velvet chains

Present – Veylan Private Office, 47th Floor

The silence between them wasn’t peaceful.

It was dangerous.

Aria sat in her leather chair, back straight, legs crossed, fingers steepled beneath her chin as she stared at Rayen with a calm that could slice through bone.

He stood across the room, fists clenched, every line of his body radiating tension. But Aria? She was a picture of control.

That scared him more than any weapon.

“You kissed me,” Rayen said quietly, but the anger in his voice bled through.

Aria raised a brow, tilting her head. “Did I?”

“Don’t play games.”

She rose, slowly, walking toward him in a way that made her heels click like a countdown to something deadly.

“You call it a game. I call it a warning.”

“Warning for what?” he asked, bitter. “That you’re going to keep burning this city to the ground?”

She smiled. “Oh, Rayen. You always did underestimate my fire.”

He exhaled, looking away. But she caught the flicker in his eyes. The tremble in his fingers. That kiss had shaken him.

And that was only the beginning.

“I didn’t come here to fight you,” he said, dragging a hand through his wet hair. “I came because I need answers.”

She walked past him, pouring herself a glass of brandy.

“You need closure,” she corrected. “But I didn’t come back to offer peace. I came back to return the favor.”

Rayen stared at her back. “I didn’t betray you.”

“Then why did you stand there and let them destroy me?” Her voice cracked, but her eyes stayed dry.

“Because I was afraid!” he shouted. “Because if I had chosen you, I would’ve lost everything. My badge, my job, my name—”

“And I lost myself!” Aria turned, fire blazing in her voice. “So don’t you dare talk about loss!”

For a moment, they just breathed. Rage. Regret. And something too twisted to name.

She stepped closer. “You think this is about buildings and money? You think this is about revenge?”

He swallowed. “Isn’t it?”

“No,” she whispered. “This is about control.”

He froze.

“I rebuilt myself from ashes. Alone. With no one. No one but the memories of your betrayal. Now, I’m back in this city with power in my hands, and you? You’re still chasing ghosts.”

“I’m not chasing anything,” Rayen said, jaw tight.

She leaned in. “Then stop showing up every time I snap my fingers.”

He opened his mouth to reply, but the doors burst open.

Marcus entered, holding a tablet.

“Miss Veylan, you need to see this.”

Aria’s expression turned sharp. She took the tablet, brows furrowing.

Leaked police files. Her name. Her past arrest. Her psychiatric record.

Everything that had been buried was now public.

Someone was trying to ruin her.

Rayen moved closer. “Where did it leak from?”

Marcus answered, “The department’s internal server.”

Rayen’s face went pale. “No one has access to that except... senior officers.”

Aria looked at him slowly. Her voice dropped.

“You said you didn’t betray me before.”

Rayen’s voice cracked. “I didn’t.”

“Then find out who did,” she whispered coldly. “Or I’ll burn your entire department to the ground.”

---

Later That Night — Police Department

Rayen stormed through the station, ignoring the stares. His mind was spiraling. Her face. Her words. That look of betrayal.

He logged into the internal system, digging through layers of encrypted files.

The leak had come from a corrupted login. But the trail... was clean. Too clean.

He sat back, shaken.

“Someone wanted her exposed,” he whispered.

But not just to humiliate her.

To provoke her.

To turn the city into a war zone.

And Rayen was the weapon in between.

---

Flashback — Six Years Ago

Aria sat in a padded cell, staring at the wall. Her wrists were bandaged. Her eyes blank.

“She won’t speak,” the doctor said. “Trauma-induced silence. We’ll keep observing her.”

Rayen watched her through the glass, shattered inside.

He wasn’t allowed to enter.

She wasn’t allowed to see sunlight.

And no one allowed her to heal.

---

Present – Aria’s Bedroom

Aria stood naked before the mirror, tracing the old scars on her wrists.

A reminder.

A promise.

She didn’t cry for the past anymore.

But she fed on it.

She picked up her phone and dialed a number.

“Activate Project Crimson.”

A female voice responded, “It’s early.”

“I don’t care,” Aria said. “Make them bleed.”

She hung up and walked to her closet, dressed in red and black—her colors of war.

The queen was no longer playing.

She was hunting.

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