Chapter 3 Smoke and Schemes

The morning after her visit to her father's grave dawned gray and slow as the weight in Ariella's chest had settled into the clouds above. She sat at Leila's kitchen counter, her hands wrapped around a mug of untouched coffee, staring blankly at the steam curling into nothing.

Marcus sat across from her, tapping methodically at his laptop. The rhythmic clicks filled the silence.

"I did some digging," he said without looking up. "Catherine filed a probate claim two years ago. Fast-tracked. No contest."

Ariella blinked. "That's not possible. My father wouldn't have left everything to her or Vanessa. He made me his sole heir. I remember."

Marcus finally looked up. "It's more than possible. It's official. She presented a will dated three months before his death, that named Vanessa as the sole beneficiary. Catherine as the legal executor."

Her stomach twisted. "But that doesn't make sense. He would've told me. We spoke constantly. He never mentioned changing the will."

Leila set a plate of toast on the table, untouched like the rest of the food. "Is there any way to check if the will was real?"

"There's something off," Marcus said. "The attorney who filed the will has no prior connection to your father. No paper trail. No retainer. No interactions before the document was notarized."

Ariella's eyes narrowed. "He already had an attorney Mr. Harrison Blythe. He handled everything. The company, the estate, even my school's legal paperwork."

Marcus nodded slowly. "Exactly. But Harrison's name doesn't appear anywhere in the probate records."

Leila's eyes widened. "You think Catherine switched attorneys to push through a fake will?"

"I think she forged it," Marcus said. "And used a willing puppet to make it look legit."

Ariella felt like the room tilted. The betrayal had layers each deeper than the last.

"They stole everything," she whispered. "Not just my father's house. His legacy. His wishes. My future."

Marcus leaned forward. "Then we take it back."

She looked up at him, hope flickering. "How?"

"We find Harrison. If your father drafted a real will with him, it might still be out there. Catherine might not even know it exists if she was never in contact with him."

"But how do we find him? It's been four years."

Marcus turned the laptop around. "He retired two years ago. Quietly. No digital footprint. But I found a note buried in an archived business directory, he moved to a small town in Connecticut, Weston."

Ariella stared at the screen. "That's not far."

"I'll help you track him down. But we have to be careful. If Catherine finds out, she might bury the trail completely."

Leila crossed her arms. "And we're not letting that happen."

Emotion swelled in Ariella's throat. She hadn't realized how starved she was for allies until now.

"Thank you," she said quietly. "Both of you."

Marcus smiled. "This isn't just about justice. It's about taking back your story."

But justice didn't come quickly, and as the hours stretched into late afternoon, Ariella's mind spun with memories and grief. The plan was in motion, but the pain remained.

By evening, the walls of Leila's townhouse felt too tight, too filled with voices that weren't hers.

"I need air," Ariella murmured, standing suddenly. "Just a walk. I'll be fine."

Leila exchanged a glance with Marcus but didn't stop her. "Text me if you need anything."

Ariella nodded, grabbing her coat and stepping into the cooling dusk.

She didn't walk. Not really.

Her feet carried her aimlessly until the neon glow of a quiet bar pulled her in like a whisper.

It wasn't a place she recognized. Dim lights, soft jazz in the background, and the rich scent of aged whiskey. It wasn't crowded, and that was perfect. She didn't want people. She wanted numb.

The bartender gave her a once-over, noting the heartbreak she wore like perfume, then wordlessly slid her a whiskey sour.

She took it in one long sip, wincing at the burn, then ordered another.

Her mind drifted. Liam is on one knee. Vanessa's victorious smile. Catherine's raised glass. Her father's name was twisted and erased from the world he built.

The alcohol buzzed behind her eyes, loosening something inside her, anger, heartbreak, maybe both.

"Another round?" the bartender asked.

She nodded.

And that's when she saw him.

He was seated a few stools down, dressed in a dark navy suit that clung to him like it had been tailored by the gods themselves. His hair tousled, stubble just enough to make him look dangerous. A face like a sin sculpted in shadow and marble.

His gaze met hers, dark, unreadable. The kind that made you feel seen and stripped at once.

Ariella looked away.

He didn't.

He moved closer.

"You look like someone who's trying not to remember something," he said smoothly, voice low like velvet and smoke.

She glanced sideways. "And you look like someone who doesn't forget."

That made him smirk. "Touché."

"I'm not in the mood for company."

"Then it's good I'm not company. Just a stranger with good taste in whiskey and terrible timing."

She exhaled a dry laugh. "Story of my life."

He watched her for a long beat. "Want to talk about it?"

"No."

"Want to pretend none of it exists for a while?"

She finally turned to face him. "What's your name?"

"Cassian."

Ariella raised an eyebrow. "Just Cassian?"

He sipped his drink. "For now."

She hesitated, then extended her hand. "Ariella."

He didn't shake it. Instead, he nodded with a ghost of a grin. "Pretty name. Sounds like it belongs to someone who survived a war."

She swallowed. "Feels like I did."

Cassian motioned to the bartender. "Two more."

"No," she said quickly. "I should"

"Stay," he interrupted, gently. "Just for one more drink."

She hesitated.

Then stayed.

The second drink led to a third.

Words slipped out between them, vague, careful, like threads of smoke too delicate to catch.

She didn't tell him everything. Just enough to feel a little lighter. He didn't pry. Just listened. Watched.

When she stood to leave, the room spun slightly.

Cassian caught her elbow. "Let me call you a car."

"I can walk."

"You're not walking straight."

"Are you always this charming?"

"Only when I'm trying not to be."

Ariella laughed, surprising even herself.

"Fine," she said. "One condition. No asking questions. No expectations."

He lifted a hand in mock surrender. "I'm just a stranger, remember?"

He walked her outside and called a car. The breeze was cool, brushing her face, sobering her just enough to realize how close they were standing.

Their eyes met again.

Something passed between them.

Not desire. Not yet.

But something.

She stepped into the car and paused at the open door.

"Thanks... Cassian."

He leaned slightly toward her. "Anytime, Ariella."

The door shut.

The car pulled away.

And Ariella didn't look back.

But Cassian did watching the car disappear into the night, a strange expression tightening his jaw.

Back at Leila's, Ariella kicked off her shoes and dropped onto the bed, the taste of whiskey still lingering on her tongue.

She should've felt worse.

But instead, she felt something unfamiliar.

Intrigue.

Hope.

A chill.

Who was he?

Why did his name feel familiar?

And why, when she finally drifted into sleep, did her last thought echo like a warning

Strangers aren't always strangers for long.

And some are never strangers at all.