Aria wakes to the news: a scandalous, well-timed photo from the Montclair gala has been leaked. It shows her and Felix Montclair in a moment that can be read wrong—and spun worse. And it's not just the public that reacts. Kade sees it too.
She was pouring her second cup of coffee when her phone buzzed.
Ten notifications.
Then twenty.
Then Miss Yew's name appeared on the screen, and Aria barely answered before the clipped voice began:
"Check the Tribune homepage. Now."
Aria's thumb moved slowly.
The headline greeted her in bold black font:
ARIA RYUU: CAUGHT IN THE SHADOW OF HER PAST? Photo raises questions about heiress's relationship with Montclair scion.
The photo was candid.
Aria. Felix. On the Montclair balcony.
From the right angle, it looked intimate.
From the wrong one, it looked devastating.
Her hand froze mid-sip.
Felix was leaning close. Smiling. Her mouth slightly parted, caught mid-laugh. His hand rested lightly on her elbow. She remembered the moment—they'd been discussing his father's failing board seat. It had lasted ten seconds.
Now it looked like a whisper before a kiss.
She was still staring at the screen when the penthouse door opened.
Kade walked in, phone in hand.
He said nothing.
Just set the screen in front of her—showing the same image. Only his had comments. Dozens of them.
"She's too slick for him.""She'll ruin Ryuu just like the last time.""Typical social climber—look at her eyes.""He's blind. Or pretending to be."
Aria put the mug down.
"I didn't stage this."
"Of course you didn't," he said coldly. "But someone else did."
His eyes met hers.
And for once, there was no judgment. Just calculation.
"Someone wanted this seen."
She crossed her arms. "You think it was Felix?"
"He doesn't care about you," Kade said. "He cares about leverage. He cares about momentum. You're a symbol, not a woman to him."
"And to you?" she asked quietly.
His jaw tightened.
"I don't use people who haven't already agreed to it."
"That's not a denial," she said.
He didn't give one.
Instead, he turned away, pacing toward the balcony as his phone buzzed again.
Investor names. Shareholder alerts. Media inquiries.
A single photo—and she was no longer an asset. She was a liability.
"Kade," she said slowly, "don't let this spiral."
He looked back.
"I'm not spiraling," he said. "But if this becomes another reason for people to question me, I'll have no choice but to silence the story."
Her voice dropped.
"And what does that mean, exactly?"
"It means I'll remind the world why I picked you in the first place."
"Why did you pick me?" she asked.
A long silence.
Then:
"Because you were the only one I couldn't predict."
Felix's office wasn't listed anywhere online.
That was the first clue.
The second was how fast the receptionist went pale when Aria walked into the Montclair building, wearing all black and a face like a drawn blade.
"I—I'm not sure he's in today—"
"He is," Aria said simply. "Tell him it's the woman he tried to sell twice."
Five minutes later, she was standing in a glass-walled conference room with a view of Aurium's finance district. Below, cars moved like slow blood through steel arteries. Above, Felix leaned against a sideboard with two glasses of whiskey and a smile like a well-rehearsed lie.
"You're early," he said, holding out a glass. "I expected you tomorrow, after the next scandal."
"I'm not here to drink."
"Pity." He sipped from his own glass. "Then again, Kade never was much for sharing."
Aria didn't sit.
She stepped forward and set her phone on the table, screen lit with the photo. "Where did you get this taken?"
He glanced at it. Shrugged. "That's public property. Our balcony. Cameras are everywhere these days."
"You leaked it."
"I leaked a moment," he said smoothly. "Not a betrayal. But you'd be amazed how easy it is to make people believe in betrayal when you give them the outline."
Her voice lowered. "Why?"
"Because," he said, setting his glass down with a soft clink, "Kade Ryuu doesn't bleed unless you make it personal. And you, darling, are personal."
She stared at him.
He smiled.
"I don't want you," he said, as if reading her mind. "Don't flatter yourself. I want what comes after you. What falls when you do. The cracks in his empire. The silence in his boardroom. The instability behind the curtain. You're just the crowbar."
She didn't flinch.
"You could've asked me to help."
"I don't need your help," he said. "I need your destruction."
Aria stepped in close—close enough for the whiskey on his breath to sting.
"Then next time you come for me," she said calmly, "make sure I'm not still on my feet when you swing."
He blinked.
And then she was gone.
Back in the car, she didn't cry. She didn't call Kade.
She just stared out the window and whispered to herself:
"I'm not a pawn. I'm not a pawn. I'm not—"
But the city didn't care what she believed.
It was already playing its next move.