Chapter 3: Five Years Later

The baseline hum of chatter and clinking champagne flutes filled the atrium of the Grand Horizon Gallery.

Aria stood on the second-floor mezzanine, leaning lightly against the glass railing. Five years had smoothed away the hesitant girl who used to flinch at Julian’s quiet dismissals. She wore a fitted emerald-green dress, her dark hair falling in loose waves over one shoulder.

"Mommy, my shoes are too shiny," a quiet voice piped up from beside her.

Aria looked down at four-year-old Leo. He was wearing a dark navy blazer over a crisp white shirt, pulling lightly at his tiny bow tie. His dark hair was combed back neatly, framing a face with sharp features and striking gray-blue eyes.

"They're supposed to be shiny, sweetie," Aria said, kneeling to adjust his collar. "It's a special night."

"He just wants to go home and play with his tablet," four-year-old Maya chimed in, stepping out from behind Aria. Maya wore a white tulle dress, her dark curls bouncing as she crossed her arms. "I told him he looks like a prince, but he doesn't care."

"I care about my code, not being a prince," Leo muttered, crossing his tiny arms in a replica of his mother’s defensive posture.

Aria smiled, her heart warming as she tucked a stray lock of hair behind Maya’s ear. "We'll be here for just one hour, okay? Mommy needs to meet the gallery director, and then we'll go get chocolate ice cream."

"Double scoop?" Maya asked, holding up two tiny fingers.

"Double scoop," Aria agreed, kissing her forehead.

Below them, on the main floor, the city's elite had gathered to view the premiere exhibit of "Nyx," the enigmatic, internationally acclaimed artist whose works had taken the European art market by storm. Nobody in the city connected the celebrated artist Nyx to Aria Vance, the quiet wife who had supposedly drowned in the Blackwood River five years ago.

"Nyx!" a cheery voice called out.

Marcus walked up the mezzanine stairs, dressed in a sharp gray suit. Over the last five years, Marcus had remained her closest friend, managing her logistics and acting as her legal proxy in the city.

"Everything looks perfect downstairs," Marcus said, keeping his voice low as he glanced at the kids. "The press is going crazy. Three pieces sold before the doors even opened."

"Good," Aria said softly. "The foundation funding is secured then?"

"Completely," Marcus replied. "Although Sterling Group's people keep asking for a private meeting. Dominic Sterling wants in on the foundation."

"Dominic can send an invoice like everyone else," Aria said.

Marcus almost smiled. Then his face turned serious. "Aria... there's someone downstairs you need to know about."

Aria’s eyes narrowed slightly. "Who?"

"Julian."

A cold, familiar stillness settled over Aria’s chest, but her heart didn't race. She simply adjusted the silver bracelet on her wrist. "Is he alone?"

"He brought two security guards," Marcus said, glancing down over the railing. "Chloe isn't with him. They had a massive public fallout two years ago when his board ousted her from the gallery division. But Aria... he has bought every piece you've put up for private auction, through corporate proxies. Three years now. I think he recognized your hand and could never prove it.

"Let him buy," Aria said flatly. "His money pays for the children’s trust funds."

"Mommy, look!" Maya suddenly pointed toward the main entrance downstairs. "That tall man is staring at us!"

Aria’s gaze followed Maya’s small finger down to the floor.

Standing in the center of the gallery floor, surrounded by a crowd of polite socialites, was Julian Vance.

He looked older, leaner, and far harder than she remembered. His jawline was set in a permanent, ruthless line, his suit tailored to dark perfection. He ignored the people trying to talk to him, his eyes sweeping the gallery walls with an intense, restless focus.

Suddenly, as if feeling her gaze, Julian stopped mid-sentence. He slowly turned his head and looked directly up toward the second-floor mezzanine.

Their eyes locked.

For a second, the loud noise of the gallery floor seemed to completely vanish.

Julian froze. The champagne glass in his hand tilted slightly, the liquid nearly spilling over the rim. His face drained of color, his dark eyes widening in raw, unadulterated shock.

He didn't move. He didn't speak. He just stared up at her as if he had seen a ghost rising from a grave.

"Mommy?" Leo asked, sensing the sudden tension in his mother’s body. He stepped closer, gripping the fabric of Aria’s dress. "Are you okay?"

