Chapter 4 — The Ghost in the Mirror
The storm hadn't stopped.
For three straight nights, thunder rolled over the city like a warning. The streets gleamed under the rain, reflecting flashes of lightning that turned the skyline silver and black.
Ariana Blaze stood before her bathroom mirror, wiping condensation from the glass.
Her reflection stared back — calm face, unshaken eyes, but the darkness beneath them told the truth. She hadn't slept since the docks.
Not because of fear.
Because of what she'd seen in Damien's eyes when she'd told him the truth — Someone you once killed.
She had seen doubt there.
She had seen memory trying to claw its way out of the shadows he'd buried it in.
And that was exactly what she wanted.
---
By the time she reached her office, her assistant, Leah, was already waiting with coffee and files stacked high.
"Morning, Ms. Blaze. The board meeting is in twenty minutes. Also, someone sent flowers again."
Ariana glanced at the roses — black-tipped red. No card this time.
Her lips curved faintly. "Throw them out."
Leah blinked. "They're expensive, ma'am."
"So was my time," Ariana said, flipping through the files. "And I don't waste it on ghosts."
She didn't need to read the sender's name to know it came from Damien Cole.
---
At Cole Enterprises, things were shifting too.
For the first time in years, Damien's composure cracked in private.
He had ordered background checks, traced company registrations, even hired investigators overseas — but everything about Ariana Blaze led to dead ends. No records before two years ago. No trace of her family.
Yet the way she moved, the way she looked at him — it was too familiar.
He sat alone in his penthouse office late at night, the city lights casting long shadows across his desk. On his computer screen, the photograph he'd found that morning glowed faintly.
It was an old image — one he hadn't seen in years.
A woman in a white dress, smiling, her hand on his chest.
His ex-wife.
Aria Cole.
He had destroyed every copy after she died. Or so he'd thought.
He stared at her face, at the same eyes, the same curve of her mouth.
Ariana Blaze looked exactly like her.
But that was impossible.
The report said Aria had died in a fire — her body found beyond recognition. He had buried her. He had mourned her.
Then why did the ghost of his past walk the streets of his empire with a new name and a cold smile?
---
Two days later, Ariana stood before the mirror in a black suit, adjusting her earrings. She was attending a charity gala — hosted by Damien himself.
It was the perfect stage.
The venue was a mansion of glass and light, filled with polished laughter and champagne. Reporters circled like bees. Cameras flashed as she entered, her presence commanding instant attention.
Conversations paused. Heads turned.
The woman in black wasn't just beautiful — she was power wrapped in elegance.
Selena was already there, glittering in silver, standing beside Damien like a queen defending her throne. When she saw Ariana, her smile faltered.
Ariana returned it with icy politeness. "Miss Voss. Still guarding the same man?"
Selena's eyes flickered. "Still chasing ghosts?"
Ariana's laugh was soft. "Not chasing. Burying."
Damien approached just then, expression unreadable. His dark eyes swept over her slowly.
"You look… different tonight."
"Death does that to a woman," she replied smoothly.
He froze. The crowd buzzed around them, but all he could hear was her voice. That same tone. That same haunting calm.
"Would you dance with me, Mr. Cole?" she asked suddenly.
His hesitation lasted only a second. "Of course."
They moved onto the dance floor, the orchestra swelling into a slow waltz. As they turned, the distance between them narrowed, heat and history bleeding through every step.
Her perfume was the same as before — jasmine and rain.
It shouldn't have been possible.
"You've been investigating me," Ariana murmured, her lips near his ear.
He tensed. "You're hiding something."
"Maybe I am. Or maybe you're remembering what you want to forget."
He looked down at her, his control slipping. "Who are you?"
Her smile was almost cruel. "You already know."
The music ended. She stepped back, leaving him standing there, breath uneven. Then she turned, disappearing into the sea of guests.
---
Later, outside on the balcony, she stood beneath the night sky again. Rain had started falling softly. The sound was like whispers — memories she couldn't silence.
She pulled her phone from her clutch. A new message flashed on the screen.
Unknown: You shouldn't have provoked him in public. They're watching you again.
Ariana: Let them watch. I'm not the prey anymore.
She pocketed the phone and turned — only to find Damien behind her.
"You're good at making enemies," he said quietly.
"I had a good teacher," she replied.
He stepped closer, his gaze shadowed. "You talk like her."
"Who?"
"Aria."
Her heart twisted, but she didn't flinch. "She must've meant a lot to you."
He exhaled slowly, eyes on the rain. "She was my wife. I thought she betrayed me. I thought she died because of me."
Ariana turned to face him fully. "And if she hadn't? What then?"
He looked at her — really looked — and for the first time, there was rawness in his voice. "Then I'd spend the rest of my life making it right."
Lightning lit the sky. Ariana felt her pulse thunder in her veins.
But she said nothing.
Not yet.
He took a slow step toward her, stopping just inches away. "You remind me of her in every way."
"Maybe she never left," she whispered.
The tension between them stretched until it hurt. Then she brushed past him, leaving him alone with his memories.
---
Back at her apartment, Ariana locked the door and pressed her hand against her chest.
She hadn't expected him to sound broken. She hadn't expected her own heart to tremble at his words.
But vengeance wasn't about feelings. It was about truth.
She walked to her desk and opened a drawer. Inside was a sealed envelope — the last piece of evidence she had hidden for years. Inside it lay the proof that would destroy Selena Voss and expose the night of the fire for what it really was: a setup.
She laid the papers out on the desk, lit a candle, and stared at them.
"Soon," she whispered. "They'll all see who really burned that night."
Outside, the rain finally stopped. The clouds parted just enough for moonlight to break thro
ugh.
And in the silence that followed, Ariana Blaze — once Aria Cole — began to write the end of the story they thought had already finished.
---
End of Chapter 4