The scent of white lilies and incense filled the air, thick and suffocating like the lies that surrounded the room. People whispered. Faces she once called “family” wore painted grief. It was her funeral.

But Aria Alvene was still alive.

Not in the way they thought. Not in the way they hoped.

She stood at the back of the crowd, invisible, her soul disjointed from the world around her. Her body, pale and stiff, lay in an open casket, adorned with her favorite blue dress—something she remembered her fiancé, Damien, had picked out with a smile.

The same Damien now standing beside her casket, holding her younger sister Lily’s hand, stroking her hair as she sobbed theatrically.

Aria stared, unmoving. Her mind screamed, but her lips could form no sound. Her family. Her fiancé. Her sister.

All of them… murderers in elegant suits.

They had orchestrated it perfectly—poisoned tea served with soft smiles, signed papers forged in her name, assets transferred, and blame twisted until even the public believed she had gone mad. A “suicide” brought on by “mental instability.”

She tried to reach out, to claw at her sister’s lying face—but her hand passed right through her.

This wasn’t a dream.

It was her end.

And yet…

The world grew dark, voices faded, and the scent of lilies burned away into something metallic and hot.

⸻

She woke up choking on air.

Her lungs seized. Her throat ached. Her fingers clutched at her chest.

Was she alive?

Aria’s eyes flew open. She sat bolt upright, gasping.

This wasn’t the hospital bed from her final days. This was…

Her room.

Her old room. Pale lavender walls. Shelves stacked with untouched books. A desk with her unfinished painting. A phone—her old phone—buzzed softly with a familiar ringtone.

June 12, 20XX.

Her breath caught. This… this was five years before she died.

Tears pricked her eyes, not from fear—but fury.

She had been reborn.

⸻

Hours passed before she could fully process it. Her room was just as it was before the storm began. The engagement hadn’t happened yet. She hadn’t signed over her shares. Damien hadn’t begun the slow poisoning. Her parents hadn’t yet disowned her. Lily still pretended to be sweet.

She had time.

She had a second chance.

And this time, she wouldn’t beg for love.

⸻

Later that day, her mother’s voice called from downstairs.

“Aria, Damien’s here!”

Her blood froze.

It was too soon.

But she smoothed her dress, tied her hair, and descended the staircase with measured grace.

There he was—Damien Vellmont. Rich. Refined. Charming. Dressed in a tailored gray suit with a silver watch on his wrist. His smile was gentle, hand extended.

“Aria,” he said softly, “you look beautiful.”

So did the snake before it bit.

She smiled sweetly. “So do you, Damien.”

She allowed him to hug her, even let his hand linger against her lower back.

She’d memorized his scent in the past—cedar and deception.

Now she only saw the bloodstained hands that held the glass of wine she last drank.

“Come, we’re going out for dinner,” he said. “Your parents and Lily are joining us.”

Of course they were.

She followed, heart pounding, but this time she wasn’t afraid. She had already died once.

⸻

At the restaurant, Lily arrived late, fluttering her lashes at Damien. Aria remembered the game they played—Lily, the innocent baby sister always in distress, and Damien, the protective knight. The two who would share a bed behind her back while plotting her death.

Her mother whispered, “Wear something more flattering next time, dear. You’re looking tired lately.”

Her father nodded. “You should focus less on painting and more on Damien. He’s your future.”

Lies were so effortless for them.

So she played along. For now.

“I’ll try harder,” she said softly.

Lily smirked into her glass.

Damien kissed her knuckles.

Her mother beamed.

And Aria’s heart went quiet.

⸻

That night, alone in her room, Aria stared into the mirror.

“You’ll regret ever hurting me,” she whispered.

⸻

Three days later, she visited her grandfather’s old law firm—the only man who had loved her unconditionally and died mysteriously just before her assets were handed over.

To her surprise, the receptionist looked startled.

“You… Miss Alvene? We thought you wouldn’t be returning so soon after your grandfather’s passing.”

“I have a right to his will.”

The woman hesitated. “Your father said you were mentally unwell, and you… weren’t capable of managing assets…”

Aria smiled. Cold. Sharp. “Then let’s test my capability. Bring the documents.”

⸻

She left with copies, passwords, and a fire burning in her chest.

Her grandfather had left her everything—his shares, his estate, his private accounts. And yet, her father had hidden the will and declared her “unfit.”

Not this time.

⸻

The next step was protection.

