Monday morning crept in quietly, with a pale gray light filtering through the curtains. Aria reached across the bed instinctively, but her hand met cold sheets. Damian was gone.
She sighed and pulled herself up. The lingering warmth from the night before had disappeared—not just from the bed, but from the air around her too.
When she walked downstairs, she found Damian already seated at the long dining table, coffee in one hand, phone in the other. But what surprised her more was the man seated across from him—Jaxon.
Jaxon looked up at her with the same blank expression he'd worn the first day they met, offering no greeting or smile. Damian didn't even glance in her direction.
"Good morning," she said, her voice even.
Damian didn't answer. Jaxon nodded, just once, before stabbing at his eggs like they were his enemy.
Aria sat, pouring herself some tea. "Wow," she muttered. "So much warmth and hospitality in one room. It's almost suffocating."
Damian's jaw clenched, but he remained silent. Jaxon raised a brow, his mouth twitching.
The tension hung like fog. Damian finally pushed his plate away and stood.
"I have a meeting now. I will be back later for dinner." he muttered and left without another word.
Aria watched him go, biting her lip. Last night, he held her like she meant something. Now? She was just a ghost at the table.
"Fine," she murmured to herself. "If he wants to act like nothing happened, let him."
Damian's office overlooked the city, its glass walls casting reflections of him pacing in a sharp, dark suit. His team had gathered around the long table, charts and documents spread out like a battlefield.
"Numbers are up," his assistant Carla was saying, "but the Singapore expansion is slow."
Damian barely nodded. "Cut ties with the current project manager. Get someone more efficient. I want a full report by Thursday."
"Yes, sir."
Then came a call from one of the foreign investors. Damian switched languages seamlessly, his tone calm and clipped. There were no wasted words, no second chances.
After nearly four hours, the boardroom emptied, leaving him alone. He leaned back, pinched the bridge of his nose, but even here—drowning in spreadsheets and stocks—her face crept back into his mind.
The way she trembled in his arms last night. The way she fit against him like she belonged there. Her tears. The way her voice trembled when she'd asked, "Why do you hate me so much?"
He slammed the file shut as he cursed under his breath.
This wasn't supposed to happen.
Back at the mansion, Aria had returned earlier from the flower shop. The scent of roses and lavender still clung to her clothes, but she was too restless to sit still. Damian's rules had echoed in her mind all day.
"No wandering where you're not allowed."
She scoffed aloud as she wandered down the hallway of the west wing. "Controlling freak," she muttered, kicking off her heels. "I live here now, don't I?"
The door to Elena's room stood slightly ajar. It was locked the last time she was here.
Aria hesitated.
No. Damian would kill her if he found out.
She looked down the hall. Empty.
She slipped inside.
The room was untouched. Dust floated in streaks of dying sunlight. Bookshelves lined the wall, their spines faded. A vanity mirror stood cracked, like it had witnessed too many arguments.
Then she saw it.
A photo album, bound in red leather, peeking from under the bed.
Her fingers trembled as she pulled it out and opened it.
Photos of a young woman filled the pages—long dark hair, clever smile. Elena.
Aria swallowed a lump in her throat. She was beautiful. Kind-looking, too. What really happened to her?
Aria had done her research the first time she saw the name Elena on the door. The internet said something about suicide or murder. The cause of the death wasn't stated. But she read enough of the articles to know that something had happened to Elena and the Voss didn't want it out in the press.
She turned the page again—and stopped cold.
There was a photo of Elena laughing in a garden, but it wasn't her that caught Aria's breath.
It was the girl standing in the background.
Half in shadow. Eyes cold. Watching Elena.
Aria's fingers went numb.
Amelia.
Aria's fingers trembled as she lifted the photograph closer to the light. The edges were slightly worn, the glossy surface dulled with time, but there was no mistaking it.
It was Amelia.
Standing just behind Elena in the background, partially hidden by a flowering wisteria vine, Amelia's face was unmistakable—sharp cheekbones, the same sly smile she wore when she was hiding something. Her eyes weren't on the camera. They were staring directly at Elena with an expression that sent a chill crawling up Aria's spine.
It wasn't friendly. She was watching like a predator.
A knot tightened in her stomach. Amelia had disappeared without a trace months ago, after yet another family scandal. No one knew where she went.
But this?
This wasn't a coincidence.
Something was wrong.
Deeply, horribly wrong.
Aria clutched the album tighter, her heart racing. A cold chill swept over her even though the room was still.
Amelia didn't just know Elena.
Aria's breath hitched. "What the hell?" she whispered.
She glanced around the room. It was dim, shadows creeping in as the sun dipped lower, casting a grayish hue over Elena's once vibrant space. The air was thick with silence, the kind that almost hummed with something unseen—something waiting.
What was Amelia doing here?
How did she know Elena?
Why didn't she ever mention this?
What did you do Amelia?
Her mind spun with questions, each one darker than the last.
She turned the photograph over, hoping for some clue scribbled in ink—a date, a name, anything. But the back was blank… until she noticed the faintest indentation, almost invisible. Aria tilted the photo toward the light and squinted. Someone had pressed into the back of it with a pen, leaving an imprint from another piece of paper.
She fetched a pencil from a nearby drawer and began shading lightly over the back.
The letters slowly formed…
She knows. Remove her before she ruins it all.
Aria's blood ran cold.
She stumbled backward, clutching the photograph to her chest, the pencil slipping from her fingers and rolling across the floor. A creak echoed from the hallway. She froze.
Was that the floorboards?
Was someone else here?
Heart pounding, she quickly tucked the photo into her back pocket and turned off the light, carefully closing the door behind her. Her ears strained in the silence. Another sound—barely a whisper. A shuffle. A breath?
She didn't wait.
She sprinted back to her room, slamming the door shut and locking it, her chest heaving.
Something wasn't right.
Something terrible had happened in this house.
And she had a sinking feeling Amelia wasn't just a shadow in the photo—she was the one that had blown Elena's life to pieces.
Aria backed away from the door and stared at herself in the mirror, face pale and eyes wide with dread.
"What did you do Amelia?" she whispered