Jasper Maddox
I hesitated. Not because I cared about Aria, at least that's what I told myself but because this felt personal now. Intimate warfare.
"She'll need a push," I said finally. "Something that makes her act without thinking."
Everett walked to a sleek cabinet, pulling out a slim envelope, it was a black seal, Monarch crest.
"She'll get one," she said. "I intercepted this from the courier line. It was meant for Wolfe. It names Aria as a breach point. A formal vote is being called to authorize her removal."
"Assassination?" I asked, voice tight.
"Neutralization," Everett corrected. "Same difference."
I let out a breath. "And you want her to see it."
"I want her to believe Wolfe sanctioned it," Everett said. "She'll do the rest."
I stood slowly, mind racing. "Then we need to time this right. Push her after she's softened. After he gives her hope. That's when she'll hit the hardest."
Everett's smile turned razor-sharp. "Exactly. Let love bleed into betrayal. Let her destroy him for us."
I left the penthouse that night with a plan in my pocket and a sickness in my chest.
Because if Aria was going to be our weapon…
We were aiming straight at the heart.
---
Great. Staying in Jasper's POV, here's the next scene where he begins planting the bait—carefully setting up Aria without tipping her off. The mood is quiet manipulation beneath a veneer of concern.
Chapter 41: The Bait
I didn't go straight to Aria.
I waited.
Timing was everything in this game, and I knew Aria Vale. She was instinct and heat, but she wasn't reckless. Not unless you gave her a reason.
So I started small.
The morning after the gala, I sent her a simple message: "You looked powerful last night. Like someone who could burn the world down."
No lies. Just… emphasis.
No response. Of course. But I knew she read it. Aria always read between the lines.
The real work started that afternoon.
I "ran into" her by accident—Kira wasn't around, which made things easier. She was coming out of a discreet little bistro downtown, leather gloves in one hand, sunglasses in the other. Red lipstick still perfect.
I stepped into her path, casual. "Aria."
Her eyes narrowed. "Jasper."
No warmth. But no immediate threat. That was something.
"I wanted to say… good job last night." I offered a smile that didn't reach my eyes. "He didn't take his eyes off you."
"I wasn't there for him," she said, brushing past me.
I walked alongside her. "Of course not. But that doesn't mean you didn't get to him."
She paused.
Hook, line.
I lowered my voice. "Can I show you something?"
Suspicion flared in her eyes, but curiosity won. She nodded once, and we ducked into the alleyway beside the café. I pulled out a manila folder and offered it to her.
"What is this?"
"Intercepted communications," I said. "From the Syndicate. Names, targets, movements."
She flipped through it briskly until she landed on the right page.
Her name. Stamped in bold. Underlined in red.
"Breach liability: Aria Vale. Recommendation: removal before compromise."
Her jaw tightened. "Is this real?"
"I wouldn't risk giving you anything else," I lied smoothly. "They're calling a vote soon."
She stared at the paper like it had drawn blood. "So this is it. Damian… he's letting them come after me."
I didn't say yes. I didn't say no. I just looked at her like it pained me. Like I wasn't the one who handed her the matchbox and pointed at the gasoline.
"If he really wanted to protect you," I said softly, "he would've stopped this before it reached your name."
She looked away, but I saw the tremor in her hands. Saw the way rage tried to bury grief.
"You don't have to go to war for him," I said, voice low. "Go to war for you."
Her fingers closed the folder slowly. "I need time."
Of course she did.
But time was a luxury none of us could afford anymore. And soon, she'd have no choice.
I walked away with a smile that never touched my lips.
The bait was planted.
Now I just had to wait for her to bite.
---
Aria Vale
The paper was too light in my hands for what it carried.
I read the words again that night, alone in the apartment's low light, the folder spread open on the coffee table like a wound that wouldn't stop bleeding.
They wanted me dead. That wasn't new. But this... This meant it was real. Official. Filed, stamped, passed up a chain of power and poison.
I poured a drink. Didn't touch it.
My mind wouldn't stop spiraling.
He didn't warn me.
Damian Wolfe. The man who once called me *mine* like it was scripture. Who kissed me like I was both salvation and sin. Who stared at me across a ballroom with eyes full of war and want.
And he didn't warn me.
He'd stood on that podium, silver-tongued and shining, while people in pressed suits whispered about how to make me disappear.
Maybe Jasper was right.
Maybe I was the fool.
The rage was thick in my chest, but so was something else, something more dangerous. Doubt. That sharp, slow rot that settled in your bones.
I walked to the window, staring out at the city glowing beneath a blanket of night. I thought about the Bishop. About surveillance. About how far Damian's reach really went.
He always said he'd protect me.
But from the beginning, he was the one holding the knife.
I turned back to the folder and began scanning every name. Every directive. If I was going to be a target, I might as well see who was pulling the trigger.
And then something shifted.
One name.
Alexander Vale.
I froze.