Real protection.

The kind that didn’t come in police uniforms or with family names.

She contacted a private security agency her grandfather once mentioned. Elite. Discreet. Expensive.

And within a day, they sent him.

⸻

Lucien Virello.

He was nothing like Damien.

Towering, dressed in black, eyes colder than the Arctic, with a voice deep enough to silence chaos.

“You requested protection?” he asked.

Aria stared. The air around him was suffocating. Dangerous.

“Yes,” she said calmly. “I want someone who doesn’t ask questions. Who does as told. Who isn’t afraid of… blood.”

Lucien’s eyes flickered, amused.

“You’re looking for a bodyguard,” he said. “Not a killer.”

“Sometimes,” Aria said, voice steady, “a bodyguard has to be both.”

⸻

He studied her then—this fragile-looking girl with eyes far older than her years.

“…Fine. I’ll accept the job.”

She didn’t know it then—but she had just hired THE MAFIA KING.

A week had passed since Aria Alvene woke from her grave.

In that time, she had smiled more than she ever had in her first life.

Not because she was happy.

But because she finally understood the weight behind a smile—the way it could be a weapon, sharper than any blade. She learned it from Damien, from her parents, from her sister. And now, she wore it too.

Aria sat by the window of her father’s estate, sipping tea while sunlight streamed through lace curtains. Everything was identical to how it was before: the perfect portrait of wealth and civility.

But beneath the elegance was a rot she could taste in every breath.

Damien would arrive in minutes. He always did on Saturdays. Her family treated him like royalty, and she—like a prize to be gifted away.

But this time, the prize had teeth.

Aria set her cup down and opened her phone. A text from her investigator popped up.

“Damien met with Lily again yesterday. Hotel Marquez. I’ve attached photos.”

She didn’t need to look. She already knew what they did. She just wanted proof—evidence for later. Receipts. She would collect everything patiently.

She was no longer hunting for justice.

She was planting graves.

⸻

A knock came on the door. Her heart stilled.

“Aria,” her mother’s voice called sweetly. “Damien is here. And he brought flowers!”

Of course he did.

Aria opened the door slowly and walked down the stairs like she had a hundred times before. Only this time, she noticed everything—the polished banisters, the chandelier her father once sold her paintings to buy, the rug she’d later be dragged across when they thought she’d gone insane.

She stepped into the sitting room. There he was.

Damien.

Black slacks. Navy button-up shirt. Sleeves rolled up just enough to show his Rolex. A bouquet of white tulips—her favorite, which he only knew because she mentioned it once, years ago.

“Aria,” he said, approaching her with open arms. “I missed you.”

She let him hug her. Let his lips brush her cheek.

He smelled like betrayal and lavender.

“I missed you too,” she said, voice steady.

He smiled. “I thought we could take a walk today. Get away from all this for a bit.”

“I’d like that,” she replied, brushing her hair back.

They walked through the garden, winding around the roses her mother insisted on pruning herself. Damien laced his fingers through hers.

“I know things have been tense lately,” he began. “With your grandfather’s passing and everything. But I want you to know I’m here for you.”

He said it so sincerely. She almost laughed.

“You’re always so kind, Damien.”

He looked at her then, eyes soft, lips curved. “I love you, Aria. I want to build a future with you.”

A future soaked in poison.

She tilted her head. “Then marry me,” she said, eyes locked on his.

He blinked. “What?”

“If you love me so much, then let’s get engaged. Today.”

For a split second, the mask slipped. His smile faltered. Barely. But she saw it.

“You’re serious?”

“Dead serious.”

He hesitated. “I mean—of course I want to. But don’t you think we should wait until the family settles a bit? Your father said—”

“There’s always something, isn’t there?” she said sweetly. “You’ll propose… someday.”

He chuckled awkwardly. “You’re right. I’m just trying to make it perfect.”

You’re waiting until my will is fully transferred, you coward.

She smiled and looked away. “Of course. I understand.”

Damien exhaled, relieved. He pulled her into another hug.

She didn’t move. Didn’t even blink.

Instead, she whispered, “Do you still love her?”

His body stiffened.

“Who?” he asked, voice too casual.

“Lily.”

He pulled back, laughing nervously. “What are you talking about?”

“I saw you holding her hand last week. When you thought I wasn’t looking.”

He blinked again. “I… she was crying. I was comforting her. Your grandfather just died—”

“I saw you touch her lower back the way you touch mine.”

