The phone rang at 11:47 a.m.
Not a text.
Not a message routed through assistants or legal buffers.
A direct call.
Aria looked at the screen and felt nothing.
"Wow," Noah said from the couch. "That number still exists?"
"Unfortunately," she replied.
She let it ring once more—just long enough to establish control—then answered.
"Aria," the voice said immediately, warm and relieved, layered with practiced concern. "It's been a long time."
"Not long enough," she said, calm, polite, distant.
A laugh. "Still sharp. I missed that."
She didn't respond.
Silence did the work for her.
"Listen," he continued, adjusting. "I won't pretend I wasn't surprised by the announcement. But I'll be honest—this is good timing. The industry's different now. More forgiving. More—"
"—profitable?" she offered.
Another laugh, tighter this time. "You always did understand the business."
"I understood you," she corrected. "There's a difference."
He cleared his throat. "I'm seeing a lot of interest. Agencies, brands, studios. People asking who represents you."
"And you told them?"
"That I still care about your best interests."
She smiled faintly, though no one could see it.
"You stopped caring the day I stopped being convenient."
"That's not fair."
"No," she agreed. "It's accurate."
A pause stretched longer than he liked.
"We could restart," he said finally. "Clean slate. I have the infrastructure. The connections. You don't have to do this alone."
Aria leaned back against the counter, eyes drifting to the window.
"I was never alone," she said. "I was surrounded."
He didn't understand the distinction.
"I've already retained counsel," she added. "Anything official goes through them."
His tone shifted—subtle pressure sliding in. "Aria, don't make this harder than it needs to be. People are watching now. You need someone who knows how to manage narratives."
She looked at Noah, who raised an eyebrow.
"I'm not a narrative," she said. "I'm a variable."
That finally unsettled him.
"…You sound different."
"I am."
Another silence.
"Well," he said carefully, "if you change your mind, you know where to find me."
She ended the call without saying goodbye.
The room settled.
Noah exhaled. "Let me guess. He wants control."
"He wants relevance," she replied. "Same thing, different angle."
Her phone buzzed again—this time a message from legal, followed by two unknown numbers.
The ripples were spreading.
Aria set the phone down and reached for her jacket.
"That was the past calling," Noah said.
She nodded once. "And it didn't like the answer."
Outside, the city kept moving.
Inside, Aria felt the quiet certainty of something locking into place.
The return wasn't being welcomed.
It was being negotiated.
And she had no intention of negotiating herself.