CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

The package arrived at Natalie's apartment at precisely six-thirty in the evening, delivered by a courier who disappeared into the Milan streets before she could ask any questions. No return address, no identifying marks—just her name written in elegant script across cream-colored paper.

Inside the unmarked envelope, she found a collection of architectural blueprints, yellowed with age and folded with the careful precision of someone who understood their value. Her hands trembled as she unfolded the first sheet, recognizing immediately the delicate lines and precise measurements that could only belong to one person.

Alina's handwriting filled the margins—notes about load-bearing walls, sketches of decorative elements, calculations for natural light optimization. The residential complex she'd designed for the outskirts of Milan, a project that had been her passion before everything fell apart.

Before Rafael.

Natalie sank into her living room chair, the blueprints spread across her coffee table like ghosts demanding acknowledgment. She traced the lines with her finger, remembering how she'd spent countless hours perfecting every detail, dreaming of creating something beautiful and functional for families who needed affordable housing.

The memory hit her like a physical blow—Rafael's arms around her as she worked late into the night, his chin resting on her shoulder as he studied her drawings. His voice, warm and curious: "Tell me about this one. What makes it special?"

She'd explained her vision then, how each unit would have access to natural light, how the central courtyard would foster community, how the playground would be visible from every kitchen window so parents could watch their children play while preparing meals. He'd listened with the intensity he brought to everything, asking questions that showed he understood not just the technical aspects but the heart of what she was trying to create.

"You see beauty in everything," he'd whispered against her hair. "Even in concrete and steel."

"Especially in concrete and steel,"* she'd corrected, leaning back into his warmth. "That's where the real magic happens—taking something cold and making it alive."

The memory was so vivid that for a moment, she could almost feel his hands stroking her hair, the way he used to do when she was lost in her work. He'd never interrupted her creative process, never demanded attention when she was deep in concentration. Instead, he'd simply been present, a steady warmth at her back that made her feel safe and supported.

Natalie's vision blurred as tears she hadn't expected gathered in her eyes. She blinked them away angrily, but they kept coming, falling onto the blueprints like rain on forgotten dreams.

This was Lorenzo's work, she realized. He was the only one who would have access to Alina's personal projects, the only one who would know how to find the original drawings that had been stored in her old apartment. But why send them now? What purpose did they serve except to remind her of what she'd lost?

She stood abruptly, pacing to her window overlooking the city. Milan sparkled below her, a constellation of lights and possibilities that had once seemed full of promise. Now it felt like a battlefield where every street corner held the potential for ambush.

Her phone buzzed. A text from Lorenzo: *Hope you received the delivery. Sometimes we need to remember why we're fighting.*

She stared at the message, her jaw clenching. Easy for him to say—he hadn't been the one drowning in that bathtub, hadn't been the one who'd felt her lungs fill with water while the man she loved remained oblivious to her danger. Lorenzo dealt in strategy and long-term planning, but he'd never had to feel the weight of betrayal settling into his bones like poison.

Another memory surfaced, unbidden: Rafael's fingers threading through her hair as she worked, his voice soft and content. *"Have I told you today how proud I am of you?"*

*"Only three times,"* she'd replied, not looking up from her drawings. *"I think you're slipping."*

His laugh had been rich and genuine, the kind of sound that made her heart skip beats. *"Can't have that. How about I make us dinner instead? Show you how proud I am through food?"*

She'd finally looked up then, meeting his eyes in the reflection of her drafting table's glass surface. The love she'd seen there had been so overwhelming, so complete, that it had taken her breath away. In that moment, she'd believed with absolute certainty that they would have forever.

Natalie pressed her forehead against the cool glass of her window, her reflection staring back at her like an accusation. The woman looking back wasn't Alina—would never be Alina again. The soft curves had been replaced by sharp angles, the trusting eyes now held calculation and wariness. Even her hair fell differently, straighter and more controlled than Alina's natural waves.

But the memories remained, trapped in a body that no longer belonged to the woman who'd created them.