Silence.

He stared at her, lips slightly parted.

She tilted her head. “Is there something you want to tell me, Damien?”

He hesitated. Then laughed again, softer this time. “You’re overthinking things. Lily is like a little sister to me.”

Aria smiled. “I believe you.”

She didn’t.

He looked relieved again.

Fool.

⸻

That night, Lucien Virello watched from the second floor of the estate, standing by Aria’s window like a shadow carved from marble. He had been her bodyguard for three days.

He hadn’t spoken much.

But he watched everything.

He watched her smile through lies.

He watched the way her hands trembled after each conversation with her parents.

He watched how she slipped into silence when no one was around.

She reminded him of something he thought he had forgotten—what it looked like when a person broke and stitched themselves back together with vengeance.

⸻

“Do you always watch your clients like that?” she asked him that evening, stepping into her room.

Lucien turned. “Only the ones who have targets painted on their backs.”

“Do I?”

He stared at her.

“Yes,” he said.

Aria folded her arms. “I thought you were just a bodyguard.”

“I am,” he replied.

“But you carry yourself like a man who’s seen death up close.”

He said nothing.

Aria stepped closer. “Have you ever killed someone?”

He didn’t blink. “Yes.”

“For money?”

“Yes.”

She stared at him. “So why protect me?”

He looked at her then—not at her beauty, not at her pain—but at her eyes.

“You don’t want protection,” he said. “You want war.”

She exhaled slowly. “Then be my sword.”

He didn’t answer.

But he stayed.

⸻

The next day, Aria invited Lily for tea.

Her sister arrived in her usual pastel dress, eyes wide with innocence. The same innocence she wore while stealing, lying, and framing her.

“Aria!” Lily squealed, hugging her. “I missed you!”

“I missed you too, Lily,” Aria replied, smiling.

They sipped tea under the veranda. Aria served her sister lemon pastries—the kind she liked—and offered her the necklace she once gifted her in her past life.

Lily gasped. “This is the sapphire drop pendant! You kept it?”

“Of course,” Aria said softly. “It always suited you better.”

Lily giggled, putting it on.

She had no idea that necklace would later serve as evidence in her downfall.

“Damien told me you’ve been so strong lately,” Lily said, stirring her tea. “I’m glad you’re doing better. After Grandpa, I was really worried…”

“Were you?” Aria asked gently.

“Of course!” Lily pouted. “You know how much I care about you.”

Aria reached out and touched her hand. “I believe you.”

Later that night, she sent a voice recorder to her investigator—disguised inside a teddy bear. The bear now sat in Lily’s car.

Let her talk freely.

The snake always slithered when it thought no one was watching.

⸻

Three days later, the audio arrived.

She listened to it with Lucien in the room.

It started light—Lily calling a friend, complaining about the tea being too bitter, about Aria being “so boring now.”

Then it shifted.

“I can’t believe she gave me the necklace back. Stupid girl. Damien says we only need a few more months before she signs over the Alvene stocks. Then we’re done pretending.”

Aria’s hand clenched into a fist.

“She doesn’t even know I was the one who switched her meds last time. God, it was so easy. Mom said if we make her look unstable again, we can have her committed.”

Pause.

“I swear, if I have to hug her one more time, I’ll puke.”

The recording ended.

Silence settled.

Lucien spoke first.

“You’re going to destroy them.”

“I’m going to bury them alive,” Aria whispered.

She turned to him. “But I need to move quickly. My father’s pushing the board to transfer my shares. They think I’m still grieving. That I’m weak.”

“Do you have a plan?”

She looked at him, a gleam in her eyes.

“I need a public scandal. Something they can’t spin. And I need someone who can ensure it doesn’t get erased.”

Lucien folded his arms. “And what do I get in return?”

Aria smiled. “What do you want?”

He paused.

Then said, “Loyalty.”

“Done.”

“And blood.”

She didn’t flinch.

“Then stay close,” she whispered. “Because the first cut comes tomorrow.”

In every story of rebirth, there comes a moment when the past and present collide—when the old wounds bleed fresh again, not because they haven’t healed, but because they were never meant to.

Aria stood in front of the grand marble mirror in her room, watching her reflection like it was someone else.

The girl staring back wore silk. Her hair was curled. Her lips were painted crimson.

She looked… perfect.

But the truth was rotting underneath.

