Mag-log inThe morning sun spilled through the tall windows of the latest bride's room, painting the silk curtains gold. The air smelled faintly of roses, sweet but cloying, a reminder of the wedding that had taken place the night before.
Aria stirred from the bed, her eyes fluttering open. For a moment, she lay still, listening. The house was quiet, too quiet, except for the faint sounds of servants moving through the halls.
She pushed the covers back and sat up, her fingers brushing against the smooth sheets. In her past life, she had woken this same way nervous, eager, desperate to please. She had imagined Damian walking through the door, perhaps with a kind word, perhaps with the faintest hint of affection.
That Aria had been a fool.
This time, she only stretched her arms calmly and stood, her movements unhurried.
There was a soft knock at the door.
“Mrs. Cross,” a maid’s voice called. “May we come in?”
Mrs. Cross.
The title rolled through Aria’s chest, strange and heavy. Last time, she had clung to it as if it would give her worth. Now, it was nothing but a mask.
“Enter,” Aria said lightly.
The door opened, and several maids stepped inside carrying trays of food and fresh clothes. They bowed politely, but Aria caught the flicker in their eyes the glance that said they didn’t take her seriously.
In her first life, she had ignored those looks. Too shy, too eager to win approval. She had smiled and thanked them softly, pretending not to notice their lack of respect.
Now, she smiled anyway but for a different reason.
You underestimate me. Good. Keep underestimating me.
The maids laid the breakfast tray on the table. Delicate dishes, fruits, tea steaming in porcelain cups. One maid helped arrange the silk robe across Aria’s shoulders, while another began to tidy the room.
Aria moved to the table and sat gracefully, her eyes scanning the food without much interest. She lifted the teacup and sipped slowly, her mind sharp and awake.
“Where is Mr. Cross?” she asked casually.
One of the maids straightened nervously. “The master left early, madam. He had business at the company.”
Aria hummed faintly, as if the answer didn’t matter. But inside, she noted it. In her first life, she had been hurt by his coldness, confused by his distance. Now, it was exactly what she wanted. Distance meant freedom.
She set the cup down. “Tell the kitchen staff the tea is too weak,” she said calmly. “Next time, brew it properly.”
The maid blinked, startled. In her last life, Aria would have stayed silent, swallowing whatever was given to her. But this time, her words carried quiet authority.
“Yes, madam,” the maid murmured quickly, bowing before retreating.
Aria’s lips curved slightly. Just a small act, but enough to remind them she wasn’t invisible.
The rest of the breakfast passed in silence. When she finished, she rose and moved to the vanity. The maids brushed her hair, their hands gentle but quick.
As they worked, Aria’s eyes lingered on her reflection. The young bride stared back, her face calm, her eyes bright but hard. She looked nothing like the broken woman who had died in blood and betrayal.
A knock came again at the door. Firmer this time.
One of the maids hurried to answer.
And there, standing in the doorway with a sweet smile and a box of gifts in her hands, was the first snake of Aria’s second life.
“Sister Aria!” Sophia Lin’s voice rang out warmly, like honey dripping with sugar. “I just couldn’t wait to see you. Congratulations on your wedding!”
Aria’s lips curved into the faintest smile. Her fingers tightened on the edge of the vanity, but her voice was smooth as silk.
“Ah,” she murmured. “Sophia.”
The game had begun.
Sophia glided into the room like she belonged there, her silk dress flowing behind her, her eyes bright with practiced warmth. She carried a lacquered box in both hands, painted with peonies and gold trim.
“My dearest friend,” Sophia said, her smile wide enough to hurt. “I brought a little gift for you. Just something to brighten your morning.”
The maids curtsied and stepped back, though Aria noticed the way their eyes sparkled with curiosity. Even the servants knew Sophia Lin’s name. The Lin family wasn’t as wealthy as the Crosses, but they were close enough in status to mingle in the same circles.
In her first life, Aria had felt nothing but gratitude. A lonely bride, ignored by her husband, desperate for companionship Sophia had seemed like an angel then.
But now, looking at her, Aria saw the truth: the tilt of her chin, the faint calculation in her eyes, the way her smile never touched her heart.
Aria didn’t move from her chair. She let Sophia step closer and place the box on the table.
“You came so early,” Aria said softly, her tone polite but cool. “Isn’t it tiring to rush over right after my wedding?”
Sophia blinked, caught off guard by the lack of enthusiasm. In her past life, Aria had clasped her hands and thanked her with bright eyes, overjoyed to be remembered.
“Oh, nonsense,” Sophia said quickly, regaining her composure. “How could I not visit my closest bestie after such an important day? Besides…” Her smile sharpened just slightly. “I thought you might feel a little lonely here. After all, Mr. Cross is always so busy.”
A test.
Aria’s lips curved faintly. “Lonely? Not at all. I enjoy the peace. The Cross estate is… much quieter than my parents’ house. No endless chatter. No one stepping on each other’s toes.”
Sophia’s smile faltered, just for a breath. Aria had spoken of the Carter house, but both of them knew she meant Vivienne the sister who always hogged the spotlight.
The maids exchanged glances, hiding small smirks.
Sophia laughed lightly, brushing it off. “Well, it’s good to see you so composed. I worried you might feel overwhelmed.”
Aria tilted her head, studying her. “You worry too much. I’m not as fragile as I used to be.”
The words hung in the air. Simple. Yet sharp enough to draw blood.
Sophia’s fingers tightened briefly on her skirt before she smoothed her expression. “Of course not. You’ve grown so much, Aria. I admire you.”
Admire? That word had been poison in her past life. It had always come before the bite.
Aria leaned back slightly in her chair, her smile poised. “And I admire you too, Sophia. Always so… thoughtful. Always knowing exactly where to show up, and exactly what to say.”
For the first time, Sophia’s eyes flickered with unease.
In her last life, Aria would have gushed about how kind Sophia was. This time, she gave nothing away. Only a wall of polite indifference that Sophia couldn’t climb.
“Why don’t you open the gift?” Sophia urged quickly, her voice a touch too bright.
Aria lifted the lid. Inside was a set of jade hairpins, carved into delicate blossoms. Beautiful, expensive and carefully chosen to look like something a cherished wife should wear.
In her past life, she had treasured them, wearing them proudly until Sophia herself whispered that Damian disliked them. That had sparked one of their first arguments.
This time, Aria only glanced at them briefly before closing the lid. “They’re lovely. Thank you.”
No excitement. No eagerness. Just a calm acknowledgment, like someone accepting a business card.
Sophia’s nails pressed into her palm. She had expected warmth, gratitude, dependence. Instead, she received cool distance.
But she wasn’t ready to give up.
“I’ll come visit often,” Sophia said sweetly. “After all, you’ll need someone to guide you through high society. The Crosses have such high standards, don’t they? I’d hate for you to make a mistake.”
The jab was subtle, but clear.
Aria smiled, her tone like silk over steel. “Then I suppose you’ll be very busy. After all, the Cross standards apply to everyone who enters this house.”
Sophia’s breath caught. The maids froze, then ducked their heads to hide their expressions.
It was a small victory, but a sweet one.
Aria sipped her tea, calm as if nothing had happened. “Do sit, Sophia. Don’t just stand there. You came to visit me, after all.”
For the first time since entering, Sophia looked unsettled. Her perfect smile was still on her lips, but her eyes had lost their easy glow.
Aria hid her satisfaction behind her teacup. Yes, Sophia. This won’t be the same game you played before.
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







