The glass doors of Veylan Enterprises slid open with a soft hiss, but Aria Veylan's entrance was anything but quiet.
The sound of her heels on the marble floor—sharp, deliberate—cut through the silence like a warning bell. Click. Click. Click. Heads turned. Eyes widened. Conversations stopped mid-sentence. People stepped out of her way, instinctively, like prey sensing the arrival of a predator.
She didn't need to announce who she was. Her name was stitched into the walls, etched into contracts, whispered in boardrooms and feared in headlines. Aria Veylan wasn't just a woman. She was a storm in silk—a billionaire, a ghost of scandal, and the woman everyone thought was never coming back.
But she was back.
And this time, she didn't come for peace.
The red of her dress was no accident. It was deliberate. Bold. Blood-red. It clung to her figure like sin, with a slit high enough to draw stares but cut sharp enough to threaten. Her dark hair was swept into a clean twist, not a strand out of place. Her makeup, flawless. Her lips—painted like a warning sign—curved in the faintest smirk as she entered the elevator.
"Miss Veylan—" A young assistant rushed behind her, nearly stumbling with a tablet in hand. "The board is ready in Conference Room A. They thought—uh—we weren't sure you were still coming in today."
Aria didn't even glance at her.
"Tell them to wait."
"But ma'am, they—"
She turned her head slowly. The assistant fell silent instantly, swallowing hard under Aria's cold gaze.
"I said... let them wait."
The doors of the elevator closed with a quiet ding, sealing them inside.
As the elevator ascended, Aria stared at her reflection in the mirrored panel. But she wasn't seeing herself. Not really.
She was seeing him.
Rayen Cross.
Her hands clenched at her sides before she could stop them.
Seven years.
Seven years since he put her in handcuffs. Since he looked her in the eyes and let the system tear her apart. Seven years since he chose the badge over the truth. Over her.
The world thought she vanished.
They were wrong.
She had been rebuilding. Quietly. Ruthlessly. Turning her pain into power. And now, the game was beginning again.
But this time—she made the rules.
---
Downtown Police Department
Detective Rayen Cross leaned back in his chair, one hand holding a lukewarm cup of coffee, the other flipping through a case file.
"Veylan Enterprises, huh?" his partner muttered, peering over his shoulder. "Arson. No suspects. No witnesses. Weird that a property that expensive didn't have cameras."
Rayen's brow furrowed. His eyes locked on the name. The logo. The faint signature at the bottom of the insurance document.
Aria Veylan.
His heart stopped.
No. It couldn't be.
She was gone. She had disappeared off the face of the Earth after the trial. After everything that happened—after he had ruined her.
He slammed the file shut.
"Hey," his partner said, confused. "You okay?"
Rayen stood abruptly, ignoring the question. "I need to see the scene."
"Now? It's probably just an insurance job."
"I said—now."
---
Back at Veylan Tower
The boardroom was tense with silence when Aria finally entered, exactly twenty-two minutes late.
"Gentlemen," she said smoothly, placing her diamond-studded clutch on the table. "Apologies. I had more important things to deal with."
No one dared question her.
Old white men in thousand-dollar suits sat straighter under her gaze. Some had tried to push her out of this company when she first returned from her so-called disappearance. Now, they were all under her heel.
She took her seat at the head of the table.
"Let's begin. And make it quick. My time is expensive."
One of the directors cleared his throat nervously. "Miss Veylan, there's… some concern over the burned property. The investigators are asking questions. The media's circling. Do you think it might be linked to—"
"I don't think," Aria interrupted coldly. "I know it's a distraction. Handle it. I'm not in the mood to babysit today."
"But the detective in charge—" another started.
Aria's eyes narrowed.
"Detective?"
"Rayen Cross."
The name dropped into the room like a bomb.
Her fingers curled against the polished wood table.
Of course. It had to be him.
Good.
Let the games begin.
---
An Hour Later – Burned Property Site
Rayen stepped over the charred remains of the once-luxurious penthouse, his eyes scanning the blackened walls, the twisted steel. Something about it didn't add up. There were no signs of forced entry. No valuables stolen. But the fire had been precise—controlled, almost surgical.
It wasn't a random act.
It was a message.
But who was sending it?
His jaw tightened.
If Aria was back… if she had come to this city again… he needed answers. Closure. Something. Anything.
The guilt never left him. He tried to bury it beneath his work, beneath other cases, other crimes. But her voice still haunted him on nights when sleep wouldn't come.
You chose them over me, Rayen.
You left me alone.
Now he wondered—was she here for justice?
Or revenge?
---
Later That Night – Aria's Penthouse
The city lights shimmered below as Aria stood on her private balcony, glass of wine in hand, phone in the other.
She dialed a number.
It rang once.
"Miss Veylan," came a voice on the other end.
"Keep watching him," she said. "Every move. Every breath. I want to know when he sleeps and when he wakes. I want everything."
"Yes, ma'am. And the next target?"
She smiled, sipping her wine.
"Something close to his heart."
The line disconnected.
She looked out over the city—his city.
But not for long.