The taste of victory lingered on Aria's tongue long after the brunch ended. She moved through the Pierce estate like a shadow, the rare orchid left blooming in the formal dining room—a silent declaration that she was no longer prey. The old Aria would have retreated to lick her wounds, but this one hunted for leverage, for openings. She had survived round one, and now it was time to set her pieces in motion.
She ducked into the study under the excuse of needing to make a work call. The door's heavy click behind her was a relief; at last, the watchers' eyes were gone. Mahogany shelves, the scent of old books and expensive whiskey—her father-in-law's domain, but soon, she'd have her own sanctuaries.
She pulled out her phone and dialed Marcus Chen. Her former professor, now a gallery owner, and the closest thing she had to a confidant in this timeline. The call connected on the third ring.
"Aria? You survived brunch at the Pierces?"
A laugh escaped before she could stop it. "Barely. Catherine tried to eviscerate me with etiquette, but I brought a sharper knife."
"Good." Marcus's voice was dry, reassuring. "I assume you don't just call to trade war stories?"
"Never." She kept her tone light, but her grip tightened on the phone. "I want in on the gallery expansion. Not as a donor. As a partner. I'll bankroll it—on one condition: I want lead restorer and full access to the provenance records. And I want your word it stays ours, not a Pierce family prize."
A pause. Then: "You sound different, Aria. Confident. Ruthless, almost."
She smiled, tracing the edge of her grandmother's watch. "Let's say I'm motivated. Do we have a deal?"
"You'll get the papers tomorrow." Marcus's tone turned warm, approving. "Welcome back to the art world. We missed you."
She ended the call and opened her laptop, fingers steady and sure. The Sutton Trust transfer to the Cayman account was done, but that was just her war chest. She needed a web of shell companies, layers of protection invisible to Pierce accountants and predators alike.
She messaged Imran Shah—her favorite offshore lawyer, a man with a Rolodex of secrets. The reply was instant, all clinical efficiency: Ready to set up the LLCs. Names, jurisdictions, and transfer instructions?
Aria typed:
Create three: Lira Holdings (BVI), Chen Art Advisory (Singapore), and Meridian Estates (Delaware). Transfer $500K into each, from different accounts, staggered over the next two weeks. Keep my name off everything. Use the protocols we discussed last year. I want deniability and speed.
Imran's reply: Understood. You're learning fast, Aria. Anything else?
Send the nominee paperwork to my private email. No paper trail. And Imran—if anyone asks, you don't know me.
She closed the laptop, the cold satisfaction of control thrumming inside her. A year ago, she'd have hesitated. Now, every step was calculated, necessary. The world wasn't safe for lambs.
A soft knock at the door. Ethan. She pasted on a smile, schooled her features into gentle curiosity.
"Busy plotting, Mrs. Pierce?" Ethan's voice was half-playful, half-probing. His blue eyes flicked to her laptop, then back again.
"Just some work for Marcus. He's expanding the gallery. I thought I'd get involved again." Her tone was light, the perfect wife showing initiative.
He wandered in, hands shoved deep in his pockets, casual but watchful. "You're making moves. I like it."
Aria's pulse jumped. Did he know? Did he suspect? She kept her posture loose, leaning back in the leather chair. "I have to do something with all this freedom. Sitting around waiting to be useful doesn't suit me."
He smirked. "You could have told me. I'd have toasted to your return to the art world at brunch."
She shrugged. "Didn't want to jinx it."
For a moment, silence. Ethan studied her, his jaw working. "You're really okay here? I know my family can be… a lot."
Aria let her eyes soften just enough. "You think I can't handle them?"
A laugh, genuine, slipped from his lips. "No. I think you're the only one who actually can."
He crossed the room, perched on the edge of the desk. Close enough to intimidate, or to reach for her hand if she allowed it. She kept her own folded in her lap, resting on the cool metal of her watch.
"I wanted to tell you—" he hesitated, fidgeting with his wedding band, "I updated the prenup. I want you to be protected, no matter what happens to me."
The words caught her off-guard. She forced her face into an expression of faint surprise. "That's… considerate. Why now?"
Ethan's gaze flicked away, jaw tight. "You deserve to feel safe. I can't always control what my family does. But I can control what's mine."
She watched him carefully, noting the tension in his shoulders, the way he wouldn't quite meet her eyes. What was he hiding? In the first timeline, he hadn't protected her from anything—not his family, not Vanessa, not even himself.
"Thank you, Ethan," she said quietly. "That means a lot."
He straightened, forced a smile. The moment stretched, fragile as old glass. Then he was gone, leaving a faint trace of expensive cologne and unresolved questions in his wake.
As the door closed behind him, Aria's mask slipped. Her hands trembled for a heartbeat, adrenaline fading, then stilled as she pressed her grandmother's watch tight against her palm. 1,093 days. Every second counted.
She booted up her backup phone, the one only Lila and Marcus knew about. She texted Lila: Need a lunch date. Tomorrow. Your office. No excuses. Lila's reply came within seconds: Already cleared my schedule. Trouble?
Aria smiled, the first real one of the day. Opportunity. But bring your best HR horror stories.
She spent the next hour combing through financial records, mapping out which of Ethan's competitors to quietly buy into first. She'd learned the lesson the hard way: power didn't come from having money, but from knowing how to deploy it, how to make others dance to your tune.
A fresh sense of resolve pulsed through her veins. Even here, in the heart of the Pierce empire, she could carve out something truly her own.
A sharp ping—a calendar invite. Marcus, already efficient: Board Meeting: Gallery Expansion. Thursday, 10 AM. Lead Restorer review. Welcome back, Aria.
She let herself imagine it—her hands deep in paint and history, her name on contracts, her future untethered from the Pierce name. For once, she let herself feel hope, quick and biting.
Night fell. The house quieted, the servants' footsteps fading into silence. Aria sat by the window in her room, city lights a distant shimmer, the scent of jasmine wafting from the gardens below. She checked her grandmother's watch one last time. 1,093 days until everything changed.
Let them think she was still adjusting. Let them think she was harmless.
She was just getting started.
In the darkness, Aria drafted an outline labeled, "Pierce Protocols." Each bullet point a strategy. Each name a target.
Setting the board was just the beginning.