."

I leaned down and kissed her cheek before taking the empty seat beside her.

"You look beautiful," she said.

"I know."

Her lips twitched. "Your confidence remains impressive."

"Thank you."

My father cleared his throat.

I looked at him. "What?"

"Can you sit properly for five minutes?"

I glanced down at myself. "What am I doing?"

"You're sitting sideways."

"It's more comfortable."

"Aria."

I rolled my eyes and turned toward the table. "There. Happy?"

"Very."

Isabelle covered a laugh with her coffee cup. I narrowed my eyes at her. "Don't encourage him."

"I wouldn't dare."

Before I could respond, footsteps sounded behind me.

"Why does everyone look like someone died?"

My brother walked in, still buttoning the sleeve of his school shirt. Adrian was older than me by eight months. the result of my parents deciding, back when he was a toddler, to hold him back a year so he wouldn't be the youngest and smallest kid in every class. It meant he'd ended up exactly one grade ahead of where his birthday alone would have placed him, which put us, by sheer coincidence of the school calendar, in the same year at Westbridge. He never let me forget the eight months. I never let him forget that it hadn't done much for his maturity.

I pointed at Dad. "He's doing the serious voice."

Adrian immediately stopped. "Oh." He pulled out a chair. "Should I leave?"

"Yes," I said.

"No," Dad said, at the same time.

Adrian looked between us. "I'm staying."

Traitor.

Dad folded his hands on the table. "I wanted all of you here because there's something we need to discuss."

My stomach tightened. Whenever wealthy parents said we need to discuss something, it was never about pizza.

I reached for my glass of juice. "What did I do?"

"Nothing."

"Then why are you looking at me like that?"

"Like what?"

"Like you're about to tell me I've been adopted."

Adrian snorted. Isabelle laughed. Even Dad's mouth twitched.

Then he said, "You're getting engaged."

The glass stopped halfway to my mouth. Silence. I slowly lowered it. "I'm sorry?"

My father didn't blink. "You heard me."

I stared at him, then at Isabelle, then at my brother. Nobody looked particularly shocked. That was the first problem. The second was that my father looked completely serious.

"The engagement has already been discussed with the Blackwoods," he continued. "Both families agree."

I pushed my chair back. "You discussed my engagement without me?"

"Aria…"

"No. No, wait." I stood. "Who?"

My father exchanged a glance with Isabelle. Then he said the one name I absolutely did not want to hear.

"Damien." A laugh escaped me. Not because it was funny. Because surely this had to be some elaborate joke.

"Damien Blackwood?"

"Yes." "Your best friend's son?"

"Yes."

"The Damien I've known since I was six?"

"Yes, Aria."

"The Damien who used to steal my cookies at Christmas?"

Adrian laughed. Dad rubbed his forehead.

"Yes." I dropped back into my chair. "You've got to be kidding me."

"I am not."

I looked at Isabelle. She reached across and placed her hand over mine. "I know this is sudden."

"Sudden?" I pulled my hand back.

"Isabelle, this is marriage we're talking about."

"We know."

"You know?" My voice rose. "You're all sitting here like we're discussing where I'm spending summer vacation!"

Adrian leaned back. "For the record, I think Damien's a decent guy."

I turned toward him. "Nobody asked you."

"I know. I just wanted to contribute."

"Don't."

He held up both hands. "Okay."

My father leaned forward. "Aria, listen to me. Damien is a good young man. Our families have known each other for years. You know his family. You know him."

"Exactly." I threw my hands up. "That's the problem. I know him."

My father raised an eyebrow. "And?"

"And he's annoying."

Adrian coughed. "That's not exactly the word I'd use."

I shot him a look. He suddenly became very interested in his breakfast.

Dad sighed. "This isn't something we're forcing you into tomorrow. But the families have agreed on the engagement."

"That's basically forcing me."

"No one is asking you to marry him tomorrow."

"Good."

"You'll have time."

"How generous."

Isabelle squeezed my shoulder. "Aria." I looked at her. Her expression softened.

She was the only person in that room who understood why this bothered me.

After my mother died, Isabelle had stepped into my life without ever trying to replace her. She'd been my mother's best friend long before she became my stepmother, and somehow she'd managed to become one of the people I trusted most. She didn't treat me like a difficult stepdaughter. She treated me like her daughter.

She'd told me once, not long after the wedding, that she never expected me to call her "Mom", that "Isabelle" was more than fine for as long as I needed it to be, and that the day I felt ready to call her something else, if that day ever came, it would mean something because I chose it, not because anyone asked me to. I'd never told her how much that sentence had mattered to me. I probably never would. But it was the reason "Isabelle" still came out of my mouth easily, without any of the guilt it might have carried if she'd ever made it feel like an obligation instead of a gift. Which was probably why I hated disappointing her.

"I don't love him," I said quietly.

Nobody answered immediately. Then Dad said, "You don't have to."

I frowned. "What?"

"Not yet." He looked completely certain.

"Love isn't always something that happens before a relationship begins. Sometimes it grows."

I wanted to argue. Instead, my phone buzzed on the table. “Speak of the devil”

Damien: Heard you're finally awake, princess.

I stared at the message. Then another appeared.

Damien: Don't be late. I'm picking you up.

My mouth fell open. I showed my brother the screen. He burst out laughing. "Oh, this is going to be fun."

I typed quickly.

Me: Don't call me princess.

The reply came almost immediately.

Damien: Fine. Future wife.

I nearly dropped my phone. "Absolutely not."

Adrian was laughing so hard he had to put his cup down. Even Isabelle was smiling.

I looked at my father. "Tell him I'm not going to school with him."

"You are."

"Dad."

"Aria."

I groaned and pushed my chair back. "I hate this family."

"You love us," Adrian called after me.

"I tolerate you!"

I grabbed my bag and headed for the door.

Then I heard my father's voice behind me. "Aria?"

I turned. His expression had softened.

"You don't have to fall in love with Damien today."

For the first time that morning, I didn't have a sarcastic answer. I nodded once, then stepped outside.

A black car waited at the end of the driveway. And leaning against it, wearing the Westbridge Academy uniform like he'd been born in it, was the last person I wanted to see.

Damien looked up. Our eyes met. That irritating smile appeared on his face.

"Morning, future wife."

I stopped walking. I already hated this engagement. And somehow, I had a feeling my day was about to get much worse.

Aria's POV

I stared at Damien for three full seconds, but that stupid smile was still there. “Don't call me that.”

“Good morning to you too.”

I walked past him and opened the passenger door, only to find him standing exactly where he was.

I looked at him. He looked at the car, then back at me. “What?”

“Nothing.”

“Then move.”

“You're supposed to say please.”

I blinked slowly. “Damien.”

“Aria.”

“I will count to three.”

He grinned.

“One, two.

He finally stepped aside.

I got into the car and slammed the door behind me. A second later, he slid into the driver's seat and started the engine.

“See? That wasn't so hard.”

I turned toward the window. “I already regret getting in.”

“You say that every time you ride with me.”

“Because every time I ride with you, I regret it.”

He started the engine and glanced at me.

“Yet you're still here.”

“Agains