LOGINThree days later
The Cross penthouse was a quiet glass fortress at dawn. Soft grey light spilled across polished marble; the city below still yawned awake. Damian was already dressed for work, dark suit, silver cuff links, every line of him precise. He stood at the espresso machine, reading market updates on his tablet, the faint hum of the machine the only sound. Aria padded in wearing a loose silk robe the color of midnight. No makeup, hair in a lazy knot, she looked like she’d just stepped out of a dream and decided to own the morning. “Good morning, husband,” she said, voice warm enough to be almost mocking. Damian didn’t look up. “Morning.” One clipped syllable. The man could freeze steam. She strolled to the fridge and poured herself orange juice, moving with the easy confidence of someone who belonged. “You’re leaving early. Another emergency meeting to save the world?” “Business doesn’t wait.” He tapped his tablet, eyes fixed on the numbers. “Some of us work.” Aria took a slow sip, watching him over the rim of her glass. “Some of us do more than breathe spreadsheets.” A faint muscle ticked in his jaw. “Not everyone can spend the day drinking juice.” “Oh, I have plans,” she said lightly. “Maybe I’ll buy another company just for fun.” The housekeeper, mid-dusting near the dining table, tried and failed to hide a smile. Damian finally turned, gaze cool as steel. “You like attention.” “I like accuracy,” Aria countered. “People should know when they’re in the presence of someone interesting.” His eyes narrowed a fraction. “You enjoy pushing.” “And you enjoy pretending you can’t be pushed.” She set her glass down with a quiet clink. “We all have hobbies.” The silence stretched. The housekeeper’s feather duster froze in mid-air. Damian broke it first. “Keep your… hobbies quiet. I don’t need more headlines.” Aria tilted her head, the corner of her mouth curving. “Relax. If anyone embarrasses you, it won’t be me.” That earned a sharper look. “Meaning?” “Meaning,” she said sweetly, “I married a man who handles mergers worth billions. Surely a few dinner parties and curious reporters won’t break you.” Damian exhaled once, slow. “You’re impossible.” “And you’re late,” she replied, checking the clock. For a beat, something like amusement flickered across his face but it vanished as quickly as it came. He set the tablet down, collected his jacket, and strode toward the door. “Don’t wait up,” he said. “I never do,” Aria answered, her tone smooth as glass. The door closed behind him with a soft, decisive click. Aria let the quiet settle again, a faint smile tugging at her lips. Damian thought his coldness could rattle her; he hadn’t learned a thing. Am I serving Icy or spicy morning?, she thought, and finished the last sip of orange juice like a silent toast. The rooftop café smelled of roasted beans and warm pastry, a sharp contrast to the cool wind whipping over the city. Aria claimed a corner table with a clean view of the skyline. She liked high places they reminded her how easy it was to watch people scramble below. Sophia Lin arrived ten minutes late, all fake sunshine in a designer coat. “Aria!” she squealed, air-kissing both cheeks. “I was so worried you’d be lonely. Married life can feel…isolating.” Isolating, like the poison you served me last time, Aria thought, but her smile stayed soft. “How thoughtful, Soph. Sit. The cappuccinos here are divine.” Sophia slid into the seat, eyes glittering like polished glass. “You look amazing. Marriage clearly agrees with you.” Aria stirred her coffee lazily. “Stress is a good facial treatment. You should try it.” Sophia blinked, unsure whether it was a joke. “Oh, you’re wicked.” She giggled anyway. They traded small talk about fashion launches and charity dinners. Sophia sprinkled compliments like confetti, each one edged with quiet spite: “You always wear black so well most people would look like a widow.” “I can’t believe Damian lets you go out alone. He must trust you completely.” Aria matched her tone with surgical precision. “Thank you. Black hides sins beautifully.” “And of course he trusts me. I’m trustworthy. Aren’t you?” A tiny crack showed in Sophia’s smile before she smoothed it away. When the waitress left them with a fresh round of drinks, Sophia leaned in, lowering her voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “Between us…people are talking. They think Damian is…distant. I only want you to be happy.” Aria let out a soft laugh. “People always talk. I’d worry more about what they say about you.” Sophia’s eyes flickered. “About me? Please.” “Oh, you know.” Aria sipped her cappuccino, letting the pause draw tight. “The little investments. Quiet parties. Everyone loves a good rumor.” Sophia’s posture stiffened, a heartbeat too long before the grin returned. “Rumors are silly.” “Of course,” Aria agreed sweetly. “But they spread faster than espresso shots. Best to stay careful.” The wind caught Sophia’s scarf, tugging it sideways. She fussed with it, hiding the brief flush in her cheeks. Aria leaned back, perfectly calm. Hook set, she thought. Now let her tug the line herself. Sophia tried to shift the topic. “Anyway, there’s a small gathering tomorrow night. Very exclusive. I’ll text you the details you must come.” “How exclusive?” Aria asked, voice mild but eyes sharp. “Investors only,” Sophia said, a little too quickly. “But you’d fit right in. It’s just…private.” Aria smiled like a cat. “Private sounds delightful.” Sophia hesitated, then forced another laugh. “I knew you’d understand.” They finished their drinks, Sophia chattering about designer handbags while Aria stored every word like ammunition. When they finally stood, Sophia hugged her tightly. “You’re still my best friend,” she said. “Of course,” Aria murmured against her ear, voice silk and steel. “Best friends forever.” Sophia pulled back, searching her face for meaning, but Aria’s expression was pure warmth. As Sophia clicked away on her high heels, Aria watched her go, a quiet grin playing at her lips. In her first life, she’d trusted that grin. Now it was just a roadmap to Sophia’s downfall. Aria's phone beeped , it was a text