"I'm fine, sweetie," Aria said, keeping her voice completely calm. She didn't look away from Julian, and neither did she try to hide. She simply stood her ground, her expression cool, distant, and utterly indifferent.

Downstairs, Julian shoved his glass onto a passing waiter’s tray, pushing past three prominent city investors without a word of apology. He headed straight for the grand staircase, his long strides fast and aggressive.

"Marcus," Aria said smoothly, taking Leo's hand while holding Maya's. "Take the kids into the back VIP lounge and order their ice cream."

"Aria, are you sure?" Marcus asked, looking worriedly toward the stairs. "He looks like he’s about to lose his mind."

"Let him," Aria said quietly. "Take the children."

Marcus didn't argue. He picked up Maya, took Leo by the hand, and ushered them quickly through the private frosted-glass doors behind the mezzanine.

Just as the door clicked shut, the heavy sound of leather shoes echoed on the marble stairs.

Julian rounded the landing. His tie was slightly loosened, his dark hair messy near the forehead, his breathing fast and erratic. He stopped ten feet away from her, his chest heaving as if he had run a marathon.

"Aria..." he rasped out. The word tore from his throat, a quiet, fractured sound filled with five years of dark agony.

Aria didn't flinch. She folded her arms loosely in front of her, looking at him as if he were nothing more than a stranger asking for directions.

"I think you have the wrong person," she said smoothly, her tone polite, formal, and ice-cold. "I am Nyx."

Julian took three fast steps toward her, his hand reaching out instinctively, but he stopped himself just short of touching her shoulder. His fingers trembled in the air.

"Don't do this," Julian whispered, his eyes searching her face wildly, taking in every single detail; her eyes, her lips, the subtle curve of her jaw. "Don't play games with me, Aria. I searched that river for six months. I spent years looking for... I thought you were dead."

Aria let out a small, quiet laugh, a sharp, melodious sound devoid of any warmth.

"Mr. Vance, isn't it?" she asked, resting one hand on her hip. "I've read about you in the financial journals. But I assure you, my name is Nyx. I was born in London, and I am here strictly to present my art collection."

"Stop it!" Julian snapped, his voice cracking with sudden, explosive emotion. "Do you have any idea what the last five years have been like? Do you have any idea what you did to me?"

"What I did to you?" Aria tilted her head, her gaze locking onto his with sharp, lethal clarity. "I don't know you, Mr. Vance. And if you continue to harass me at my own exhibition, I will have gallery security escort you to the street."

Julian stared at her, stunned into silence by the complete lack of emotion in her voice. The quiet, timid woman who used to wait up for him until 2:00 AM, who used to look at him with soft, hopeful eyes, was completely gone. In her place stood a woman who looked down at him as if he were nothing more than dust on her shoes.

He took a slow, painful breath, trying to regain his composure, though his hands were still shaking. "The children," he said suddenly, his voice dropping to a low, dangerous whisper.

Aria’s eyes flashed with a microscopic shift, but she kept her posture rigid. "Excuse me?"

"The boy," Julian said, his jaw clenching as he stepped closer. "I saw him standing beside you before I came up those stairs."

Julian turned slightly, pointing a trembling finger toward the frosted glass doors behind her.

"He has my dark hair, Aria," Julian said, his voice rising, raw with a mix of shock, hope, and terrifying realization. "He has my jawline. He has my exact eyes."

Julian took another step, his shadow towering over her, his eyes locking onto hers with a possessive, desperate grip.

"How old is that boy, Aria?" Julian demanded, his voice trembling violently. "Answer me! Whose son is he?"

Before Aria could speak, the private frosted-glass door behind her clicked open.

Leo stepped out into the hallway, holding a small silver digital tablet in his hands. He looked at Julian, his dark eyebrows pulling together in a sharp, defensive scowl that perfectly mirrored Julian's own signature glare.

"Mommy," Leo said, his four-year-old voice clear and firm as he stepped directly between Julian and Aria. "This man is standing too close to you. Do you want me to call security on my tablet?"

Julian stared down at the small boy standing in front of him.

The boy looked up at the billionaire CEO with cold, intelligent, gray-blue eyes, the exact same eyes that looked back at Julian in the mirror every morning.

Julian felt the air leave his lungs entirely. The room spun.

He wasn't looking at a stranger's child.

He was looking at his own face.