Night had fallen by the time they reached Dr. Callista Vane's private clinic.
It was a stark white building surrounded by a high electric fence — sterile, silent, and hidden deep in the woods. The kind of place built for secrets.
Lucien parked the car and turned off the engine. "No weapons visible. We don't want to spook her."
Rafael grinned. "You really think she'll talk nicely?"
"She'll talk," Lucien said flatly.
Aria adjusted her coat, heart pounding. "Let's just find out what she knows."
The door opened before they even knocked. A tall woman with sharp features and ice-blue eyes studied them like they were specimens. Her hair was silver-blonde, her voice calm and cutting.
"Lucien Blackwood," she said. "I wondered when you'd come crawling back."
Lucien's jaw tensed. "We need information, Callista."
"Of course you do," she murmured, stepping aside. "You always need something."
Her gaze shifted to Aria. "And you must be Evelyn's daughter."
Aria froze. "You know my mother?"
Dr. Vane smiled faintly. "Everyone knows the ghost of Evelyn Vale. Come inside."
---
The clinic's halls were unnervingly clean — white lights, glass walls, and faint hums of machinery behind locked doors.
Callista led them to an office filled with medical files and strange devices. She motioned for them to sit, though she herself remained standing.
"I was Evelyn's attending physician," she said. "After the fire."
Lucien leaned forward. "She survived?"
"Barely," Callista replied. "She suffered burns, memory loss, and psychological trauma. She begged us to protect her — said her husband's company was behind it all. I hid her, falsified her death report, and moved her here under a new name."
"Then why is she with Brielle now?" Aria demanded.
Callista hesitated. "Because she left. She said she couldn't endanger you. But someone found her. Someone who knew where she was. Someone inside your father's circle."
Rafael crossed his arms. "That's a long list."
Callista's eyes flicked to Lucien. "Not as long as you think."
Lucien frowned. "What's that supposed to mean?"
She didn't answer. Instead, she opened a drawer and pulled out a small metallic disk — a memory chip. "This was taken from your mother's medical log. I kept it hidden."
Aria reached for it, but Callista stopped her. "Be careful. Whatever's on it could destroy more than reputations."
Lucien took it instead. "We'll handle it."
Callista's gaze hardened. "You never 'handle' anything, Lucien. You burn it."
The room tensed.
Rafael smirked. "Old flame, Doctor?"
She ignored him. "I helped your mother once, Aria. I may regret it now."
"Why?"
Callista's expression turned cold. "Because sometimes, the dead are meant to stay dead."
---
As they left the clinic, Aria couldn't shake the doctor's words.
Lucien walked beside her, silent but visibly on edge.
Rafael followed, hands in pockets, watching her.
"You shouldn't trust her," Lucien said finally.
Aria looked up at him. "And who should I trust?"
He stopped walking, turning to her. "Me."
Rafael chuckled. "Bit arrogant, don't you think?"
Lucien glared. "Stay out of this."
Aria sighed. "Please stop."
But Lucien stepped closer, lowering his voice. "I mean it, Aria. Rafael plays his games, Damon's reckless, and Callista—she's dangerous. They'll use you."
Her eyes softened. "And you won't?"
For a moment, the air between them tightened. His hand brushed her cheek, gentle, possessive. "I'd die before I let anyone touch you."
Behind them, Rafael muttered, "He might get the chance if he keeps wasting time."
Lucien's glare could have killed him.
Damon reappeared from the shadows, holding a tablet. "You'll both want to see this. The chip's data's been decoded."
He handed it to Aria. The screen flickered — a series of surveillance clips, timestamps, and a single line of code labeled Project Rebirth.
At the bottom of the file was a name: Marcus Vale.
Aria's blood ran cold. "That's my father's lawyer."
Lucien swore under his breath. "He's the leak."
Damon nodded grimly. "And he's meeting with someone tonight. Veronica Ashford."
"The CEO?" Rafael asked.
"The same. She's hosting a private gala."
Aria straightened. "Then that's where we're going."
The night shimmered with gold and secrets.
Limousines lined the marble steps of the Crystal Plaza Hotel, flashes from cameras lighting up the street like lightning. Inside, music swelled from a live orchestra, crystal chandeliers raining light over gowns that cost more than most people's homes.
And then, the crowd parted.
Aria walked in.
Every head turned.
The air shifted as if time itself had paused for her. Her gown—black velvet dusted with silver like stars scattered over night—hugged her perfectly, flowing down in a train that whispered across the floor. A diamond mask hid half her face, but everyone knew. Everyone knew who she was.
The girl they used to whisper about. The one who had come back from ruin.
Brielle froze mid-laugh across the ballroom, her champagne glass trembling. She looked radiant in pink silk, curls perfect, smile trained for cameras—but under the glitter, her eyes burned.
Lucien's gaze, cold and commanding in his tailored black suit, lifted across the room. The moment his eyes found Aria's, something dangerous flickered between them. He didn't move. Didn't breathe. He just stared, like she was both his salvation and his destruction.
Aria smiled faintly, controlled and calm. She had learned long ago that revenge wore perfume and heels.
---
"Aria? You're actually here." Brielle's voice was syrup-sweet when she finally approached, flanked by their father and her stepmother. Cameras swiveled toward them immediately—the perfect family reunion shot.
"Why wouldn't I be?" Aria said smoothly, her voice soft but sharp enough to cut. "Mother's company is one of tonight's sponsors, after all."
