Pierce Industries' headquarters was made to impress—cold glass, steel, the constant hum of money moving beneath marble floors. Aria stalked through the lobby in four-inch heels, pulse steady, gaze sharp. The first time she'd come here, she'd shrunk behind Ethan's arm, smiling when prompted, invisible by design. Not today.
Every sense screamed with memory—coffee and disinfectant from the breakroom, the subtle chill of air conditioning, eyes tracking her as she strode toward the executive suite. Catherine's warning echoed in her head: This family doesn't like surprises. But that was her opening. The element of surprise was hers now.
She slid into the elevator, thumb brushing her watch. 1,093 days. Every tick a countdown. A young assistant—Sarah, if memory served—darted inside at the last moment, clutching a stack of files.
"Mrs. Pierce! I—uh—didn't know you'd be in today."
Aria offered a cool, pleasant smile. "Things change. I like to keep the board on their toes."
Sarah nearly dropped her files.
As the doors closed, Aria's phone buzzed. A notification from her keylogger—active on Sarah's computer, thanks to a favor from Noah, their new "IT consultant." Time to see if Pierce Industries was as leak-proof as Richard claimed.
Ethan walked the perimeter of the executive floor, coffee in hand, knuckles tight. Old patterns. When he was nervous, he paced, mapped out exits. Today he felt watched—by his father, by the board, maybe even by Aria. Especially Aria.
He'd seen the change in her since the wedding. The careful way she measured every word, the new edge to her silences. She'd never been interested in company politics before. Now, she asked questions, lingered in the halls, talked to people he barely noticed.
He paused outside Daniel Holt's office. From inside, the staccato of keyboard keys—a sign of trouble brewing. Daniel lived for emergencies.
Ethan rapped and entered without waiting.
Daniel looked up, glasses sliding down his nose. "You see this?" He spun his monitor. "Someone's poking around the financial reserves—using the assistant admin credentials."
Ethan's blood chilled. "How recent?"
"Last half hour. Before that, some weird logins from the gallery network. Your wife's friend Marcus, maybe?"
Ethan's face stayed blank. "Lock it down. Quietly. If my father catches a whiff—"
Daniel snorted. "Richard already asked me twice about offshore leak rumors. If you want to protect Aria, you'd better get ahead of it."
Ethan's jaw clenched. "No one touches her."
The boardroom was colder than she remembered—the air thick with the scent of power and polished wood. She took the only empty seat at the table, ignored the sidelong looks, and focused on her phone: the keylogger pinged again. Ethan's assistant was downloading the quarterly earnings file. Why?
She kept her posture relaxed, smile mild. The board's legal counsel droned on about risk exposure, unaware Aria was cataloguing possible leaks with each name mentioned. Richard shot her a glance like a knife, but she met it calmly.
When the meeting adjourned, Aria slipped into Sarah's office.
Sarah jumped. "Mrs. Pierce—I'm so sorry, I was just—"
"Relax," Aria said, voice all velvet. "I just need a moment alone. You can head to lunch."
Sarah didn't need telling twice. As soon as she was gone, Aria plugged a small USB into the computer and copied the activity log. A tiny light blinked—Noah's little trick. Everything captured, nothing left behind.
As she left, a voice stopped her in the hall.
Ethan watched Aria move, every gesture deliberate, every smile calculated. The old Aria would have asked—Is everything alright? Now, she just watched the world spin, waited for enemies to blink.
He caught up to her outside the elevator. "You're getting comfortable here."
She arched an eyebrow. "Would you prefer I stayed home, Ethan?"
He almost smiled. "Not at all. I like seeing you shake things up." His gaze hardened. "But be careful. My family doesn't forgive mistakes."
Aria met his eyes, unflinching. "Neither do I."
An intercom pinged. "Mr. Pierce, your father is requesting you in the main conference room."
He leaned closer, dropping his voice. "If you need anything—if anyone gives you trouble—you call me. Immediately."
"Of course," she replied, sweetness cutting with steel.
Back in the car, Aria flicked through the copied files. Transfers, passwords, a curious email chain about "foundation donations"—a likely front for laundering. More leverage for her, another layer of insurance.
Her phone vibrated. Marcus: Documents signed. You're officially a partner. Welcome to the war.
She smiled, adrenaline humming under her skin. For the first time in years, she wasn't just surviving—she was playing.
In Richard's conference room, Ethan listened to his father rant about leaks, loyalty, and wives with too much ambition. He nodded at the right moments, let the old man rage.
But beneath the mask, Ethan plotted. Every move, every counter.
Across the city, Aria was doing the same.
Different rooms. Same war.
The first test had begun—two players, one board, both hiding the truth. The question wasn't who would win.
It was who would survive long enough to change the rules.