She reached for the small velvet box on her vanity. Inside, a sapphire brooch glittered like a poisoned star.

Her grandfather’s.

The one he had gifted her before her father “misplaced” it in the estate vault. Aria had retrieved it secretly last night. She still remembered how the dust choked her in the dark hallway, the way her hands trembled as she twisted the code she once overheard her father whispering.

He never thought she’d remember.

But Aria remembered everything now. Every betrayal, every lie, every night she screamed while her mother watched, cold and silent.

She pinned the brooch to her dress.

Her armor.

Today wasn’t about memories.

It was the day she’d make her first move.

⸻

The Alvene Foundation was hosting a benefit gala that evening—an annual event that raised millions for “mental health rehabilitation” in elite schools.

Ironically, the very foundation Aria’s father had used to frame her as mentally unstable two years ago.

He’d donated to mental health charities while locking her in a private hospital ward and telling the world she had “lost touch with reality.”

The guests would be expecting her.

After all, the headlines had painted her return as a “miracle.”

“Alvene Heiress Recovers After Tragic Breakdown.”

“Aria Alvene to Attend Charity Gala for First Time Since Hospitalization.”

It was the perfect setup.

Everyone would be there—her father, her mother, Damien, Lily, investors, shareholders, media, and more importantly, witnesses.

Tonight, she would break her silence.

⸻

Lucien adjusted the cuffs of his black suit as he stood by the limousine, waiting for her.

When Aria stepped out, he froze.

Not because she was beautiful.

But because she looked like vengeance wrapped in velvet.

Her dress was deep blue satin, hugging her body like a second skin. The sapphire brooch shimmered at her collarbone. Her eyes were rimmed in kohl, sharp as broken glass.

“You’re quiet,” she said, stepping toward him.

“I’m calculating,” he replied.

She smirked. “What’s the probability of someone dying tonight?”

He opened the car door for her. “That depends on how loud you’re planning to speak.”

She slid in.

“Loud enough to be heard,” she said. “But quiet enough that they don’t see the blade.”

⸻

The ballroom at the Alvene Tower was breathtaking.

Crystal chandeliers sparkled overhead. Waiters in white gloves passed champagne on silver trays. The walls were lined with towering glass panels that reflected the city skyline.

But Aria didn’t care for any of it.

Her eyes scanned the crowd like a sniper—calculating.

There was Damien, charming the investors near the fountain.

Lily, giggling by the wine table, dressed in a gown that looked suspiciously like one of Aria’s old designs.

Her parents stood near the stage, all smiles, shaking hands, collecting praise.

No one saw the monsters beneath the masks.

Aria took Lucien’s arm. He leaned down.

“Security’s tight,” he whispered. “But you’re being watched.”

She smirked. “Good. Let them see me.”

⸻

The first crack in the illusion came during dinner.

Damien approached with a smirk. “You look beautiful tonight.”

“I know,” Aria said smoothly, not even glancing up from her plate.

He paused, thrown off. “I was thinking—after the gala, maybe we could talk. In private?”

She finally looked at him.

“About what?” she asked, voice like glass.

“Well… us.”

She tilted her head. “Us?”

He smiled. “I miss how we used to be. And I think we should give it another try. I know you’ve been through a lot, but I’ve been patient. Supportive.”

“Supportive?” she asked, standing now. The table went quiet.

He blinked. “I—uh—yes. I stayed, didn’t I?”

“Right,” she said, her voice growing louder. “You stayed. While I was locked away, screaming into pillows, you were playing house with my sister.”

Murmurs rippled through the guests.

Damien’s face paled. “Aria, not here.”

“Why not?” she said, turning to the room. “Isn’t this the perfect place? A charity for mental health. I’m sure everyone would love to know how my fiancé and my own sister conspired to gaslight me into an institution so they could inherit my shares.”

Lily stood frozen at the wine table, jaw slack.

Aria continued, “And my parents? They signed the commitment papers. Told the doctors I was delusional. That I was unstable. But I wasn’t.”

Lucien stepped beside her, silent but steady.

“She’s making this up!” Damien snapped. “She’s sick—she still needs help.”

“No,” Aria said, pulling a small black recorder from her clutch.

Then, she pressed play.

Lily’s voice filled the ballroom. “If I have to hug her one more time, I’ll puke. Damien says we just need her shares. Mom says we can make her look unstable again—”

The rest was drowned out by gasps.

