The sky over the city had turned a violent shade of gray, like it too knew she was back.
Raindrops began to fall—sharp, cold, almost metallic. They struck the windshield of the black Bentley like bullets, but Aria Veylan didn't flinch.
She watched the burned skeleton of the penthouse rise in the distance, her face unreadable, her mind a raging sea beneath still water.
The car came to a smooth stop at the edge of the restricted zone. Her driver, Marcus, glanced in the rearview mirror.
"You sure you want to go in, Miss Veylan? It's still under investigation."
"Exactly why I want to go," she said calmly, opening the door before he could respond.
She stepped out, red heels digging into the wet gravel like knives. No umbrella. No hesitation. The rain hit her bare skin, soaked into her hair, ruined her silk blouse—and she let it. She welcomed the discomfort. Pain was a friend she had grown far too close to.
Security tape fluttered like dead leaves. She stepped over it, into the ruins of what used to be a Veylan property—and what she had ordered destroyed.
Not for insurance.
Not for drama.
But for attention.
His attention.
And it worked.
She could feel his presence before she saw him. It was something primal. A scar that hadn't healed. A phantom pain that returned the moment his shadow touched hers.
Then she heard his voice.
"I thought I'd find you here."
She turned.
He was standing a few feet away, soaked to the bone in his black jacket, eyes locked on her like she was a ghost. Maybe she was. A ghost he helped create.
Aria tilted her head. "Still playing detective, Rayen?"
His name tasted like ash on her tongue.
Rayen Cross didn't move closer. "You shouldn't be here. This is an active crime scene."
"I own this scene," she replied, walking deeper into the charred ruins. "Or did you forget how power works in this city?"
Rayen followed, cautiously. "You've been gone seven years, Aria. You disappear without a trace, and now suddenly—your buildings are burning and your name's back in the papers."
She turned slowly, her soaked blouse clinging to her skin, making her look like something out of a nightmare and a fantasy all at once.
"Did you miss me, Rayen?"
He stiffened.
"I missed the truth," he said. "You owe me that much."
Aria laughed, but there was no humor in it. Only bitterness.
"You want the truth? You wouldn't recognize it if it kissed you like I did."
Rayen's jaw tightened.
"I didn't betray you."
"No," she hissed, stepping closer. "You just stood there while I was dragged away. You let them humiliate me. You watched me fall apart."
"I had no choice!" he snapped. "I was a cop. I followed evidence—"
"Planted evidence," she said coldly. "You chose your badge over me. Over us."
There was silence. The rain fell harder.
Rayen took a breath. "I thought you were dead."
Aria's eyes burned. "I was. You killed me."
She turned and walked away, her heels crunching on ash and broken glass.
Rayen didn't follow this time. He stood there in the wreckage, haunted by the woman he once loved—and the weapon she had now become.
---
Later That Night — Veylan Penthouse
Aria poured herself a glass of whiskey and stood before the floor-to-ceiling window, staring down at the city that once devoured her.
She didn't cry anymore. Not for him. Not for anyone.
She didn't need tears.
She had plans.
The next phase would hurt. It had to.
Because pain was the only language Rayen understood.
She pulled out an old photo. It was crumpled, faded, nearly torn. It showed her and Rayen—years ago—laughing on a rooftop, arms wrapped around each other like the world couldn't touch them.
Fools.
She burned the photo with a match.
Watched it turn to ash in her hand.
---
Meanwhile — Rayen's Apartment
Rayen couldn't sleep.
His apartment was dark, quiet, suffocating. He sat on the edge of the bed, drenched in memories.
Aria's face. Her voice. Her words.
He had spent years convincing himself he did the right thing. That he had no other choice.
But now she was back.
And she was burning everything.
Was it revenge?
Was it punishment?
Or was it her way of saying she still cared, twisted as that love might be?
He didn't know.
And that terrified him more than anything else.
---
Flashback — Seven Years Ago
"Rayen, I didn't do it."
Aria's hands were cuffed, her face bruised, her voice breaking.
"Please, believe me."
Rayen had stood there, silent, the arresting officers moving around him like shadows.
"Rayen—look at me!"
He couldn't.
Because if he looked, he'd break.
And if he broke, he'd do something that would cost them both everything.
So he stayed silent.
And Aria was dragged away, screaming.
---
Present — Veylan Tower, Next Morning
Aria sat at her desk, flipping through documents, but her mind was elsewhere.
There was a knock.
Marcus entered. "The detective is outside. He wants five minutes."
She didn't look up. "Tell him I charge a million dollars per minute."
Marcus hesitated. "He said... you owe him five."
Aria smiled darkly.
"Let him in."
Rayen walked in, tense, jaw tight.
She leaned back in her chair, calm and cruel. "You must really enjoy crawling."
"I want the truth."
"Again?" she sighed. "You're obsessed."
He leaned forward. "And you want revenge. But for what, Aria? You rebuilt your life. You're powerful now. What else do you want?"
She stood slowly.
Walked around the desk.
Stopped inches from him.
"I want you to suffer," she whispered. "The way I did."
And before he could react, she pressed her lips to his—hard, punishing, full of hate and fire.
When she pulled away, she looked him dead in the eyes.
"That's what obsession feels like."
Then she walked away, heels echoing like thunder.
Rayen stood frozen.
Burned.
And utterly lost.