Aria's POV
The coffee cup shattered against the wall, missing my head by inches.
I froze in the doorway of Damien's office, hot liquid dripping down the expensive wallpaper. A man I'd never seen before stood behind Damien's desk, his face twisted with rage.
"Get out," he snarled at me.
"James." Damien's voice was steel. He stepped between us, blocking his brother's view of me. "Calm down."
"Calm down? You bring her here? After what she did to you?" James Cross looked nothing like Damien. Where Damien was controlled elegance, James was sharp edges and barely contained violence. His dark eyes burned with hatred as they locked on me. "Five years, Damien. Five years you were a mess because of this woman, and now you're—what? Playing hero?"
My hands shook. I wanted to run. This was a mistake. Coming to Damien for help was stupid. I should have known—
"She didn't do anything to me." Damien's voice dropped to a dangerous quiet. "Marcus did. And if you can't be professional, leave."
"Professional?" James laughed, but it wasn't a nice sound. "You want me to investigate her dead friend? Her psycho ex-husband? While you're clearly—" He stopped, jaw clenching. "You're already in too deep with her again."
"That's enough."
The brothers stared at each other. The air felt thick, hard to breathe.
I took a step back. "I should go—"
"No." Damien turned to me, his expression softening instantly. "Stay. Please."
James made a disgusted sound. "Unbelievable."
"Look at her," Damien said quietly. "Really look."
James's eyes swept over me, and I hated how I must appear to him. My oversized sweater hiding the bruises I didn't want to explain. My bitten nails. The way I kept close to the door, ready to bolt.
Something shifted in James's face. Just a flicker, but I saw it.
"What happened to your arm?" he asked.
I pulled my sleeve down quickly. "Nothing."
"Marcus grabbed her during the custody exchange yesterday," Damien said. "Left fingerprint bruises. Detective Torres photographed them."
"I'm fine," I said automatically. The words came out like they always did—hollow, practiced. How many times had I said those words?
James was quiet for a long moment. Then he sighed and sat down, the fight draining out of him. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have—" He rubbed his face. "Sit. Both of you."
I sat on the edge of the chair, ready to run if I needed to. Old habits.
"Tell me about Kira Walsh," James said, pulling out a tablet. His voice was professional now, but cold. "Everything. Start from the beginning."
So I did. The postcard. The meetings with the woman who looked like Kira. The gaps in my memory. The fire five years ago that supposedly killed my best friend.
James took notes, his expression unreadable. When I finished, he was quiet for a long time.
"The fire was ruled accidental," he finally said. "Faulty wiring in an old beach house."
"That's what they told us," Damien said. "But Kira called me the night before. She said she found something about Marcus. Something dangerous."
James's eyes sharpened. "What exactly did she say?"
"She was scared. Said Marcus was hiding something big, and she had proof. She was going to show Aria the next day." Damien's jaw tightened. "She died that night."
"Convenient," James muttered, typing rapidly. "And you." He looked at me. "You don't remember anything from that time?"
I shook my head. "It's all fuzzy. Marcus said I was stressed, that I needed medication to help me sleep. But after I took those pills, whole days would just... disappear."
"What kind of pills?"
"I don't know. He threw them away after we separated. Said I didn't need them anymore."
James and Damien exchanged a look I couldn't read.
"I'll need access to your medical records from that period," James said. "And I want to request the original fire investigation files. There's also—" He stopped, scrolling through something on his tablet. His face went pale.
"What?" Damien leaned forward. "What did you find?"
"I was running a background check on Marcus while you talked." James turned the tablet around. "Look at this."
It was a news article from six years ago. The headline read: "Local Woman Dies in Suspicious Fall."
The woman's picture stared at me. Pretty, dark-haired, smiling.
"Rebecca Martinez," James said quietly. "She dated Marcus for two years before you did. She fell down the stairs in her apartment. Broke her neck."
The room spun. "No. That's—"
"It was ruled an accident," James continued, his voice grim. "But her friends told police she'd been trying to leave Marcus. That he wouldn't let her go. That she was scared." He paused. "She died one week after filing for a restraining order."
I couldn't breathe. Couldn't think. "He killed her."
"They couldn't prove it," James said. "But yes. I think he did."
Damien's hand found mine, squeezing tight. "Aria—"
"There's more." James pulled up another file. "Three months after Rebecca died, Marcus started dating you. He moved fast, didn't he? Swept you off your feet?"