Lily dropped her glass. Damien lunged for the recorder, but Lucien caught his wrist mid-air.

“Touch her again,” Lucien said, voice low and deadly, “and I’ll break every finger.”

Damien recoiled.

Aria smiled and turned to the stunned crowd.

“I’m not unstable,” she said, voice shaking with emotion. “I was betrayed. Lied to. Poisoned.”

She paused.

“But I’m not a victim anymore.”

The silence was deafening.

Then—applause.

One person clapped. Then another. Then the whole room.

Her mother fainted.

⸻

The fallout was immediate.

That night, articles exploded across every news outlet:

“Alvene Heiress Exposes Family Betrayal at Gala Bombshell.”

“Recordings Reveal Plot Against Aria Alvene.”

“Bodyguard Protects Heiress From Fiancé’s Assault.”

The board froze the Alvene shares. Investigations were launched. Her father was suspended pending an internal ethics review. Damien’s company was blacklisted by three major firms.

But Aria wasn’t done.

That was only the beginning.

⸻

At 2 a.m., Aria stood on the rooftop of the Alvene Tower. The city lights stretched beneath her like fireflies.

Lucien leaned against the railing beside her.

“You lit the match,” he said.

She nodded. “Now I’ll burn the whole forest.”

He was silent for a moment. Then, “You did well tonight. But they’ll come for you harder now.”

“I’m counting on it,” she whispered. “Because I’m not afraid of war anymore.”

He looked at her.

“You shouldn’t be alone.”

She met his eyes. “Aren’t you paid to stay close?”

He shook his head.

“Not for this,” he said. “For this, I stay because I want to.”

She said nothing.

Then turned to the city again. “Tomorrow, we move to Phase Two.”

“What’s that?”

She smiled.

“I’m going to buy my freedom.”

⸻

The next morning, Lucien drove her to a private office on the edge of the city. It was sleek, minimalist, and guarded by two ex-military men who saluted Lucien on sight.

Inside, a sharp-eyed woman handed Aria a folder.

“All the paperwork you requested,” she said. “We’ve started the shell corporation. Once you transfer your liquid assets into AriaNova Holdings, your father won’t be able to touch a cent.”

“And the overseas accounts?” Aria asked.

“Secured. Under your new alias. You’re now the sole owner of three properties in Dubai, Seoul, and Paris.”

Lucien raised a brow. “Going international?”

“I’m not just escaping,” Aria said, flipping through the pages. “I’m building something.”

She signed the last document.

With that, she was no longer under the Alvene family’s financial leash.

She was her own empire.

⸻

But vengeance wasn’t complete without scars.

The media began digging.

Reporters camped outside the estate.

Her mother attempted damage control with a fake interview. It failed.

Lily fled to a resort in Bali. Damien was questioned by authorities.

But Aria… she stayed calm.

Until the letter arrived.

It was handwritten.

No return address.

Inside was a single sentence:

“You think you’ve won. But you don’t know what your grandfather really left behind.”

And underneath it—a photo.

Of a young Aria, no more than 10, standing beside her grandfather in a room she’d never seen.

Lucien looked over her shoulder.

“You recognize the place?”

“No,” Aria said. “But the painting in the back… it’s not from our estate.”

Lucien took the photo. “I’ll find it.”

She stared at the letter again.

It wasn’t from her parents. Or Damien.

It was someone else.

Someone who knew her past better than she did.

⸻

That night, Aria had a nightmare.

She was back in the hospital room.

The lights were flickering.

She screamed for help, but no one came.

Her mother stood behind the glass, watching. Damien laughed as he kissed Lily. Her father whispered, “It’s for your own good.”

Then, suddenly, everything burned.

When she woke, her pillow was wet with tears.

Lucien was already in the room, standing by the door.

“You called out,” he said. “In your sleep.”

“I’m fine,” she said, wiping her face.

“No, you’re not,” he replied.

She looked at him.

“I don’t have time to be broken.”

He stepped closer.

“You can cry and still fight,” he said quietly. “Crying doesn’t make you weak.”

Her lip trembled.

Then, without warning, she walked into his arms.

Not because she trusted him.

But because her soul was tired.

And for one moment… she needed someone to carry the weight with her.

Lucien didn’t speak.

He just held her.

And for the first time in years, Aria let herself cry—not from pain, but from survival.

She wasn’t broken.

Just bruised.

But she would heal.

And when she did—she’d make the world bleed for what it did to her.