Aria Vale
The party was still echoing in my ears even as the night air kissed my skin like a secret.
I had left before the last toast was made, after my encounter Damian at balcony. I saw him coming, sharp jaw, silk suit, eyes like a loaded gun and I turned away. Cowardly? Maybe. But I wasn't ready. Not for him. Not for what he made me feel.
The crimson dress clung to me like a second skin as I stood before the mirror in the safehouse bathroom, my smoky eyes smudged now, lips stained with silence. I looked like a woman in control. I felt like a fuse seconds from lighting.
"I hate him," I whispered to the empty room.
But it didn't sound convincing. Not even to me.
Because hating Damian Wolfe wasn't easy when his eyes still lingered on my skin like they owned it. When every word he spoke burrowed into my bloodstream like a promise. When the way he looked at me in that crowd like the whole world could burn and he'd still choose me made me want to scream.
I should've walked up to him at that podium and slit his throat with my words. Exposed him. Humiliated him.
Instead, I froze.
Like a girl. Not an enemy.
Like someone who still cared.
A soft knock interrupted the spiral. Kira, ever silent, stepped in and leaned on the doorframe. Her arms were crossed, expression unreadable but there was something in her eyes I hadn't seen in a while.
Pity.
"You looked good tonight," she said.
"I felt like a target."
"You always are."
I nodded, swallowing the ache rising in my throat. "He gave a speech like a saint. And smiled like a devil. I almost believed he wasn't the man who destroyed everything."
"But you couldn't," she said. "That's why you left."
My hands trembled slightly as I removed the last earring, dropping it on the counter with a clink. "He knows I was there, he saw me."
"He knew the moment you breathed."
I let out a broken laugh. "Why does it still hurt, Kira? After everything? Why does he still feel like a wound instead of a mistake?"
Kira stepped closer and placed a hand on my shoulder. "Because part of you love him still wants to believe he can love you too and destroy you at the same time."
I didn't respond.
Because she was right.
---
---
Jasper Maddox
The gala was nothing but glitter and knives.
Diamonds flashing on necks that once ordered assassinations. Politicians sipping champagne like their hands weren't stained in backdoor deals. And Damian Wolfe the center of it all he was wearing charm like a blade tucked beneath his smile.
I had smiled too. Played my part. Welcomed the devils through the front door while watching my own back.
But I saw them.
The three. Suits too clean, eyes too cold. Not guests but operatives. Monarch Syndicate. Not the usual bottom feeders either. These men had presence, purpose. They weren't here to drink.
They were here for Damian.
And maybe Aria.
So as soon as the last flute clinked and the curtains drew shut, I slipped away like smoke.
Now I sat across from Everett Vale in her dimly lit penthouse, far from the noise. Her hair was tied up in that no-nonsense way, a glass of scotch in her hand, her mind already three steps ahead of mine.
I leaned back and exhaled. "There were three men. Upper floor. They were not on the guest list I prepared. Wolfe took a meeting with them right after the toast."
Everett's gaze sharpened like a knife. "Monarch?"
I nodded. "They weren't subtle. Power that old always leaves a scent."
She sipped her drink. "He didn't flinch?"
"Not in public. I guess he knew they were coming but his eyes shifted when he saw them. And afterward he was quieter. Meaner."
Everett stood, moving toward the window. "That means pressure. They're pushing him into a corner."
"Exactly," I said. "And here's the thing, I found out something else. He's got a shadow."
She turned slowly. "A what?"
"A man. Or something like one. They call him The Bishop. Not officially on any payroll. But he moves when Wolfe moves. Listens when Wolfe can't. I've been watching since Wolfe left Aria on the balcony this guy was already moving."
Everett's lips thinned. "So Damian has eyes where we assumed he had none."
"Worse," I said. "He has ears too."
She set her glass down carefully. "We need to assume everything Aria's done… he already knows."
"I think he's letting her play," I muttered. "Like a cat with a mouse. But if he wanted her dead, she would be."
Everett turned back to me, sharp as glass. "Then the question is... What's stopping him?"
I didn't answer. Not because I didn't know.
But because the answer was the same one I'd been avoiding since the beginning.
His obsession.
He still wants her.
And that made everything messier.
---
Everett didn't speak for a while. She just stared out the window at the glittering skyline, that calculating stillness wrapping around her like a second skin. I knew better than to interrupt.
Then, quietly, like a match struck in the dark, she said, "He won't hurt her."
I leaned forward. "Not even when the Syndicate threatens blood."
"That makes him vulnerable," she said, finally turning back to me. "Emotionally compromised. She's his fracture line."
I raised a brow. "And you want to drive a knife through it?"
"No," she replied, voice like silk hiding steel. "I want her to."
I stilled.
"You want to use Aria?"
"Without her knowing," Everett confirmed. "She still thinks Damian is the monster. Let her keep believing that. Let her rage work for us."
"That's a dangerous game," I muttered.
She smiled coldly. "The best ones always are."
I looked down at my hands. I wasn't a moral man, I never claimed to be but this felt like dancing with fire while soaked in gasoline. Aria wasn't stupid. She'd smell blood eventually. And when she did...
"She'll never trust us again," I said.
"She doesn't trust anyone now," Everett snapped. "But she wants to believe in justice. In taking back control. So we give her a path, one that looks like her idea. One that leads straight to Wolfe's destruction."
"And if it backfires?" I asked. "If she figures it out?"
Everett's eyes narrowed. "Then we pivot. We always pivot. But right now, she's the only one close enough to touch him without setting off alarms."