It Gets Buried

ARIA

“Have we met before?”

The question hung in the air between us, heavy and dangerous.

For a split second, the sounds of the ballroom—the clinking glasses, the polite laughter, the string quartet—faded into a dull roar. The only thing I could hear was the blood rushing in my ears.

My heart slammed against my ribs. I looked into Mark’s eyes, searching for a sign that he actually saw me. That he saw Elara Vance, the woman he had pledged his life to. That he saw the ghost of the girl he murdered.

He knows.

The thought screamed in my mind, cold and sharp. The surgery wasn’t enough. He sees the eyes and the fear. He’s going to call security, and they’re going to drag me away.

I almost pulled my hand back. I almost took a step away. The urge to run was so strong it made my knees weak.

But then, I saw it.

I saw the way his eyes darted to the diamond necklace around my neck. I saw the way his thumb brushed against the expensive fabric of my dress.

He didn’t see a ghost. He saw a goldmine.

He was confused, yes—but mostly, he was greedy. He was trying to understand why a woman he didn’t know was willing to hand him twenty-five million dollars.

Breathe, I told myself. You are Aria. Aria doesn’t run.

I forced a laugh. It was a cool, low sound that rippled through the tension like cold water.

“I assure you, Mr. Miller,” I said, pulling my hand slowly, deliberately from his grip. “If we had met, you wouldn’t have to ask.”

I took a small step back, creating deliberate distance between us. I smoothed the silk of my red dress, acting bored—like a woman who had far better places to be than holding hands with a stranger.

“I have a common face,” I lied, meeting his gaze with ice-cold indifference. “Perhaps I remind you of a satisfied customer. Or maybe an old friend.” I tilted my head, challenging him. “Do I look like someone you know?”

Mark blinked. The fog cleared from his eyes. He studied my sharp cheekbones, my catlike eyes, my full red lips. Then he shook his head, a nervous chuckle escaping him.

“No,” he said, straightening his tuxedo jacket. The suspicion vanished, replaced by the reality of the checkbook standing in front of him. “No, you don’t. The woman I’m thinking of… she was much softer. You have a—sharpness about you.”

“Sharpness is required when you’re spending this kind of money,” I replied.

“Of course,” Mark said, his charm sliding back into place. “My apologies. You simply have a presence. It’s rare to see someone command a room like that. You caught me off guard. And twenty-five million dollars…” His smile widened. “That’s a number that commands attention.”

“I intend to command more than attention,” I said calmly. “I intend to command results. But I don’t do business in the middle of a dance floor.”

Mark’s eyes lit up. Greed washed away the last of his hesitation. He glanced around the ballroom, noting the prying eyes of the press and the jealous stares of other investors. He needed to lock me down before I changed my mind.

“You’re absolutely right,” he said, stepping closer, his voice dropping to an intimate whisper. “It’s too loud out here. Too many distractions. I have a VIP lounge just off the ballroom. It’s private. We can discuss the terms there. Special treatment for a special partner.”

He gestured toward a set of heavy velvet curtains guarded by two large security men.

“After you, Aria.”

I nodded.

I didn’t look at Zane, still standing on the stage, abandoned and fuming in her white dress. I didn’t look at the crowd. I walked toward the VIP section, feeling Mark’s eyes on my back.

He watched me like a predator watching a prize gazelle—completely unaware that he was the one walking into the trap.

The VIP lounge was a different world.

The moment the heavy doors closed behind us, the noise of the gala vanished, replaced by suffocating silence. The room was dimly lit, smelling of aged leather, cigar smoke, and expensive scotch. It was intimate.

Too intimate.

“Please, sit,” Mark said, gesturing to a dark leather sofa.

He moved to the mahogany bar in the corner. “Can I get you a drink? Champagne? Whiskey?”

“Sparkling water,” I said, sitting down. I crossed my legs, the slit in my red dress falling open just enough to catch the light. “I like to keep a clear head when I’m buying empires.”

Mark chuckled, low and appreciative. “I like a woman who knows what she wants.”

He poured himself a scotch—neat—and handed me a crystal glass of water with a slice of lemon. Then he sat beside me. Too close. His body angled toward mine, his knee inches from my leg.

It was calculated. The same move he’d used on Elara in a coffee shop five years ago. Back then, it made my heart flutter.

Now, it made my skin crawl.

“So,” Mark said, swirling his drink. “Twenty-five million. That’s a lot of faith to put in a man you just met.”

“It’s not faith, Mark,” I said, using his first name deliberately. “It’s calculation. I’ve been watching Vance Logistics. You have the infrastructure. You have the name. But you’re bleeding cash. You expanded too fast in Europe. You need liquidity, or the Asia deal collapses before it begins.”

His smile froze. The seduction cracked, replaced by shock.

“You’ve done your homework,” he murmured.

“I don’t gamble,” I said, leaning back. “I win. I’m offering you a lifeline—but my money comes with strings.”

His gaze flicked to my leg before snapping back to my eyes. Greed returned, sharpened by hunger.

“What kind of strings?”

“Control,” I said softly. “A seat on the board. Veto power over the Asia expansion. And I want to work closely with you. Personally.”

Mark smiled—a wolfish grin. He thought he had me.

“I think we can work something out,” he purred. “I’ve been looking for a partner who can keep up with me.”

He leaned forward, placing his hand on the sofa beside my thigh, testing boundaries.

“You know,” he whispered, “it’s funny you mentioned familiarity earlier. I feel it too. Like gravity. Some people are just… drawn to each other.”

My fingers twitched.

Bang.

The lounge door flew open, slamming against the wall.

Mark jumped, spilling a drop of scotch onto his tuxedo. His face twisted in irritation.

Zane marched in.

She looked like a storm cloud wrapped in a white dress—hair disheveled, chest heaving with rage. She’d been left on stage, humiliated in front of five hundred of New York’s elite, and she was done playing the gracious wife.

The door slammed shut behind her, echoing like a gunshot.

“Mark!” she shrieked. “Are you out of your mind?”

“Zane,” he said flatly, setting his glass down. “Not now. I’m in a meeting.”

“A meeting?” She laughed, brittle and hysterical. She stomped closer, heels sinking into the plush carpet, her glare burning into me. “You leave me standing on that stage like an idiot while you run off to cozy up to this woman?”

“This woman,” Mark snapped, standing, “is investing twenty-five million dollars into this company. Which is twenty-five million more than you’ve ever contributed.”

Zane flinched.

“I am your wife! I am the Chief Operating Officer!”

“I can do whatever I want,” he cut in coldly. “Go back out there. Smile for the cameras. Let the adults handle the business.”

Her face flushed an ugly red. She looked at him—then at me, sitting calmly, sipping my water like a queen watching a jester.

Something inside her broke.

She stepped closer, picked up Mark’s glass, and drained it in one gulp.

“You think you’ve won, don’t you?” she whispered.

“I think I’ve made a business deal,” I replied evenly.

“I don’t care about the terms,” Zane said, laughing softly. She leaned down until her face was inches from mine, alcohol heavy on her breath. “Do you know what happens when the shine wears off?”

I met her gaze, calm and focused. “Enlighten me.”

“It gets buried.”

She straightened, smoothed her white dress, and walked out without looking back.

The door clicked shut.

He buries them.

The words echoed in the silence.

A cold sweat slid down my spine. My hand rose to my throat as the confidence I’d worn like armor began to crack.

I crawled out of my grave once.

If Mark ever finds out who I really am—

this time, there wouldn't be a second resurrection.