* * *

Three miles across the city, Rafael stood in his office long after his staff had gone home, staring at the financial reports Natalie had brought him that afternoon. The numbers swam before his eyes, but his mind wasn't on potential embezzlement or Isabella's possible incompetence.

He was thinking about the way Natalie had presented the information—calm, professional, but with an underlying intensity that reminded him of someone he couldn't quite place. There had been something in her posture as she'd leaned over his desk, something familiar in the way she'd traced the numbers with her finger.

Alina used to do that, he remembered suddenly. When she was explaining her architectural drawings, she'd trace the lines with her finger, her whole body focused on communicating her vision. It was a gesture so specific, so uniquely hers, that he'd never seen anyone else do it quite the same way.

Until today.

Rafael walked to his window, looking out at the city lights that twinkled like stars in the darkness. Somewhere out there, Natalie was probably reviewing project files or planning her next strategic move. The thought of her dedication impressed him—she worked with the kind of passion that was rare in his world, where most people were motivated by money or fear rather than genuine commitment.

But it was more than her work ethic that drew him. There was something about her presence that made his office feel different, more alive somehow. When she was there, the space seemed to hum with energy, as if the very air molecules were rearranging themselves around her.

He'd noticed other things too. The way she unconsciously touched her left earlobe when she was thinking, exactly the way Alina used to do. The way she tilted her head slightly when she was listening intently. The way she smiled—not the practiced, professional smile she wore in meetings, but the real one that slipped out when she was genuinely amused.

It was impossible, of course. Alina was dead, had been dead for two years. He'd held her lifeless body in his arms, had felt the terrible stillness of her heart beneath his hands. He'd watched them lower her coffin into the ground, had stood in the rain listening to hollow words about eternal rest and peace.

But sometimes, when Natalie laughed or turned her head just so, he could swear he heard echoes of the woman he'd lost.

Rafael pulled out his phone, scrolling through his contacts until he found Matteo's number. His finger hovered over the call button for a long moment before he put the phone away without dialing. Whatever suspicions he had about Natalie, he wasn't ready to voice them yet. Not until he could make sense of the impossible thoughts that were beginning to take shape in his mind.

Instead, he found himself walking to his desk drawer, the one he kept locked even from his most trusted associates. Inside, wrapped in black silk, lay Alina's engagement ring—the one he'd given her three days before she died, the one that had been found beside her body like a final, cruel mockery.

He'd never been able to bring himself to wear it or put it away permanently. Instead, it lived in this drawer, a constant reminder of his greatest failure and his deepest regret. Sometimes, on the darkest nights, he would take it out and hold it, remembering the way her face had lit up when he'd slipped it onto her finger.

*"It's perfect,"* she'd whispered, tears streaming down her cheeks. *"Rafael, it's the most beautiful thing I've ever seen."*

*"Not nearly as beautiful as you,"* he'd replied, meaning every word. *"Nothing could be."*

The ring caught the light from his desk lamp, throwing tiny rainbows across the dark wood. He closed his eyes, letting the memories wash over him—Alina's laughter, her fierce intelligence, the way she'd challenged him to be better than he was. She'd seen something in him that no one else had ever seen, had believed in a version of himself that he'd thought was lost forever.

And then she'd betrayed him.

The official investigation had been conclusive: Alina had been feeding information to Antonio Greco, his biggest rival, for months before her death. The evidence had been overwhelming—financial records showing payments to her personal account, copies of sensitive documents found in her apartment, testimony from witnesses who'd seen her meeting with Greco's associates.

But even with all the evidence, Rafael had never been able to reconcile the woman he'd loved with the traitor the investigation had revealed. The Alina he'd known had been incapable of such deception, had worn her emotions so openly that he'd always known exactly what she was thinking.

Unless, of course, he'd never really known her at all.

The thought sent a familiar spike of pain through his chest. He'd spent two years trying to understand how he could have been so wrong about someone, how the woman he'd trusted with his heart could have been systematically destroying his life. The betrayal hurt almost as much as the loss, a double wound that refused to heal.

