Chapter 7 – The Mask Beneath
Aria didn't sleep that night either.
She lay on top of the sheets, fully dressed, phone still in her hand. The message burned against her skin even with the screen dimmed.
"The baby changes everything."
No name. No trace.
It didn't make sense. She'd bought the test with cash. Used a public bathroom. Told no one. Not even Kade. Not even herself, really. The truth hadn't fully sunk in, yet someone out there knew.
And they weren't just watching — they were waiting.
By morning, Aria was hollow-eyed and silent.
She made coffee like muscle memory, avoiding Kade's gaze as he came into the kitchen, crisp as ever in a slate suit. He studied her as she poured a second cup.
"You're not going to ask where I was last night?" he said.
"No," she replied quietly.
"Why not?"
"Because I wouldn't believe the answer."
He didn't deny it. He didn't say where he'd been. And that silence only confirmed what she already suspected — he was hiding more than business deals and buried scandals.
Aria handed him the coffee and walked away without waiting for a thank you.
---
Later, she stood by the floor-to-ceiling windows, phone in hand, staring at the city like it might offer answers. But all it offered was motion — cabs speeding down Fifth Avenue, people moving fast and forward, unlike her.
She opened her messages and reread the anonymous text again.
Then typed:
Aria: Who is this?
No response.
A minute passed. Then five.
And then:
"You know who I am. Deep down, you've always known."
She felt her throat close. Was it Calista? Or someone else entirely? Someone closer?
She turned suddenly — and found Kade standing just a few feet away.
"You're pale," he said, brows furrowed.
"Lack of sleep," she said.
He stepped closer. "Is it the video?"
Aria hesitated, then nodded. "Among other things."
"You said you weren't leaving."
"I'm not."
"But you want to."
She didn't answer.
Kade exhaled, a long breath like he was holding something back. Then, almost gently: "You're in this now, Aria. Whether you want to be or not."
It wasn't a threat. It was a statement of fact. And for the first time, she realized how trapped she really was.
---
That afternoon, she visited Isla, her best friend and former roommate, in Brooklyn — one of the few places that still felt real.
"You look like hell," Isla said, pulling her into a hug. "And also like you stepped out of Vogue. It's very confusing."
Aria gave a hollow laugh. "It's been only three weeks."
"Let me guess. Billionaire husband still emotionally unavailable? Or did he start monologuing like a Bond villain?"
"Worse," Aria muttered. "He got real."
Isla handed her a glass of ginger tea. "I'm listening."
Aria sat on the worn couch, fingers tight around the mug. She didn't mention the video. Or the marriage contract. Or the pregnancy. Not yet. But she said enough — about the tension, the lies, the growing knot in her stomach that wasn't just physical.
Isla tilted her head. "You don't trust him, do you?"
"No," Aria whispered. "But that's the problem. I think part of me still wants to."
Isla sighed, setting her tea down. "Wanting to trust someone doesn't mean you should."
Aria looked down.
Then Isla added, "If it's already this messy, Ari... how bad does it get when real feelings get involved?"
---
When Aria returned to the penthouse, it was dark.
Kade wasn't home.
She took the moment of silence as permission to breathe — until she spotted the envelope on her nightstand.
No name. Just her.
Inside was a single sheet of paper.
Typed.
"If you want answers, go to 51 Mercer Street. Third floor. Alone. Midnight. Bring the flash drive."
Her heart thundered in her chest. Mercer Street was in SoHo — a quiet corner of the city, mostly abandoned at night.
She looked around the room like eyes were watching her.
Were there cameras in here? Was this Kade's doing? Or something more dangerous?
She debated burning the letter, pretending it never came.
But then she thought about the message on her phone.
"The baby changes everything."
And she realized… maybe this wasn't about Kade anymore.
Maybe it was about her.
Her future.
Her child.
And the war she'd just stepped into without knowing it.
---
At 11:58 PM, Aria stood across the street from 51 Mercer, heart pounding beneath her coat. The building was old, industrial, the kind artists used to squat in before the city gentrified it. Now it looked half-forgotten.
She checked her phone again.
No new messages.
Her fingers wrapped around the flash drive in her coat pocket like it was a weapon. Or a key.
She crossed the street, climbed the cracked steps, and found the third floor.
The door was already open.
Creaking slightly.
She stepped inside.
The room was dimly lit by a single hanging bulb. A metal desk stood in the center. On it — a laptop. Nothing else.
No person.
No voice.
Just a note taped to the screen:
"Press play."
Her throat went dry.
She did.
The video began with Kade. Younger. Maybe five years ago. Standing in what looked like a hotel room, glass of whiskey in one hand, phone in the other.
A voice came through the speaker.
Marcus Devereaux.
"I did what you asked," the man said. "The stocks moved. Just like you said. But Kade, this isn't clean."
Kade's younger voice was calmer than Aria expected. "Nothing powerful ever is."
Marcus sounded panicked. "This could bury me."
"It won't," Kade replied. "Not unless someone talks."
Then Marcus asked, "And if someone does?"
The pause was long.
Then came Kade's answer.
"Then we make sure they can't."
The screen went black.
Aria stood frozen, the blood draining from her limbs.
Behind her, the door creaked open again.
She turned fast, heart in her throat.
But it wasn't Kade.
It wasn't Calista.
It was someone she hadn't seen in years.
A face she thought belonged to the past.
And then—
"Hello, Aria."