That night, Aria stood alone in the Blackthorne library.
A storm was brewing outside—lightning flashing against the glass, thunder distant but creeping closer.
She traced her finger over the spines of old leather-bound books, pausing on one in particular. She pulled it down.
"Strategic Takeovers & Hostile Mergers."
Inside, between pages 73 and 74, was a hidden compartment—Lucien didn't know about it.
But Elias had.
She pulled out the photograph tucked within.
Three men. Young, confident, dressed in arrogance: Elias Blackthorne, Lucien Blackthorne… and her father.
"Before everything burned," she murmured.
They had been friends. Once. Partners, even.
Until the Blackthornes turned on him.
Until he "fell."
Until he died.
"This marriage isn't just survival, Papa."
"It's vengeance."
The door creaked behind her.
She turned, hiding the photo just in time.
Lucien.
He didn't say a word. Just stared.
"Couldn't sleep?" she asked casually.
"You're not here to be my wife." His voice was low. Accusing. Curious. "So why are you really here?"
Aria smiled.
"You married me, remember? Maybe you should've done your research."
He stepped closer, gaze sharp.
"I did. There's nothing on you. Just silence. Gaps. Redacted files."
"Exactly." Her tone dropped to a whisper. "Doesn't that scare you?"
His jaw tensed. But before he could reply, lightning split the sky again—bright enough to reveal the briefest flicker of fear in his eyes.
Not of her.
Of the past.
And the ghosts tied to it.
Aria tilted her head. "Goodnight, Lucien."
Then she walked past him—graceful, confident, unbothered.
Leaving behind the scent of citrus and a man more unsettled than he'd admit.