The SoHo café was the kind of place that made Instagram blush—marble tables, curated playlists, sunlight angled just right for filters. Aria chose it on purpose. Neutral ground, too public for drama, but intimate enough to observe the enemy's every move. She arrived five minutes early, as always, and claimed the corner booth with a view of both the door and Vanessa's likely approach route.
Her hands trembled as she set her grandmother's watch on the table, anchoring herself with the familiar weight. 1,091 days. She exhaled, slow and steady, willing her nerves into steel. Coffee with Vanessa Laurent—the first true test of her new self. She wouldn't flinch. Not this time.
Vanessa swept in at 10:02 a.m., all effortless Parisian chic: minimalist dress, nude lipstick, just enough warmth in her smile to pass for sincerity. "Darling! So glad you could make it." She leaned in for a double-cheek kiss—air only, not a molecule of skin touching skin.
"Of course," Aria replied, matching her tone, slipping into the old social armor. "Couldn't pass up your invitation." She forced a little laugh, honeyed with just enough naiveté to keep Vanessa guessing.
They ordered cappuccinos—Vanessa, oat milk, Aria, regular—and a plate of overpriced croissants. Vanessa folded her napkin with surgical precision, every movement calculated. It was a performance, and Aria recognized every beat. She'd memorized this song in her old life, played it until her bones ached.
"So, how are you really?" Vanessa's voice was all concern. "Last week looked brutal. Catherine's brunches are gladiator training for the soul."
Aria let her lips curl, just shy of a smile. "I survived. You know how it is—Pierce family rites of passage."
Vanessa laughed, perfect teeth on display. "You came out swinging. That donation offer? Catherine didn't know what hit her."
Aria shrugged, feigning modesty. "She inspires me to be my best."
Vanessa's gaze sharpened, a flicker of respect—or maybe calculation. "You've changed, Aria. In a good way. More… formidable."
Aria sipped her coffee, letting the bitterness settle on her tongue. "You learn to adapt in this family. Survival of the fittest."
Vanessa leaned forward, conspiratorial. "I mean it. I used to worry you'd be eaten alive. But now? I think you could do some eating of your own."
Aria held her gaze, unblinking. "I don't like being underestimated."
A silence stretched—soft, charged. Vanessa broke it, smiling wider. "Speaking of being underestimated, I'd love your advice. The gala's coming up, and Catherine put me on the décor committee. Any tips on avoiding her wrath?"
The opening Aria expected. She offered a few safe suggestions—floral arrangements, gold accents, avoid red napkins ("Catherine's superstition"). Vanessa nodded, fingers drumming the table. She seemed to be taking notes, but Aria recognized the tactic: establish common interest, then shift the subject.
True to form, Vanessa pivoted. "You know, I miss this," she said, voice lower. "Us, talking. Before the world got complicated."
Aria let a hint of tension show, a quick glance away. "Things change."
Vanessa's eyes softened, the act almost convincing. "They don't have to. I know we fell out of touch, but I always valued your friendship. I hope we can be close again."
A trap. Aria navigated it with care, letting silence fill the space before responding. "I appreciate that. But you know how life is—everyone has their own agenda."
Vanessa's smile never faltered. "True. But my only agenda is keeping the peace. And if you ever need a friend—someone who's not a Pierce by blood or marriage—I'm here."
Aria filed the line away. You want me to trust you. Why?
She steered the conversation to the gallery, letting Vanessa believe she cared about her approval. Vanessa complimented the new exhibit, asked about Aria's partnership with Marcus, fished for details about future plans. Aria shared only what she wanted—just enough to keep Vanessa interested but nothing that actually mattered.
Food arrived; they broke croissants, sipped coffee, talked about art and travel. But every word was a dance. Vanessa's laughter sparkled, but her eyes were always watching, always measuring. Aria matched her, move for move.
Halfway through, Vanessa leaned in, voice dropping. "Can I ask you something? Off the record?"
"Sure."
Vanessa hesitated, artfully vulnerable. "You and Ethan seem… different lately. Happier, maybe. Is everything really okay?"
Aria's pulse skipped. She forced a laugh, light, dismissive. "We're figuring things out. Every marriage has rough patches."
Vanessa nodded slowly, eyes narrowing as if searching for cracks. "I'm glad. Ethan deserves someone strong. Not everyone could handle what you do."
Aria let herself tilt her head, as if curious. "What do you mean?"
"Oh, you know. The scrutiny, the pressure. The Pierces aren't easy. I admire you, truly."
Compliment as poison. Aria smiled, sharp. "Thanks, Vanessa. I'm not easy either."
Vanessa laughed, genuine surprise flickering. "Touché."
A beat. Aria pressed her advantage. "And what about you? Anyone special these days?"
Vanessa's smile cooled. "I'm too busy for love. Besides, I have everything I need." Her eyes glinted—a hint of challenge, a warning. "Don't you?"
"I'm working on it," Aria replied, tone matching hers, the faintest suggestion of secrets.
Vanessa sat back, reading her like a riddle. "Well, if you ever need a girls' night, spa day, or just someone to vent to, text me. I meant what I said—friends look out for each other."
Aria filed the offer away, a tool for later. "I'll remember that."
They finished their coffee in companionable silence. The check arrived—Vanessa swept it up with a practiced hand. "My treat."
"Thank you. Next time's on me."
If there is a next time.
They left the café together, sunlight dazzling the street. Vanessa hugged her, airy and weightless, but Aria felt the tension in her muscles—a cat coiling before the pounce.
"Let's definitely do this again soon," Vanessa murmured, lips near Aria's ear. "No pressure, just us."
Aria squeezed her arm gently. "Absolutely."
They parted on the sidewalk, Vanessa striding toward a black town car, Aria pausing to watch her go. When the car door closed, the smile dropped from Aria's face.
She walked three blocks in silence, letting the city noise settle her nerves. At a crosswalk, her phone buzzed. A new message from an unknown number: "You played well. But she's better than you remember. Don't get comfortable."
Aria's chest tightened. She scanned the street, eyes darting for threats. The game was moving faster than she'd planned.
At the gallery, Benji greeted her with a bear hug and a bad pun. "Did the enemy try to lace your latte? Or just assassinate you with compliments?"
She managed a smile. "A little of both."
Benji's eyes crinkled. "Seriously, you okay?"
Aria nodded. "Just tired. Got a lot on my mind."
He hovered, then squeezed her shoulder. "You're tough, Ar. And if you need backup, you know where to find me."
She retreated to her office, closing the door with a shaky exhale. She slid into her chair, laptop open, spreadsheets filling the screen. But her mind replayed every line from coffee—every flicker of Vanessa's eyes, every hint of sympathy offered with a blade behind it.
She typed a quick encrypted message to Noah: Pull security footage from the café. Watch for anyone tailing me or Vanessa. Send anomaly report. And check my phone for new spyware—paranoia level: high.
Noah's reply was instant. Already on it, boss. Welcome to DEFCON 2.
She checked her grandmother's watch again. 1,091 days. The countdown never stopped.
A knock at the door pulled her from her spiral. Marcus, holding a folder. "You look like you've seen a ghost."
"Just Vanessa," Aria said.
He raised an eyebrow. "Same thing."
She couldn't help it—she laughed, tension breaking for a moment.
But when Marcus left and the room was quiet again, Aria turned her watch face down. She braced her hands on the desk, willing her heartbeat to steady. She'd survived coffee with the enemy. But Vanessa was smarter, hungrier, and more dangerous than in the first life.
Aria had to be better. Had to be faster.
She opened her private files, adding a new entry: "Vanessa—Phase 1: Psychological Warfare."
Let the next round begin.