from Damian "Meet me in my office in the next one hour". She smiled, picked up her bag and left . HEY BESTIE 💕 DON’T FORGET TO LIKE AND DROP A COMMENT! YOUR LOVE AND SUPPORT KEEP ME WRITING, IT SERIOUSLY MEANS THE WORLD TO ME 💖4:00 PM. The Penthouse.Aria returned to the penthouse as the afternoon sun began its slow descent, pouring molten gold through the glass walls and stretching shadows across marble floors.She changed in the car.The woman who had sat across from Lucas Walter spine straight, eyes sharp, voice cool enough to cut glass never crossed the threshold with her. That version stayed behind like a discarded blade.Mrs. Cross stepped out instead.Her hair was slightly undone, as if she had run her fingers through it too many times. A soft cashmere cardigan clung to her shoulders, muting her silhouette, rounding her edges. Her posture sagged just enough to sell exhaustion. Vulnerability, carefully measured.Damian’s voice carried from the study, clipped and commanding as he issued instructions to a legal team somewhere in London.Aria didn’t go to him.She went to the kitchen.She poured herself a glass of water. Her hand trembled not from fear, but from the residual hum of control. Of a game pla
2:00 PM. Walter Corp Headquarters.The city was still buzzing.Every digital billboard in New York screamed updates about the Cross–Carter Saga. Talking heads dissected Damian’s press conference frame by frame. Bloggers argued over whether Aria was a victim, a gold digger, or a criminal mastermind. Paparazzi swarmed Cross Empire like vultures circling something not quite dead yet.But Aria wasn’t there.She slipped out of the penthouse through a service exit, sunglasses oversized, scarf pulled low. Not hiding.Choosing.Walter Corp rose like a blade of glass against the skyline—quiet, controlled, untouched by scandal. This was Lucas’s kingdom. Smaller than Damian’s, but sharper. Meaner.The receptionist froze when she saw her.“Mrs… Mrs. Cross?”Aria didn’t slow. “Is he in?”“Yes—yes, ma’am.”She was already walking.Lucas Walter was standing by the window when she entered, hands in his pockets, city sprawled beneath him. He turned slowly, deliberately.He didn’t look surprised.He lo
11:00 AM. The Penthouse Master Bedroom.The curtains were drawn, casting the room in a soft, melancholic twilight. Aria sat propped up against the pillows of the massive bed, her knees drawn to her chest, her tablet resting on the duvet.She wasn’t reading the news anymore. She was looking at photos. Old photos of her and Sophia. Photos of them at brunch, at university, at fittings. Years of friendship, secrets, and laughter, all reduced to a calculated betrayal for no reason.The door clicked open.Aria didn’t look up as Damian walked in. He had shed his suit jacket and rolled up the sleeves of his white shirt, looking less like a CEO and more like a man who had just fought a physical brawl.He sat down on the edge of the bed, the mattress dipping under his weight.“How are you feeling?” he asked softly, his eyes scanning her face. “I hope you’re not overthinking the comments. Max has already scrubbed the worst of them.”Aria finally looked at him. Her eyes were red-rimmed, her expre
10:00 AM. Carter Group Headquarters.Vivienne sat in her office, her posture rigid, her eyes burning from lack of sleep. She was wearing her sharpest suit a charcoal blazer that usually made her feel invincible but today, it felt like a costume.On the desk in front of her lay her tablet.She refreshed the page. And again. And again.Simon had promised. “I’ll have the blogs scrubbed by morning. I’ll release a distraction story.”She scrolled down the homepage of The City Insider.The stories about the contract were still there. All of them. The comments were still rolling in by the thousands. The only thing that had changed was the tone, shifting from outrage to fascination—and that wasn’t because of Simon Levi.That was because of Damian Cross.Damian’s press conference was the headline. “I DID IT FOR POWER: CROSS TAKES RESPONSIBILITY.”Vivienne’s stomach churned. Simon hadn’t scrubbed anything. He hadn’t pulled strings. He hadn’t saved them. The "distraction story" about a banking m
9:15 AM. Selene’s Guest Room.Sophia paced the small, elegantly decorated guest room, her phone burning a hole in her hand. Through the thin walls, she could hear Selene in the living room, calmly making a call to her broker, already pivoting, already moving on to the next long-term strategy.“We wait,” Selene had said.Sophia stopped pacing and glared at her reflection in the mirror. Wait? Wait for what?Damian’s speech was playing on a loop in her head. The way he had stood there, so arrogant, so protective. He had turned Aria boring, chubby, desperate Aria into a tragic heroine. And the internet was eating it up. The comments on the blogs were shifting already.“He’s protecting her. That’s actually kinda hot.”“Maybe she didn’t want the money. Maybe she was just a pawn.”“Leave the poor girl alone.”Sophia grit her teeth. It wasn’t fair. They were supposed to be destroyed. Aria was supposed to be humiliated, not pitied.“He’s lying,” Sophia whispered to the empty room. “She wasn’t
6:00 AM. The Penthouse.The sun was just beginning to bleed over the horizon, painting the NY lagoon in shades of bruised purple and grey. Inside the penthouse, the air was cold, conditioned to a sterile chill.Damian Cross stood in front of the floor-to-ceiling mirror, adjusting his tie. He didn’t look tired, despite not having slept. He looked like a blade—sharpened, polished, and ready to draw blood.Max stood behind him, a tablet in hand, his face grim.“The statement is ready, boss,” Max said. “But are you sure about this angle? The board won’t like it. The public will call you a tyrant.”Damian turned, his expression unreadable. “I don’t care what they call me, Max. As long as they stop calling her a fraud.”He walked over to the kitchen island where a single cup of black coffee sat untouched.“If we deny the contract, they dig deeper,” Damian said, his voice devoid of emotion. “If we admit the Carters were desperate, they destroy Aria’s family. There is only one narrative that







