The morning sun filtered through the sheer white curtains of the island villa, casting a warm glow over the massive round bed.
Aria blinked her eyes open. Her head felt heavy, and for a split second, she forgot where she was. Then, the smell of the ocean and the faint scent of cedarwood cologne brought the memories rushing back.
The private jet. The island. The confession on the terrace.
The kiss.
Aria sat up abruptly, clutching the silk sheets to her chest. She looked to her right.
The other side of the bed was empty. The pillow was indented, proving he had been there, but the sheets were cold.
"Oh god," Aria buried her face in her hands. "I kissed the client."
"The client?"
A deep, amused voice came from the balcony.
Aria peeked through her fingers. Julian was sitting at a small bistro table outside, wearing linen trousers and a crisp white shirt with the sleeves rolled up. He was drinking coffee and reading a newspaper—an actual paper one, likely flown in this morning.
He looked annoyingly fresh, while Aria felt like a bird's nest.
"Technically," Julian said, turning a page without looking up, "since we are married, I'm not a client. I'm management."
Aria groaned and flopped back onto the pillows. "Julian, about last night..."
"If you're going to apologize, don't," Julian interrupted. He folded the newspaper and walked into the room. "I don't regret it. And judging by the way you gripped my shirt, neither do you."
Aria's face turned the color of a tomato.
He sat on the edge of the bed, placing a hand on her ankle over the duvet. The touch was grounding.
"However," Julian continued, his tone shifting to business-casual. "We have a situation."
Aria sat up, alert. "Is it Grandmother? Did she send a submarine?"
"No," Julian smirked. "It's your favorite nephew. He's on the satellite phone. apparently, the news has reached Africa."
[The Living Room]
Aria wrapped herself in a robe and followed Julian to the living room. On the glass coffee table sat a rugged, military-grade satellite phone. It was the only way to communicate with the outside world from the remote mining camp in the Congo.
Julian pressed the 'Speaker' button.
Static. Crackle.
"Uncle! Uncle, are you there?! Can you hear me? The signal is terrible!"
Mark's voice sounded desperate, high-pitched, and very far away.
"I hear you, Mark," Julian said, leaning back on the sofa and crossing his legs. "How is the new post? I hear the Congo is beautiful this time of year."
"Beautiful?!" Mark practically screamed. "Uncle, it's hell! There is no air conditioning! The generator broke yesterday! And the mosquitoes... they are the size of sparrows! I have bites in places I didn't know existed!"
Aria covered her mouth to stifle a laugh.
"That sounds like a character-building experience," Julian said dryly. "Is that why you called? To complain about insects? I'm on vacation."
"No! Grandma called me!" Mark shouted over the static. "She said... she said Aria is pregnant! Is it true?"
Julian glanced at Aria. She raised an eyebrow.
"Yes," Julian said.
"It's a lie!" Mark yelled. "Uncle, she's tricking you! We were married for three years! She can't get pregnant! The doctors said she has a 'cold uterus'! She's a hen that can't lay eggs!"
Aria's smile vanished. The insult was old, but it still stung. Mark had used that line to justify his cheating a thousand times.
Julian's expression darkened. The playful morning atmosphere evaporated instantly.
"Mark," Julian said, his voice dropping to that dangerous, quiet tone. "You seem to have a lot of energy for someone living without air conditioning."
"Uncle, I'm just trying to protect the family bloodline!"
"Since you are so concerned with biology," Julian cut him off. "Let me educate you. Stress is a major factor in fertility. Perhaps Aria couldn't conceive before because she was married to a man who caused her nothing but stress."
Aria looked at Julian, surprised. He was defending her medical honor?
"And as for your situation," Julian continued, "I was going to send a maintenance team to fix your generator next week. But since you have enough energy to shout insults at your Aunt, I assume you don't need electricity."
"Wait! No! Uncle!" Mark panicked. "I didn't mean it! Please! My phone battery is dying! Don't—"
"Enjoy the mosquitoes, Nephew."
Click.
Julian ended the call.
The silence in the room was blissful.
"You didn't have to do that," Aria said softly. "The generator... isn't that a bit cruel?"
"He has a manual crank," Julian shrugged. "He can generate his own power. It's good exercise."
He stood up and walked over to her. "Don't let his words bother you. The doctors he hired were paid by his mother to give false diagnoses. You are perfectly healthy."
Aria looked up at him. "How do you know?"
"I had your medical records transferred to my private doctor the day we got married," Julian admitted. "I don't trust the Qin family doctors."
Aria felt a lump in her throat. He really had thought of everything.
Just then, a loud, low horn blasted from the ocean.
Booooooom.
Aria jumped. "What was that?"
They both turned to look out the panoramic window.
