The declaration of war

“The Coles?” People whispered their name like a brand. A family full of men of caliber, power stitched into their bloodline. But only one son was placed above all—Damian. Pampered by his mother, sharpened by his father, he grew into a man who carried the world like it owed him.

Aria didn’t care for legacies. She only cared about shutting her eyes and forgetting the way Damian had looked at her in class yesterday, as if peeling away the layers she fought so hard to protect.

She rolled onto her back, staring at the ceiling. “Why am I even thinking about him?”

Her phone buzzed against the nightstand. She groaned, grabbing it without checking the screen.

“Stop by the hospital tomorrow morning. I don’t know your plans but you must.”

She sat up fast. “Damn it, Papi again.” She threw the phone down and pressed her palms to her face. “Does this man ever sleep?”

By morning, she dragged herself through her routine black jeans, white shirt, messy bun. A whisper at the mirror escaped her lips. “Let’s get this over with.”

Dr. Adrian’s office smelled of polished wood and leather, a place where secrets seemed to breathe. He looked up as she entered, his eyes softened by something close to guilt.

“You look tired,” he said.

“You keep dragging me here at sunrise. Of course I look tired.” She dropped into the chair opposite him. “What is it this time? Another lecture about stability?”

He folded his hands, choosing silence first. The pause made her restless.

“Dr. Adrian, talk. Please.”

Finally, he pushed a thick folder across the desk.

“What is this?” she asked.

“Your mother’s legacy. The transfer of her shares.”

Her heart tripped. She opened the folder, her breath catching on the bold letters. “Eighty percent?”

“Yes,” Adrian said softly.

Her throat went dry. “Eighty percent of this hospital? This cannot be real.”

“It is very real. And it belongs to you now. She arranged it years ago.”

Her fingers trembled against the papers. The name on the document glared back at her. Her mother’s signature. Only her mother’s. No father. Nothing to connect her to the family she had wondered about her entire life.

“Why now?” Aria whispered.

“Because it is time,” Adrian replied. His gaze lingered too long, as though words pressed at the back of his throat, desperate to be said but chained down by fear.

Aria’s lips parted to push further, but her phone buzzed violently in her pocket. Startled, she pulled it out.

“Hello?”

A laugh, low and mocking, slid through the line. “Oh baby girl. Don’t tell me you have forgotten the voice of your lover.”

Her stomach twisted. “Ethan?”

“The one and only. God, I have missed the way you sound when you are nervous. Admit it, you miss me.”

Her pulse spiked with rage. “You arrogant bastard. What made you think you could call me?”

“Because I can. Because I know you still—”

She hung up before he could finish, slamming the phone on the desk. Her hand shook.

Adrian’s voice was careful. “That was Ethan, wasn’t it?”

She forced a bitter smile. “You know me too well.”

He leaned back, studying her face. Before he could speak further, his own phone lit up and vibrated across the desk. He froze when he saw the name.

Aria noticed. “Why aren’t you answering?”

“It is only a client,” he said too smoothly. His hand hovered above the phone but did not touch it. He let it ring until silence returned.

Aria narrowed her eyes. “You are acting strange.”

“Clients can be demanding,” he replied. “Do not worry about it.”

She wanted to press, but the folder between them was heavy enough. She signed where he guided her, her mind reeling.

When she finally left the office, Adrian exhaled sharply and picked up the phone that had stopped ringing. His thumb hovered, then pressed call back.

The voice on the other side was sharp, cold, and commanding.

“Adrian.”

“Alexander,” Adrian said, his chest tight.

“You kept her hidden all these years. My daughter. Do you think I am blind?”

Adrian’s jaw clenched. “She was safer this way. You know the enemies you have made.”

“I do not care about enemies. She is mine. Aria carries my blood, and I will have what belongs to me.”

Adrian’s voice hardened. “If you drag her into your war, she will be destroyed.”

“Then teach her to survive,” Alexander Lanchester snapped. “Because sooner or later, she will stand where she belongs. And no one not even you will stop me from taking her back.”

The line went dead. Adrian buried his face in his hands. “God help me, Aria. If he finds you, the storm will begin.”

Unaware of the storm brewing, Aria wandered through the hospital corridors later that afternoon, the weight of the folder still in her bag. Her thoughts twisted with anger, confusion, and a strange ache she couldn’t name.

Then a sharp voice cracked through the lobby.

“Watch where you are going!”

She snapped her head up, hurrying to the railing of the second floor.

Below, Damian Cole stood in a tailored black suit, his presence filling the space. A cleaner had stumbled near him, spilling water from her bucket. The old woman bent, shaking, clutching her mop.

Damian shoved her shoulder. “You blind? Apologize and clean it. On your knees.”

Gasps rippled through the lobby. Nurses froze, unsure. The cleaner’s lips trembled as she bent lower.

Aria’s fury surged. She stormed down the stairs, her voice slicing through the silence.

“Are you insane?”

Damian’s head turned instantly. His eyes locked on hers, recognition sparking. A slow, dangerous smile curved his lips. “You again.”

Without thinking, Aria’s hand struck. The slap cracked across his cheek, sharp enough to echo through marble walls.

The lobby went still.

Aria glared at him, her chest heaving. “Never raise your hand to a woman. She is old enough to be your mother.”

She steadied the cleaner with a gentle touch. “Keep working. Do not let anyone treat you like you are less.”

Tears filled the woman’s eyes. “Thank you, miss.”

Before Damian could speak, before his shock could harden into rage, Aria turned and walked out, her back straight, her chin lifted.

Whispers trailed after her.

Inside, Damian touched his burning cheek. His friends stared, nurses hovered, but he brushed them away. His jaw was steel, but his eyes burned with something fiercer than humiliation.

No one had ever dared to slap Damian Cole. No one.

Yet her eyes haunted him. Furious. Fearless. Untamed.

Damian Cole had been challenged in public. And all he could think about was Aria Lancaster.

And that meant one thing.

This was war.