I nodded numbly. It had felt like a fairy tale. The handsome, successful man who pursued me relentlessly. Who said I was perfect. Who said he'd never let me go.
Who said he'd never let me go.
"He targeted you," James said. "This wasn't random. He chose you specifically."
"Why?" The word came out broken. "Why me?"
"That's what I'm going to find out." James stood, all business now. "I'm requesting every file related to Rebecca Martinez, Kira Walsh, and Marcus Bennett. Medical records, financial records, phone records—everything. If Marcus has hurt other women, if there's a pattern, I'll find it."
"How long will that take?" Damien asked.
"A few days for the official requests. But—" James hesitated. "I have contacts who can get me copies faster. Unofficial channels."
"Do it," Damien said immediately.
"It's not exactly legal—"
"I don't care. Do it."
James nodded. "Okay. But Aria, I need you to think. Is there anything else? Anything Marcus said or did that seemed strange? Any gaps in time that bother you?"
I tried to remember, but it was like grasping at smoke. "The night of Kira's funeral. I remember the service, but then... nothing. I woke up the next morning in my bed. Marcus said I'd been too upset, that I'd taken my medication and gone to sleep. But..." I frowned. "My car had mud on it. Beach mud. And my shoes were wet."
The brothers exchanged another look.
"You think you were there," Damien said. "At the beach house. The night of the fire."
"I don't know. Maybe? But why can't I remember?"
James's phone buzzed. He looked at it and went very still.
"What?" Damien demanded.
"My contact at the police station. She just sent me something from Kira Walsh's file." James's voice was strange. "There was a witness who saw a woman running from the beach house before the fire started. She told police, but her statement was never included in the official report."
"Why not?"
"Because Marcus Bennett's lawyer had it removed. He claimed the witness was confused, that his wife was home with him all night." James looked at me. "The witness described the woman. Brown hair. Small scar on her left hand."
I looked down at my hand. At the scar from when I'd cut myself cooking. Three days before Kira died.
"It was me," I whispered. "I was there. Oh God, what did I do?"
Damien pulled me close. "You didn't do anything wrong—"
"The witness said something else," James interrupted. His face was grim. "She said the woman was screaming. Screaming one word, over and over."
"What word?" My voice shook.
James met my eyes. "Help. She was screaming for help."
The office door slammed open.
We all jumped, spinning around.
Sophie stood there, gasping for breath, her face white with terror. "Aria. Oh God, Aria—"
"What's wrong?" I ran to her. "Sophie, what happened?"
"It's Lily." She grabbed my arms. "Marcus took her. He signed her out of daycare an hour ago. The teachers tried to stop him, but he had papers—court papers saying it was his custody day even though it's not—"
The world stopped. Everything stopped.
"Where did he take her?" Damien's voice was deadly calm.
"I don't know! He's not answering his phone, he's not at his house—" Sophie's voice broke. "Aria, the daycare director said Marcus was acting strange. Happy. He told her that Lily wouldn't be coming back. That you wouldn't be seeing her anymore."
My legs gave out. Damien caught me, but I couldn't feel anything except the terror eating me alive.
"He has my daughter," I whispered. "He has Lily."
James was already on his phone, barking orders to someone. Damien held me tight, but I could feel him shaking with rage.
My phone buzzed.
A text from an unknown number. Just two words:
"Come home."
And a photo.
Lily, asleep on a couch I recognized. Marcus's beach house. The same house where Kira died.
"He wants me to come alone," I said numbly. "He's going to kill me. That's what this was all about. He was always going to kill me."
"No," Damien said fiercely. "We're going to get her back. James—"
"Already tracing the number." James's fingers flew over his tablet. "But Aria, you can't go. It's a trap."
"She's my daughter." I pulled away from Damien, my fear transforming into something sharper. Something harder. "I'm going."
"Then I'm going with you," Damien said.
"He'll kill her if I don't come alone—"
"He's going to kill you both either way," James cut in. "Marcus doesn't leave loose ends. Rebecca Martinez. Possibly Kira. Now you and Lily." He looked at me. "Your ex-husband is a serial killer. And he's had five years to plan this."
My phone buzzed again.
Another text: "One hour. Come alone, or she dies screaming. Just like Kira almost did. Just like you will."
And then: "I've been waiting for this moment, darling. Don't disappoint me."
The man I married—the monster I escaped—had my baby girl.
And he was waiting.