Approaching the private dock of Sapphire Island was a yacht. It wasn't a Qin family boat. It was sleek, black, and flew a flag with a golden crest Aria didn't recognize.
Julian frowned. He walked to the window, his eyes narrowing.
"Who is it?" Aria asked, stepping up beside him.
"Trouble," Julian muttered.
He turned to Aria. "Go to the bedroom. Stay there until I come for you."
"Why? Who is it?"
"It's not Grandmother," Julian said, buttoning his cuffs. "It's the other side of the business world. The side that doesn't follow the law."
The yacht docked. A gangway was lowered.
A man stepped off. He was dressed in a flamboyant white suit with a red flower in his lapel. He wore sunglasses, even though it was overcast. Behind him were six men who looked less like bodyguards and more like mercenaries.
"Who is he?" Aria whispered, ignoring Julian's order to hide.
"That," Julian sighed, "is Vincent Chen. The 'King of the Underground' in the Southern District. And... unfortunately, my ex-business partner."
"Ex?"
"We had a disagreement," Julian said vaguely. "I blew up one of his casinos."
Aria's jaw dropped. "You what?"
"It was a structurally unsound building," Julian defended himself. "I was doing the city a favor."
The doorbell of the villa rang.
"Stay here," Julian ordered again, his voice leaving no room for argument. "Vincent is crazy. He doesn't care about social rules."
Julian walked to the door.
Aria hesitated. She knew she should listen. But she also remembered the satellite call. She was done being the woman who waited in the dark.
She waited for Julian to go down the stairs, then she ran to the closet. She grabbed the sharpest object she could find—a heavy, metal decorative statue of a jaguar—and crept to the top of the stairs to listen.
[The Foyer]
Julian opened the massive oak door.
Vincent Chen stood there, grinning like a shark. He took off his sunglasses.
"Julian!" Vincent spread his arms wide. "My old friend! You disappear from the city, and I find you on this rock. Is this how you treat your guests?"
"You aren't a guest, Vincent," Julian said coldly, blocking the doorway. "You're a trespasser. This is a private island."
"Private, shmivate," Vincent laughed, pushing past Julian. He was shorter than Julian but radiated a frantic, dangerous energy. "I heard a rumor. I heard the Iron Monk finally got married. I had to see the poor woman."
Vincent walked into the living room, his muddy shoes staining the white marble.
"So, where is she?" Vincent looked around. "Is she hiding? Is she ugly? Did you marry her for a merger?"
"She is resting," Julian said, his hand twitching toward his pocket where he usually kept a weapon—but he was on vacation. He was unarmed. "Leave, Vincent. Before I throw you into the ocean."
"Tsk, tsk. So violent," Vincent clicked his tongue. He picked up an apple from the fruit bowl and took a bite. "I actually came with a proposal. You owe me for the casino, Julian. I want the Northern Shipping Route."
"No," Julian said.
"If you say no," Vincent's smile vanished. He pulled a small, silver pistol from his jacket. "Then I might have to take something else as payment. Maybe... your new wife?"
Julian's eyes went pitch black. "If you touch her, you won't leave this island alive."
"I'd like to see you try," Vincent cocked the gun.
"Hey!"
A voice rang out from the top of the stairs.
Vincent looked up. Julian looked up, horrified.
Aria stood there, wearing a silk robe, holding a five-pound bronze jaguar statue over her head like a weapon.
"Get out of my house!" Aria shouted.
Vincent stared at her. Then, he started to laugh.
"This is her?" Vincent wheezed. "A woman in a bathrobe with a cat statue? Julian, your taste has changed!"
"Aria, go back!" Julian yelled, stepping forward to shield her.
But Aria didn't go back. She saw the gun. She saw the threat to Julian.
"I said," Aria's eyes flashed, "GET OUT!"
She hurled the statue.
It wasn't a warning shot. She aimed.
The heavy bronze jaguar flew through the air. Vincent, laughing, didn't react in time.
THWACK.
The statue hit Vincent square in the chest.
"Oof!" Vincent gasped, the air knocked out of him. He stumbled back, dropping the gun and the apple. He fell onto the sofa, wheezing.
His bodyguards instantly drew their weapons.
"Don't move!" Julian roared at the bodyguards. "If you shoot, everyone dies!"
Julian kicked the gun away from Vincent and stepped on Vincent's chest, pinning him to the sofa.
"My wife asked you to leave," Julian said, looking down at the gasping crime lord. "I suggest you listen. Her aim is excellent."
Vincent groaned, clutching his bruised ribs. He looked up at Aria, who was now trembling slightly but standing tall.
A strange grin spread across Vincent's face.
"Feisty," Vincent wheezed. "I like her."
Julian pressed his foot down harder. "She's taken."