The Bellamy estate was quiet—far too quiet for Aria's restless mind. The echo of violins from the Moretti-hosted ball still lingered in her ears, mingling with the memory of whispered threats she had no business overhearing. She lay on her bed, the silk sheets cool against her skin, yet her thoughts burned hotter than fire.
"Leave the Bellamys to me."
His voice, Luca Moretti's voice, still haunted her. Each word replayed like a curse. He hadn't been talking to her, hadn't even looked her way, and yet it felt as though he had branded her heart with his promise of destruction.
She turned onto her side, staring out the tall window that overlooked the gardens. Moonlight stretched across the manicured hedges, silver and cold. It should have been calming. Instead, it felt like a stage where shadows gathered to conspire.
Aria tried to sleep. She failed. Every time she closed her eyes, she saw him—dark eyes, sharp smile, shoulders draped with power. She hated herself for it, hated that even in her fear, something inside her still longed to see him again.
By dawn, exhaustion won nothing. Her mother summoned her to breakfast, her father already gone to "meetings" she wasn't supposed to ask about. Aria went through the motions, offering smiles, answering questions, pretending she hadn't spent the night trembling over a single voice in the dark.
Hours passed. The day carried on. But the night's revelation weighed heavier with each tick of the clock. And then, as if fate itself were determined to torment her, she saw him again.
It wasn't in a ballroom this time. It wasn't beneath chandeliers or strings of violins.
It was in the city.
Aria had accompanied her mother to a discreet meeting at an exclusive boutique, a Bellamy-owned front, known only to a select circle of clients. She slipped away for air, the walls pressing too tightly around her. And that's when it happened.
He was there.
Luca Moretti.
Leaning casually against the sleek hood of a black car parked across the street, dressed in dark gray, sunglasses shielding his eyes from the afternoon sun. He looked like he owned the world-and perhaps he did.
Aria froze. Her heart betrayed her again, racing in her chest as if it remembered him better than her mind wanted to. She told herself to turn away, to vanish before he could see her.
Too late.
His gaze found her instantly, as if he had known she would be there. He removed his glasses with deliberate ease, revealing eyes that burned with a sharp, unreadable intensity.
"Bellamy," he said. Just her name, spoken like a challenge.
Her lips parted, though no words escaped. The street around them seemed to fall silent, the distance between them charged with the same unbearable tension as the night of the ball.
Aria forced herself to breathe. "Moretti."
His mouth curved, not quite a smile, but not far from it. "Did you enjoy the party?"
The question was casual, almost mocking, but beneath it, she heard the weight of unspoken things. He knew. Somehow, he knew she had heard.
"I wasn't aware you noticed me," she replied, her voice steadier than she felt.
"Oh," Luca said softly, his tone edged with danger, "I notice everything."
For a heartbeat, the world tilted. Aria felt the ground shift beneath her, the certainty of her family's safety, her own identity wobbling under the weight of his words.
And then her mother's voice called from inside the boutique, sharp with impatience. Aria flinched, breaking the spell. She turned to go, but not before Luca's parting words reached her, low and deliberate.
"We'll be seeing more of each other, Aria Bellamy."
Her breath caught. Not Miss Bellamy. Not formal, not distant. Her name, spoken like he already owned it.
She fled inside, her pulse racing, her mind screaming warnings she no longer trusted herself to obey.
Because if the ballroom had been the beginning of a war, then this, this was the spark that would set everything ablaze.