The door to her office closed with a soft click.
No slams. No broken glass. No theatrics.
Aria didn't need them.
She stood just past the threshold for a moment, letting the tension in her shoulders settle inch by inch. Behind the frosted glass, the hallway fell quiet again—an artificial quiet. The kind built not from peace but calculation. Every step she took in this building from now on would be observed, dissected, twisted.
They hadn't succeeded in ousting her. Not yet. But the vote was only postponed, not canceled.
The wolves were still circling.
She slipped off her coat with measured grace, draped it across the back of her chair, and crossed to the window. Downtown Lyon sprawled beneath her—glass, steel, and shadows. Her reflection ghosted back at her, eyes sharp, posture steady. No sign of the fire still smoldering in her chest.
Noel had said nothing on the ride back.
That silence meant more than any reassurance.
He knew.
And so did she.
They were out for blood.
A knock broke through the hum of quiet.
Logan stepped in with that usual balance of formality and familiarity. "It's done," he said, holding out a slim black folder. "Everything you asked for. And then some."
Aria took it without a word. She walked back to the desk, flipping it open, and scanned the contents.
Lucas.
Of course it was him.
The holding company was real. Registered three years ago under a shell in Copenhagen, rerouted through Geneva, and connected—via two silent intermediaries—to an account that had received seven separate fund transfers from Moreau Corp marketing subsidiaries.
All this in the span of four months.
Her fingers didn't tremble. But her jaw tightened with every page.
"I'm sending this to Zara," she said. "And after that, we're going to leak it."
Logan blinked. "Leak it? To the press?"
"No." Aria closed the folder and tapped the top with one nail. "To the market. Quietly. One whisper to the right investor forum. One 'accidental' email CC'd to a financial regulation board."
She looked up, gaze sharp.
"Let them panic. Let them call emergency meetings. Let them ask why their investments are linked to a fraud investigation. And let Lucas explain it without knowing which of us tipped the first domino."
Logan exhaled, almost impressed. "Subtle."
"No," she said flatly. "Necessary."
She turned back to her desk and picked up her phone.
Zara answered on the second ring.
"Didn't take long," her friend said dryly. "I saw the headlines. The vultures are circling."
"They're not vultures yet," Aria murmured, "just rats with silverware."
A pause. Then, more serious: "You need me to do something."
"I need movement," Aria said. "Sell off the non-core assets attached to Lucas's portfolio. Quietly. Reassign the holding contracts we discussed last month. And start putting feelers out for the two board members due for retirement."
"You want to buy them out?"
"I want control," Aria said. "However it has to come."
Zara whistled. "You're going for the jugular this early."
"They came for mine first."
Another pause. Then Zara said, "Got it. I'll get started."
The line went dead.
Aria stared down at the phone, then at her desk. She opened her drawer and pulled out a small black leather notebook—one Vincent had once used to keep track of acquisitions.
She'd found it buried beneath his files, empty now.
But she was going to fill it. Differently.
One name. One threat. One betrayal at a time.
The door cracked open again.
Logan returned, this time slower, hesitant.
"There's… something else."
Aria didn't look up. "Speak."
He walked in, set a flash drive on the desk. "Security just flagged this. Came in late from internal IT. Normally it wouldn't reach you, but your name's tied to the incident."
She finally looked up. "Incident?"
Logan nodded. "Someone accessed your father's private server last night. Around 3 a.m."
Her stomach stilled, but she didn't show it.
"And?"
He cleared his throat. "It was accessed using Juliet's credentials."
That got her attention.
Aria straightened slowly, eyes narrowing.
"Security confirmed it?"
"Yes," he said. "But she's denying everything. Claims she was asleep. Says her card might've been stolen. But…"
"But what?"
Logan hesitated, then added, "There's footage. From the west IT corridor. Not Juliet herself. Just a shadow. Hooded. But she—or someone using her card—was there."
Aria reached for the drive and turned it in her fingers.
"I'll review it," she said. "Alone."
Logan gave a single nod. "I'll be outside."
He closed the door behind him.
Aria stared at the flash drive for a long moment before plugging it in.
The footage loaded—grainy, black and white, time-stamped 03:17 a.m.
The camera was angled down the corridor. Empty at first.
Then, movement.
A figure appeared—hooded, slight, careful. No defining features. No panic. No hesitation.
They swiped a card. The green light blinked.
The door opened.
The figure slipped inside.
And didn't reemerge for thirteen minutes.
Aria watched the footage twice. Then again.
No Juliet.
But that meant nothing.
It meant everything.
She leaned back in her chair and stared at the ceiling.
Lucas was bleeding the company.
Juliet was breaking into Vincent's server.
Selene was lying low—but never without purpose.
And Isabelle… Isabelle had been silent since the hospital.
Which meant she was planning.
They all were.
Her thumb pressed lightly against the side of the desk again, a motion so small she wouldn't have noticed it if not for how often it came with clarity.
She didn't feel like the Aria who once tiptoed through this world.
She felt like someone who had been buried once—and clawed her way back up.
Her phone buzzed again.
A message from Zara:
Board buying options secured. You'll have votes in place before the next session. Also, market's spooked. Lucas will feel it by morning.
Aria read it, then tucked the phone away.
She stood and walked to the window again, this time without the weight.
The sky outside had deepened to dusk, painted in violet and rust.
The city pulsed. The wolves waited.
But this time, she had the knife.
And tomorrow, they'd learn what it meant to draw first blood against a woman who no longer bled.