Rain painted the canals in silver as Alexander's jet took off for Milan, cutting through storm clouds like a blade.
He didn't look back.
Back in Venice, Ariana stood by the balcony, watching the sky swallow the last trace of his private jet.
The silence of the villa pressed in around her vast, lonely, and too full of ghosts.
Her reflection stared back from the window a woman dressed in silk, wearing another person's name.
How much longer could she keep pretending?
Milan, Italy.
The city was alive with light and noise when Alexander's car stopped in front of a luxury boutique.
He stepped out, greeted instantly by Rafael Kim, who had been waiting.
"She was here," Rafael said, sliding a photo across the car seat. "Yesterday afternoon. Security cameras caught her leaving with a man."
Alexander's jaw tightened as he studied the image Aria's face, unmistakable, hidden behind dark glasses.
But the man beside her was blurred, his face obscured by a hat.
"Enhance it," Alexander ordered.
"I tried. The footage was wiped from the boutique's server an hour later. Whoever she's with knows how to cover their tracks."
Alexander's eyes darkened. "She's playing a dangerous game."
Rafael hesitated. "What if she's not playing, Alex? What if she's running?"
Alexander said nothing. His silence was an answer.
He'd seen fear before. But he'd also seen manipulation and Aria Cruz had been a master of both.
Venice — Volkov Villa.
Ariana tried to distract herself by sketching designs in her notebook, but her thoughts kept circling back to Alexander.
His words. His anger.
And that strange, fleeting moment when he'd promised to protect her.
Why did that matter so much?
Her thoughts broke when a knock echoed through the villa.
The staff had the day off.
She frowned, tightening her robe. "Who's there?"
No answer.
She moved cautiously toward the door, every nerve alert.
When she opened it no one.
Just a small black envelope lying on the marble steps.
Inside was a note, handwritten in elegant cursive
"You shouldn't be in her place. Leave before it's too late."
Her stomach dropped.
Someone knew.
She slammed the door shut, locking it, her hands shaking.
That night, sleep refused to come.
Every shadow seemed to move, every sound too loud.
She finally drifted off near dawn only to wake with a gasp.
A cold breeze brushed her cheek.
The balcony doors stood open.
She froze.
Someone had been inside.
On the floor, resting beside her bed, was a single white rose fresh, dew still clinging to its petals.
Ariana's heart pounded as she picked it up.
Tied to the stem was a tiny note:
"We found her. You're next."
Milan.
Alexander stood in a dim underground parking lot, phone pressed to his ear.
"She's not answering," he muttered. "Rafael, send security to the villa now. Double the guards."
"What's going on?" Rafael asked.
Alexander's voice hardened. "Someone just made their move."
He hung up, his eyes burning with cold fury.
If anyone dared touch her even for a lie they'd pay for it in blood.
Back in Venice, thunder rolled across the sky.
Ariana clutched the rose, staring out into the night, realizing with a chill this wasn't about pretending anymore.
She wasn't the substitute.
She was the target.