The message haunted her dreams.It slipped between the cracks of sleep like water through stone, seeping into every fragment of rest she tried to steal. By the time morning came, Aria felt as if she'd been running all night.
Damien was already gone when she stirred — the scent of his cologne lingered faintly, a warm trace on the cool sheets beside her. The clock on the nightstand read 7:14 a.m. Noah would be up soon, and she needed to look normal.
She showered, dressed, and went downstairs, forcing herself into a rhythm of small domestic actions: pour cereal, slice strawberries, pour milk into a small glass. But her eyes kept flicking to her phone lying on the counter, screen dark, concealing the message that still burned in her mind.
She'd deleted it. She'd made that choice last night in a rush of panic. And now, with the safety of daylight, she wasn't sure if it had been wise — or cowardly.
"Morning, Mommy!" Noah's voice cut through her thoughts. He padded in wearing his dinosaur pajamas, hair sticking up on one side. She smiled automatically, crouching to kiss the top of his head.
"Morning, sweetie. Hungry?"
"Always."
She slid the bowl of cereal toward him, watching as he dug in with the single-minded focus only a child could have. For a few minutes, she let herself breathe, absorbing the ordinary scene.
But then the doorbell rang.
Aria froze.
At this hour, it was rarely good news.
She peeked through the side window — a delivery van sat in the driveway, the driver waiting. Relief loosened her shoulders. She signed for the package — something from one of Damien's suppliers, according to the label — and returned to the kitchen.
Noah had finished and was now building a tower out of apple slices. She smiled faintly.
Her phone buzzed.
She glanced at it. Another unknown number.
This time, she didn't open it in front of Noah. She slipped the phone into her pocket and excused herself to the hallway. The message preview was short:
You'll open the door for me soon.
Her hands went cold.
She typed a reply before she could second-guess herself.
Stay away from my family.
The dots appeared almost instantly, then vanished. No reply came.
Damien called just after ten."Security's increasing patrols around the house," he said, without preamble. "Lydia thinks some of the reporters might try to jump the fence."
She pressed the phone tighter to her ear. "Already?"
"It happens. People think they can buy a story from staff or catch you off guard with a camera. I don't want you alone outside the property."
Aria hesitated, biting her lip. She wanted to tell him about the messages, but the words tangled in her throat. What would he do? Confront Victor? Call the police? Victor had a way of twisting every confrontation until she was the one bleeding in the end.
"I'll be careful," she said instead.
"Good. I'll be home early."
The call ended, leaving a hollow space in her chest.
Around noon, she received a different kind of visitor. The estate's head housekeeper, Marianne, knocked gently at the door to the study where Aria had been pretending to read.
"Mrs. Blackwood, there's a man at the gate asking for you by name," Marianne said, her face taut with concern. "He says he's an old friend."
Aria's stomach dropped. "His name?"
"Mr. Hayes."
Her vision narrowed. "Don't let him in."
Marianne nodded firmly. "Already told the guards to turn him away. But… he left something."
She held out a plain white envelope. No name, no return address — just the smooth, heavy paper of someone who took care with appearances.
Aria took it with shaking fingers, waiting until Marianne left to break the seal.
Inside was a single sheet of paper with one line in Victor's neat, slanted handwriting:
You looked beautiful at the park yesterday. Noah's getting big.
Her knees went weak.
He'd been there. Watching.
She shoved the note back into the envelope and locked it in the drawer of Damien's desk, her breath shallow. She didn't need to see the words again to know they'd be burned into her mind.
When Damien came home that evening, he found her in the living room with Noah, both of them on the floor building an elaborate train track. Noah was chattering about making the train "go to the moon," and Aria clung to the sound, not wanting the moment to end.
Damien's gaze lingered on her a little too long before he joined them on the floor, his suit pants creasing under him as he helped Noah connect two stubborn pieces of track.
"You seem… distracted," he murmured to her when Noah ran to fetch another piece.
"I'm fine."
It was the same lie she'd been telling all day.
He studied her face, his jaw tightening slightly. But he didn't push.
Instead, after Noah's bedtime, Damien poured two glasses of wine and led her to the small terrace off the library. The night air was cool, scented faintly with the flowers that lined the stone railing.
"I know this isn't easy," he said quietly, handing her a glass. "The statement, the reporters… all of it."
She stared into the deep red swirl of the wine. "It's not just that."
His gaze sharpened. "Then what?"
For a moment, the truth almost spilled out. She could see him — see how quickly he would move to protect them, see how dangerous that might make things if Victor decided to retaliate.
Instead, she took a sip of wine and shook her head. "Just… the weight of it all, I guess."
He didn't look convinced, but he didn't press.
They stood in silence for a while, the city lights glimmering in the distance.
Later that night, when she finally closed her eyes, her mind replayed Victor's message in the dark, over and over. You'll open the door for me soon.
And for the first time, she wondered if she already had.