Chapter 5: The Letter

Aria's POV 

****

For a moment, I forgot how to breathe normally. I stared at the words, read them twice then three times. Still, nothing changed.

“If you're reading this, she found you first.”

My hands trembled. Who was "she"? The woman from earlier? The one that was standing outside our gate? The one who knew my name? The one who told me to check the wedding dress? A chill ran down my spine.

Slowly, I opened the envelope. Inside it was a folded letter. Nothing else. No photograph. No signature. It was just a single sheet of paper.

My heart pounded as I unfolded it. The handwriting was neat and carefully written. Like every word had been chosen for a reason.

I started reading.

—

“Aria,

If you've found this, then things are moving faster than I expected. The woman who approached you is not your enemy. But she is also not someone you should trust completely.”

Great. Fantastic. Exactly what I needed. Another warning and another mystery. Another person I apparently couldn't trust. I rolled my eyes and continued.

“Before you ask, no, I can't explain everything in a letter. Not because I don't want to but because if this letter falls into the wrong hands, people could get hurt.”

I frowned. People? What people? Why was everybody acting like this marriage was some kind of state secret? My eyes moved lower. Then I froze.

“There is only one thing you need to know right now. Your father has lied to you.”

My heartbeat stopped. Completely. I read the sentence again and again and again. My father has lied to me? About what? The Marriage? The stranger? Everything?

A strange feeling settled inside my stomach because deep down… part of me already knew that. The letter continued.

“The truth didn't begin with you. It began years ago. Long before this contract existed. Long before me.”

My confusion doubled. What was that supposed to mean? I turned the page over. Nothing. That was it. The letter ended there. No explanation, no answers, nothing. I groaned, actually groaned. What's going on? Was everybody in my life allergic to giving direct answers?

I folded the paper and dropped onto the edge of my bed. My head began to hurt. The woman, the dress, the letter, the stranger, My father. Everything felt connected. I just couldn't just see how. Yet…

---

A loud knock downstairs interrupted my thoughts. I froze. Dad wasn't supposed to be home yet. Another knock. This time harder. My pulse quickened. Something felt off. I quickly shoved the letter back into the envelope and slipped it beneath my pillow. Then I headed downstairs. The knocking continued. Whoever was outside clearly wasn't patient.

I unlocked the door and immediately wished I hadn't. Because standing outside was the same man from the time my Dad asked me to sign.

The visitor. The man in the black suit. The one who had delivered the note. For a second, neither of us spoke.

Then he smiled. "Miss Cole."

I folded my arms.

"What now?"

His smile widened slightly. "You seem disappointed to see me."

"Shouldn't I be?" Fair question. He actually looked amused. Which annoyed me even more. The man glanced past me. Into the house.

"Is your father home?"

"No."

"Good." The answer came too quickly. Way too quickly.

I narrowed my eyes. "What do you want?"

For the first time, the smile disappeared. His expression became serious. And somehow that scared me the most.

"I need you to listen carefully." 

My stomach dropped. That sentence never led anywhere good.

"What happened?"

The visitor looked over his shoulder. Checking the street, the houses and everything.

Then he lowered his voice. "Has anyone approached you?"

Every alarm bell in my head started ringing. "What?"

"A woman."

My heart skipped. He noticed. Of course he noticed. I hated how observant he was.

"What woman?" Wrong answer. The visitor immediately knew that I was lying. I could see it.

His eyes hardened. "Miss Cole."

"I don't know what you're talking about."

The silence stretched. Then he sighed. The kind of sigh people make when they realize they're wasting their time.

"She found you."

That wasn't a question at all. It was a statement. My stomach twisted. How did he know? The visitor rubbed a hand across his face. For the first time since I'd met him, he actually looked worried.

"That's not good."

I swallowed hard. "What isn't?"

His eyes met mine and suddenly I wished they hadn't because whatever he saw in my face seemed to confirm something. Something he didn't like.

"She told you about the dress, didn't she?"

My blood ran cold. I took a step back and he noticed. 

His expression darkened. "Listen to me carefully."

"What is going on?"

"Did you find anything inside the dress?"

The question hit me like a slap. I said nothing. That was enough. The visitor closed his eyes. Just for a second. Then he muttered something under his breath. A curse. The first real emotion I'd seen from him. That somehow terrified me because calm people only panic when something is very, very wrong.

"Tell me what's happening." My voice came out sharper than intended.

The visitor opened his mouth. Then stopped. His gaze shifted behind me, towards the staircase. My heart sank. I already knew.

Dad. I turned and there he was. Standing halfway down the stairs. Frozen and his face, pale. His eyes locked on the visitor. The atmosphere changed instantly. It felt like a match had been dropped into gasoline.

Nobody spoke or moved. Then Dad said something that made every hair on my body stand up.

He looked directly at the visitor and whispered: "You shouldn't have come."

The visitor's jaw tightened. "And you shouldn't have lied to her."

There was silence. Heavy silence. The kind that made breathing very difficult. I looked between them. Then back again. It got to my notice that they already knew each other. Not casually or professionally. They knew themselves. 

And suddenly I realized something. The visitor wasn't just working for a stranger, but he also knew what had happened some years ago.

My pulse thundered in my ears. "What is going on?" Neither of them answered. Instead, they kept staring at each other. Like they were having an entire conversation without words.

Then the visitor spoke quietly and reluctantly. "He is coming."

Dad's face was drained of color. "What?"

"He is coming." The visitor looked toward the front gate. Then back at us. And for the first time since I'd met him, I saw fear in his eyes. Then he said the words that changed everything.

"Adrian is here.”