Rafael wrapped the ring back in its silk shroud and locked the drawer. Whatever was happening with Natalie, whatever strange echoes she triggered in his memory, he wouldn't make the same mistake twice. He'd learned the hard way that trust was a luxury he couldn't afford, especially when it came to women who seemed too good to be true.

But as he gathered his things to leave the office, he couldn't shake the image of Natalie's finger tracing those financial reports, or the way her eyes had lit up when she'd explained her concerns about the discrepancies. There had been something so earnest in her expression, so genuinely invested in protecting his interests.

Just like Alina used to be, before everything went wrong.

* * *

Back in her apartment, Natalie had cleared away the blueprints and poured herself a glass of wine, trying to shake off the melancholy that had settled over her like a shroud. The memories were becoming more frequent, more vivid, as if her proximity to Rafael was somehow strengthening the connection between her past and present lives.

She needed to be more careful. The emotional reactions were dangerous, threatened to expose her in ways that could unravel everything she'd worked for. Lorenzo's package had been a reminder, yes, but also a warning: she was losing herself in the role, letting Alina's feelings bleed through Natalie's carefully constructed facade.

Her phone rang, interrupting her brooding. Rafael's name appeared on the screen, and her heart immediately began racing. She forced herself to wait three rings before answering, not wanting to seem too eager.

"Hello?"

"Natalie, I hope I'm not disturbing you." His voice was formal, professional, but she could hear something underneath—a tension that hadn't been there in their previous conversations.

"Not at all. I was just reviewing some project files. What can I do for you?"

"I wanted to discuss the audit findings you brought to my attention today. I've had a chance to review the documents more thoroughly, and I think we need to address the situation quickly."

She set down her wine glass, focusing on his words. "What would you like me to do?"

"I'm implementing a comprehensive review of all financial processes, effective immediately. I'd like you to lead the team responsible for the audit. It's a significant responsibility, but I believe you're the right person for the job."

The promotion was exactly what she'd hoped for—more access, more influence, more opportunities to position herself within his organization. But she also heard the unspoken message: he was testing her, seeing how she would handle the pressure and whether she would use the position to advance her own interests.

"I'm honored by your confidence in me," she said carefully. "When would you like to begin?"

"Tomorrow morning. I'll have Matteo brief you on the specific parameters, but I want you to know that you'll have full authority to investigate any irregularities you find. No matter who's involved."

The warning was clear: this audit would necessarily target Isabella's team, and possibly Isabella herself. Rafael was giving her the tools to destroy her rival, but he was also watching to see how she would use them.

"I understand," she said. "You can count on me to be thorough and fair."

"I know I can." His voice softened slightly. "Natalie? Thank you for bringing this to my attention. It shows the kind of integrity I value in my organization."

After he hung up, Natalie sat in her darkened living room, staring at the phone in her hand. The conversation had been professional, straightforward, but she'd heard something else in his voice—a note of uncertainty that suggested he was struggling with his own doubts.

Good. Doubt was useful. It meant he was questioning everything, including his relationship with Isabella. But it also meant he was questioning her, watching for signs of deception or ulterior motives.

She'd have to be very careful in the days ahead. The audit would give her unprecedented access to the organization's financial records, but it would also put her directly in Rafael's line of sight. Every move she made would be scrutinized, every decision analyzed for hidden meanings.

As she prepared for bed, Natalie caught sight of herself in the bathroom mirror. For just a moment, in the soft light, she could almost see Alina looking back at her—the woman who'd once believed in love and happy endings, who'd trusted Rafael with her heart and her future.

That woman was gone, had died in a bathtub two years ago. But sometimes, in quiet moments like this, Natalie wondered if some part of her still existed, buried beneath the layers of anger and calculation that had become her armor.

She touched the phoenix tattoo on her wrist, tracing the delicate lines with her finger. The bird was rising from ashes, reborn and transformed, but it carried within it the essence of what it had been before the fire.

Perhaps that was her truth—not Alina reborn, but something new created from Alina's ashes. A creature of vengeance and purpose, but one that still remembered what it felt like to love completely and trust absolutely.

The question was whether that memory would be her strength or her weakness in the battles to come.