Aria Vale
I hadn't slept. Not really. Not since that voice cut through the line like a blade pressed to my throat.
Your father's debts… They're coming to collect.
It had burrowed deep under my skin, repeating like a mantra no matter how hard I tried to focus on anything else. No name. No trace. Just a threat laced in truth.
And now a meeting.
Midnight. No one can know.
I didn't tell Kira. I didn't even tell Jasper. I drove myself, ditched the car three blocks out, and walked the rest of the way through fog-slick alleyways. The kind of place where secrets liked to fester.
The address led to a dilapidated tenement that looked condemned. But the second floor window glowed faintly yellow.
I took the stairs in silence, keeping my hand wrapped around the switchblade in my coat pocket. When I knocked, the door creaked open on its own.
Inside, the air was stale. Dust clung to everything like forgotten memories. And there she was.
A woman in her early forties, sharp-cheeked, dressed in black. Her voice matched the one from the tape recorder Carmen had dug up weeks ago.
"Elena Ward," I said, even though I hadn't been sure until that moment.
She gave a faint nod. "You've been hunting the wrong enemy, Aria."
"Funny," I said. "You didn't seem too eager to clear that up before. Anonymous calls. Cryptic messages. Threats."
She didn't flinch. "Because I needed to see what you'd do when the truth started to bleed through. You're your father's daughter, through and through."
I stepped closer, heart pounding. "Tell me the truth then. About the debts. About The Monarch. About why people are still watching me like I'm a time boqmb."
She finally looked me dead in the eye.
"Your father's empire wasn't just built on business. It was built on laundering and favor-trading with people no one dares name. He borrowed power from a group that calls themselves The Monarch Syndicate—an old money circle so buried, even Damian Wolfe can't see all their roots. When your father died, the debts weren't erased. They were transferred."
"To me," I said, the words sour on my tongue.
"To whoever has access to what he left behind. And you, Aria, inherited more than just a reputation. You inherited a blood promise."
My stomach turned.
"You're lying."
Elena reached for a manila folder on the table and slid it toward me. I opened it. Inside: a photo of my father and Damian's father. Smiling. Shaking hands. Behind them, a contract.
"You need to ask yourself," she said, "why Damian Wolfe was really interested in you. Because if he knows the truth—and I think he does—you're not just sleeping with the enemy. You're dancing with the man sent to collect."
I didn't say anything. Couldn't.
The floor felt like it had dropped out from under me.
Elena lit a cigarette and exhaled slowly. "This isn't just about revenge, sweetheart. It never was. This is legacy warfare. You're standing in the middle of a war that started long before you were born."
And suddenly, I understood.
The cryptic warnings. The paranoia. The obsession.
Damian wasn't just my weakness.
He was the weapon aimed at my throat.
---
Damian Wolfe
The rain hadn't stopped all night.
I watched it streak down the penthouse windows, blurring the lights of the city like melting gold. The storm inside me had nothing to do with the weather. It had everything to do with Aria Vale.
She was starting to dig too close. Too deep. And I couldn't decide if I wanted to stop her—or let her uncover everything.
The past had always been a locked vault in my mind, one I only ever visited in pieces. But lately, it was like the door had been blown open, and the ghosts were clawing their way out.
I poured a drink, not because I needed it, but because it gave my hands something to do. The crystal clinked as I turned the glass in my palm. Her name was still fresh in my head.
Aria.
She burned brighter than anyone I'd ever touched. She was reckless. Calculated. Dangerous in all the ways that made her irresistible. But now… she was also becoming a threat.
I'd heard about the meeting before it happened.
Elena Ward had always been a wildcard. I'd warned her to stay out of it, to stay buried. But rats have a way of resurfacing when the rot is deep enough.
Aria had gone to her alone. Smart. Bold. Or suicidal.
I couldn't tell which.
My phone buzzed on the counter.
Jasper: She knows about The Monarch.
My jaw clenched. I should've expected it. Aria wasn't like the others. She didn't run when the floor cracked beneath her. She dug until she found the buried bones—and then lit the whole damn house on fire.
I'd always known this day would come.
That eventually, she'd see the real reason I entered her orbit. The lie that birthed the obsession. The knife I'd kept tucked behind every kiss, every touch, every offer of trust.
Her father had made promises. His death didn't erase them—it passed them on like a poisoned inheritance. And I had been sent to ensure they were honored. One way or another.
But I hadn't expected her.
Not like this.
Not to matter.
And now, the whole thing was unraveling.
I could feel it in my chest like a vice. Not fear. Not guilt. Something worse.
I wanted to protect her from the truth. Even if I was part of it.
Because the thing about legacies—they're written in blood.
And we were both drowning in it.