The stepmother's smile faltered. A brief flash of irritation crossed her face before she smoothed it over for the photographers. "Of course, dear. I nearly forgot that you're still involved with those…business matters."
Aria's eyes darkened, but she said nothing. Let them talk. Let them smile. They didn't know what she had in store for them tonight.
---
Lucien finally made his move. He crossed the ballroom with slow, deliberate steps, every pair of eyes following him. The air around him changed—strong, confident, magnetic.
He stopped right before her. "You look…" His voice was low, deep enough to vibrate through her chest. "Dangerous."
Aria tilted her head. "You sound surprised."
He smiled slightly. "I am. You weren't like this before."
"No," she said quietly. "I wasn't."
For a heartbeat, it felt like the world was holding its breath. Then a voice sliced through the tension.
"Lucien."
They both turned.
Standing a few feet away was a man with sharp features and icy blue eyes—elegant in a white tuxedo, his mask silver. The air around him felt different, colder.
"Damian," Lucien muttered, his jaw tightening.
The newcomer smiled. "It's been a while." His eyes flicked to Aria. "And who is this beautiful creature?"
Aria offered her hand gracefully. "Aria."
"Aria," he repeated, lips curling. "A name too lovely for someone hiding behind a mask."
Lucien's eyes darkened. "Watch it."
Damian's grin widened, but he bowed politely before walking away.
Aria could feel Lucien's tension beside her. Whoever Damian was, he wasn't just another guest.
"Friend of yours?" she asked.
Lucien's voice was flat. "Rival."
She raised an eyebrow. "Business or personal?"
His eyes met hers. "Both."
---
Hours later, the gala transitioned to the old mansion connected to the hotel through a glass walkway—a remnant of the city's aristocratic past.
Inside, the music faded. The laughter dimmed. The light turned soft and golden, flickering off ancient portraits. The air felt thicker, older, like the walls themselves held grudges.
Aria felt a shiver crawl down her spine.
This was where the real event began.
"Welcome," said an elderly host, smiling too broadly. "To the private continuation of the Gala of Masks. Only the chosen few are invited."
Brielle clung to Lucien's arm as they entered, though he didn't seem to notice her presence. Her perfume filled the air—sweet, overpowering, desperate.
Aria followed behind, her mask still on. She had a plan tonight. She had come for information—about the hidden accounts her father used to drain her mother's company.
But when her phone buzzed in her clutch, she excused herself quietly and stepped into a dark corridor.
One message. No name.
> They're watching you. Don't trust anyone.
Her heart pounded. She glanced around. Empty hallway. Only faint music in the distance.
Then—
A voice. "Looking for someone?"
Damian emerged from the shadows, a drink in his hand and that same dangerous calm on his face.
"You shouldn't wander alone," he said. "These parties… aren't always what they seem."
"I can handle myself."
He took a step closer. "I don't doubt that. But that doesn't mean you should." His tone was smooth, flirtatious, but his eyes were sharp. "You're not just here to dance, are you?"
Aria's breath caught. "What makes you think that?"
"Because you look at people like you're measuring their worth. Calculating. Planning." He smiled faintly. "I like that."
Before she could reply, Lucien's voice cut through the air—dark, cold, dangerous.
"Step away from her."
Damian chuckled, raising his hands. "Relax, old friend. We were just talking."
Lucien's jaw clenched. "Don't test me."
For a moment, the tension between them was suffocating—two predators circling each other while Aria stood in between. Then Damian smirked and walked away.
Lucien turned to her. "You shouldn't be alone with him."
"You shouldn't be telling me what to do," she shot back.
He stared at her for a long moment. "You're playing with fire, Aria."
Her lips curved. "Maybe I like the burn."
---
Later, the ballroom in the mansion filled again with laughter and wine, but beneath the music was something darker. Aria could feel it—the fake smiles, the lingering stares, the shifting alliances.
Then Brielle struck.
"Oh, everyone!" Brielle's voice rang out sweetly as she clinked her glass. "Let's toast to my sister Aria, who finally decided to come out of hiding after… how long has it been?"
The crowd tittered. Aria froze, but her expression didn't falter.
"I was busy rebuilding what you all tried to destroy," she said smoothly.
Gasps. Whispering.
Brielle's smile cracked. "Still dramatic as ever."
"Still jealous as ever," Aria replied softly.
Lucien's gaze cut to Aria—sharp, approving, dangerous. Damian smirked in the corner. The atmosphere turned electric.
And then—
A crash.
The lights flickered.
Screams.
When they came back on, chaos filled the room. People rushed toward the corridor, shouting.
Lucien pushed through the crowd, Aria at his side.
At the far end of the hall, a figure lay on the ground—unconscious.
Her mother.
Blood smeared the floor beneath her.
Aria's mask fell from her hand as she dropped to her knees. "Mom! MOM!"
Lucien caught her shoulders, trying to pull her back, but she struggled. Tears blurred her vision.
Someone had gotten to her mother. Here. Tonight.
The gala turned into a nightmare.
Damian stood at the edge of the chaos, his expression unreadable. Brielle's face was pale. The stepmother clutched her pearls dramatically, while Aria's father looked frozen.
Aria looked up, her voice breaking but filled with fury.
"They'll pay," she whispered. "Every single one of them."
Lucien's hand tightened on her arm. "Then we'll make them."
The chandeliers flickered again, casting long shadows across the blood-stained floor.
And as sirens wailed in the distance, Aria realized one terrifying truth—
This wasn't the end of the war.
It was only the beginning.
---
---