Aria Vale
Before I could answer, a knock shattered the moment — three short raps on the front door.
Kira was up first, gun already drawn, eyes sharp as razors. I followed her to the entryway. She opened it a crack, scanned, then opened it fully.
No threat. Just a courier, soaked and shivering, holding out a sleek black envelope and a box wrapped in silver paper.
"For Miss Vale," he stammered. "From Jasper Maddox."
He was gone before I could demand more.
Kira handed it over with a look. "Snake's sending gifts now?"
I opened the envelope first. Inside was a single IV card, glossy and crisp — my name engraved in silver beside Wolfe Enterprises' seal.
And a note, handwritten in Jasper's unmistakable scrawl:
Consider this your stage. Wear red.
I opened the box.
Inside, nestled in black velvet, was a crimson dress.
Backless. Dangerous.
A fucking statement.
Kira whistled low. "Well. That's not subtle."
I stared at the dress for a long beat, fingers grazing the fabric like it might vanish.
"I'll go," I said finally.
Kira looked at me. "And what happens if he sees you?"
I met her eyes.
"That's the point."
---
Damian Wolfe
The city was quiet from up here — cold lights, slow traffic, and a skyline pretending it wasn't full of vultures.
I stood by the glass wall of my penthouse office, drink in hand, tie discarded, shirt unbuttoned just enough to let the night breathe. Back at Wolfe Enterprise, it pulsed in its final preparations. Staff running schedules, calls being made, deliveries logged down to the millisecond.
The gala would be flawless.
It had to be.
Sixty years of empire. My father's legacy. My name carved in glass and steel.
And right now, something didn't sit right, I could sense it.
My phone buzzed on the table beside the decanter.
One buzz. Secure line.
The Bishop.
I took the call.
"Report."
"Jasper sent a courier late this evening," Bishop said, calm as ever. "Encrypted, untraceable routing. But the drop point was clean, somewhere in the lower district, a dead zone."
"And?"
"We're tracking the runner now, but the location isn't on any of Wolfe Enterprise's registered lists. It's personal. Intentional."
My grip tightened around the glass.
"Where was Jasper when he sent it?"
"Still on the 48th floor. Conference room. Never left the building."
Which meant he planned it earlier. Or he had help.
I'd given him the illusion of safety. Let him believe I didn't see the snake under his skin.
But now?
Now I was narrowing the cage.
I turned toward my desk and flicked open the dossier I'd been compiling: Aria. Jasper. The Monarch Syndicate. Threads of a war they thought they could win.
Bishop waited on the line.
"Keep eyes on him," I said. "No interference yet. If he thinks I know, he'll vanish."
"Understood."
"One more thing," I added. "Increase security for tomorrow. I want eyes on every corner of the gala. No blind spots. And if she shows..."
"You'll want to know."
I didn't answer.
I didn't have to.
The call ended. The silence felt heavier.
The gala would be flawless.
But now, I knew exactly who I was planning it for.
---
~Morning of the Gala~
The office smelled like leather and ambition.
Sunlight spilled through the tall windows, painting gold over the black marble floor. My suit was already laid out on the valet stand a charcoal silk, hand-stitched. A celebration of legacy, reputation, and power. But my mind wasn't on the tailoring.
Not today.
I sipped my espresso, seated at the head of the long conference table while the board trickled in, tailored men, polished women, all of them balancing gratitude and fear in equal measure. Just how I liked them.
Jasper entered last.
Always a little late. Always with a calm smile like he hadn't just spent the night betraying me.
"Big night," he said, slipping into the chair beside mine.
I gave him a nod. "Sixty years. They'll talk about tonight for another sixty."
He grinned like we shared a secret.
We didn't.
He thought he was the chess player in this game.
His betrayal hadn't unraveled yet. But it would. And I'd be the one holding the thread.
Bishop had already updated me, there was no news on the package recipient yet, but the runner disappeared into the underground. Ghosted. I'd expected as much.
The meeting began — logistics, press coverage, high-tier guest security. Everyone was in place. Everyone but her.
Aria.
It had been a week since the warehouse. A week of silence. Of absence.
Too quiet, which was suspicious.
But that silence told me something louder than words — she wasn't done. She was somewhere watching. Planning. Waiting.
Jasper passed me a document, brushing his fingers too casually across the folder's edge.
"Final guest list," he said. "Nothing unexpected."
I flipped through it slowly. Elegant names. Royalty in the corporate world.
And then I saw it.
One addition. Anonymous. A late RSVP.
IV.
My brow barely moved. I handed the folder back without a word.
Jasper didn't flinch.
But something in his eyes betrayed him. Just for a second.
Weakness.
The kind you could use to destroy a man but, he didn't know it yet.
I leaned back in my chair as the board droned on. Tonight would be perfect. Or it would burn.
And either way, I was be ready for whatever was coming.