Innocence As A Weapon

“It’s right heeere…”

Aria Vale drew out the words with exaggerated innocence, watching the three faces around the table tighten with anticipation.

“Where?!”

Rowan, Liana, and Celeste shouted in unison, practically tripping over themselves as they leaned forward.

Greed dripped from their expressions.

The Vales were barely clinging to the last threads of high society. Behind closed doors, they were drowning in debt. Their only saving grace was the inheritance Evelyn Hert left behind—and this fragile marriage alliance with the Crosses.

Too bad the groom-to-be was Damian Cross:

the forgotten son,

the unwanted heir,

the one no one respected.

Naturally, Rowan would never waste his precious Liana on someone like that.

So, they shoved Aria into the fire instead.

And Aria? She smiled like a fool.

She blinked her big, stupidly innocent eyes, clapped her hands, and suddenly broke into a childish song:

"In the land of little blue folks, where the mushrooms grooow—

Behind a wooden door, in a mushroom house they knooow—”

Rowan slammed his fist onto the table.

“Are you mocking me?! You want to die?!”

He grabbed a bowl and hurled it at her head.

Old Aria would have screamed, crawled under the table, shaking and sobbing.

This Aria didn’t move.

The bowl smashed into her forehead with a sickening crack. Blood streamed down instantly.

Rowan froze.

It made no sense—how could Evelyn Hert’s daughter be this stupid? This slow? This embarrassing?

What he conveniently forgot was that she wasn’t born this way.

He made her this way.

Years ago, he had locked her outside in freezing rain to force Evelyn to sign divorce papers. The fever that nearly killed her burned away her brilliance, leaving her broken.

Rowan never felt guilt. Only annoyance.

Aria, meanwhile, counted the seconds silently.

Three… two… one—

“Sir! The Cross family’s steward is here!” a maid called from the doorway.

Perfect.

Aria let her body go limp, collapsed to the floor, and burst into loud, ugly sobs.

“Ow! Daddy hit Aria! Daddy’s always mean! Aria hates Daddy!”

The steward’s face darkened instantly.

Sure, he’d heard rumors about the Vale family’s “idiot daughter.”

But Elder Lucian Cross had personally instructed him:

“Protect her. Treat her with respect.”

And now Rowan had struck her?

Unacceptable.

He strode forward, helped Aria up gently, and glared at Rowan with icy contempt.

“Miss Aria is the fiancée chosen by Elder Lucian Cross himself. Have you lost your mind? Call a doctor—now.”

“Y-yes! Immediately!”

Rowan paled, waving the maids forward in a panic.

The Crosses were the most powerful family in Meridian City. Crossing them was the same as digging your own grave.

Aria fell silent, letting them fuss uselessly.

She wasn’t ready to burn them down yet.

Not when they were about to walk straight into her next trap.

The steward lifted his chin.

“Elder Lucian Cross has ordered me to inform you:

The engagement banquet for Miss Aria and Young Master Damian will be held tonight at 7 p.m., at the Solaris Grand Hotel.”

Rowan’s eyes gleamed.

“Yes! We’ll be there!”

The steward nodded and turned to leave—pausing as his gaze lingered on Aria.

No makeup. Simple dress.

And yet… breathtaking.

Nothing like the “ugly fool” people claimed.

He would report this directly to Elder Lucian Cross.

After he left, Liana turned to Aria, eyes narrowed.

Something was off.

When did this idiot learn how to dress herself?

And why… did she suddenly look so beautiful?

Rowan dismissed Aria with a wave.

“Do whatever you want. Just get her ready.”

Liana and Celeste came over reluctantly.

They cleaned her up. Brushed her hair. Applied light makeup.

And when Aria finally stood before them—

They froze.

She was stunning.

Refined features. Bright eyes. Lips soft and red as petals. Her beauty was the kind that couldn’t be covered, no matter how much they tried.

Even standing beside Liana, fully dolled up, Aria outshone her like moonlight against a dying candle.

Jealousy clawed up Liana’s throat.

But she forced it down.

Let Aria go.

Once she married Damian—the terrifying, cold, unpredictable heir—she’d be swallowed whole.

Meanwhile—

Damian Cross stepped out of the estate, dressed in an impeccably tailored dark suit. Sunlight kissed his form, illuminating a figure of quiet, unshakable authority.

Like a king.

“Sir,” Nolan Drake approached, “Mr. Slate said that if you don’t wish to attend the engagement banquet tonight, you can rest at his place.”

Damian’s lips curved slightly.

“Why wouldn’t I go?”

He knew someone would make a move tonight.

And his little fool?

He had to be there.

To protect her.

Just as he always had.