The storm had returned by the time Aria slipped back into the estate.
The sky growled low above Lyon, heavy rain splattering against the tall windows like a warning whispered through glass.
Inside the mansion, the lights had been dimmed, corridors yawning long and hollow.
Only the sharp click of her shoes against the marble dared disturb the silence.
No one greeted her.
Good.
She didn't want witnesses for what came next.
Aria climbed the grand staircase without touching the handrail.
Her jacket was still damp from the brief sprint between the car and the house, the USB drive tucked tight inside the inner pocket, pressing cold against her side.
At the top of the landing, she paused.
A flicker of movement caught her eye — a shadow slipping across the far hall — but when she turned, the space was empty.
Just the house breathing.
Just the ghosts waking up.
Her study was at the far end of the East Wing, beyond the guest rooms no one used.
The door groaned faintly as she pushed it open.
Inside, the air smelled faintly of paper, leather, and storm-drenched stone.
She locked the door behind her.
Slid the bolt.
Only then did she allow herself to breathe.
The room was dark, except for the occasional flash of lightning bleeding through the windows.
The desk lamp stood dark.
The fireplace cold.
Perfect.
Aria crossed the room and sat down at the heavy mahogany desk.
Her laptop waited in the center — closed, waiting, unaware.
The USB slipped from her fingers onto the wood with a soft clink.
For a moment, she stared at it.
This tiny thing.
This weight.
This secret.
It had survived him.
Would she?
She plugged it in.
The drive spun once, clicked softly.
The screen flickered to life.
One file.
Simple.
Untitled folders, no passwords, no firewalls.
Just a single line blinking back at her:
"For Aria — Confidential."
Her finger hovered over the touchpad.
Thunder rumbled again, deeper this time, a sound that shivered the glass in its frames.
Aria clicked.
The screen turned black.
Then flickered to static.
Then—
Vincent appeared.
He sat behind a desk she didn't recognize.
Not the grand office she'd been summoned to for formalities, nor the old study she'd broken into.
This room was smaller.
Bare walls.
No paintings.
No trophies.
Just a single lamp casting a pool of exhausted yellow light across the papers scattered in front of him.
He looked older than she remembered.
Thinner.
As if something had already begun hollowing him out from the inside.
He wasn't wearing a suit.
Just a gray sweater, sleeves pushed to his elbows, as if armor no longer mattered.
When he spoke, his voice wasn't sharp.
It was... tired.
And something else.
Something raw.
"Aria."
He said her name like a confession.
Like a prayer he didn't believe he deserved to speak.
"I don't know if you'll ever see this," he continued, fingers drumming once — twice — before stilling.
"But if you are... it means I'm already gone."
A pause.
Aria leaned forward without realizing it, breath caught halfway between her ribs.
"I failed you," Vincent said simply.
No excuses.
No justifications.
Just brutal, empty truth.
"I failed your mother, too.
I let fear and pride turn me into something small.
Something she didn't recognize anymore."
He looked down, then back up, the lines around his eyes deeper now.
"You deserved better.
Both of you."
Lightning flashed behind her window.
The storm throbbed against the glass, pressing closer.
Vincent's voice lowered.
"There's more, Aria.
More than the lawyers, more than the shares and the company name.
There are people...
People I trusted once who should never have been allowed near my table."
Aria's heart hammered once, a deep, hard knock against her ribs.
He continued:
"Not everyone sitting at that table is who you think they are.
Some of them have been smiling in your face for years, waiting for the right moment."
He leaned closer to the camera, and for the first time since she'd known him, Aria saw fear naked in his eyes.
"Especially the ones you trust."
The screen flickered again, Vincent's figure warping slightly before stabilizing.
He straightened, pushed a hand through graying hair.
"You're stronger than me," he said, a small, almost broken smile tugging at his mouth.
"That's why I left it to you."
Another pause.
Then the knife:
"If they try to take it...
Don't let them.
Burn them if you must."
The screen went dark.
The room fell silent.
Only the soft patter of rain and the slow, ragged pull of her breathing filled the space.
Aria sat frozen, staring at the blank laptop screen.
Not crying.
Not breaking.
Just... processing.
Every word slithered through her like a blade dipped in old blood.
Her fists clenched slowly in her lap.
Not in grief.
Not in fear.
But something harder.
Something colder.
Resolve.
She replayed one line.
Again.
And again.
"Especially the ones you trust."
Each repetition peeled another layer from her chest, stripping away the final remnants of hesitation.
She couldn't afford it.
Not here.
Not anymore.
Outside, a bolt of lightning ripped across the sky, painting the room in violent white for half a second.
Aria didn't flinch.
She reached for the USB, yanked it free, and tucked it into the hidden compartment under the desk drawer.
No one would find it.
Not unless they wanted to discover how far she was willing to go.
Her phone buzzed, slicing through the silence.
A new text.
From an unknown sender.
Aria clicked it open.
Two words blinked up at her:
"Emergency Meeting. 48 Hours."
Attached was a formal notice:
BOARD SUMMONS:
Emergency vote to reconsider executive authority.
Attendance mandatory.
A laugh — low, humorless — scraped its way out of her throat.
Of course.
They weren't even pretending anymore.
Aria rose from her chair, crossing to the tall window.
The rain had thickened into a wall now, blurring the world beyond the glass into nothing but shapes and movement.
Somewhere out there, Lyon was still spinning on, oblivious.
Somewhere out there, men and women were sharpening their knives — and dressing their betrayals in suits and condolences.
And somewhere inside this house, behind velvet curtains and crystal glasses, her enemies were already planning how to steal back everything Vincent had given her.
Aria pressed her hand flat against the cold glass, feeling the shiver of the storm through her skin.
Let them come.
Let them vote.
Let them bare their teeth and show her what they were really made of.
Because this time —
this life —
she wouldn't be the one left gasping on the floor while others feasted on what was hers.