Chapter 3 Echoes of his Name

The soft click of the USB drive sliding into her laptop echoed through the bedroom like a shot fired.

Aria sat on the edge of the bed, screen glowing pale blue in the dark. Damon was still downstairs-handling God knows what-and this might be the only chance she had to see the truth without his eyes watching.

The file unlocked easily.

Too easily.

A single folder popped up: "Ouroboros."

Her heartbeat quickened.

Inside: spreadsheets, offshore bank trails, intercepted emails-and then... a list of names.

Aria blinked.

She scrolled. Dozens of them. Attached to aliases, offshore corporations, and black-market transactions.

At the bottom of the page: Classified: Dead or Disappeared.

Her father's name was third from the top.

But it was the fourth name that made her blood freeze:

Vincent Hale.

She gasped. "No... That's not possible."

Vincent Hale had been her father's closest associate before the collapse. Rumors of his death had circulated after a suspicious fire in Singapore seven years ago. No remains were ever found.

And yet-here he was.

Tagged as "active operative-pending asset recovery."

Aria's hand trembled as she reached for her phone. She needed answers. She needed-

A knock shattered the silence.

Three gentle taps. The kind that didn't belong to Damon.

She slowly closed the laptop and approached the door, heart racing. "Who is it?"

No answer.

She unlocked the door cautiously and pulled it open just enough to see a woman standing in the hallway.

Sharp cheekbones. Ice-blonde hair twisted into a knot. A tailored gray suit and a pair of stilettos that looked like weapons.

"Aria Callahan?" the woman asked, voice like polished steel.

"Yes... who are you?"

The woman stepped forward, uninvited. "I'm Cassandra Vale. Internal Security Liaison to the Callahan Corporation."

"I didn't know Damon hired security liaisons."

Cassandra gave a tight-lipped smile. "He didn't."

She pulled out a badge-real, cold, and disturbingly high-clearance. "I report to someone higher. I'm here about the drive."

Aria instinctively took a step back. "You're not supposed to know about that."

"And yet I do. Which tells you just how deep this goes."

"How did you get in?"

"Your housekeeper let me in. I told her I was an old friend of yours. She was quite... trusting."

Aria's stomach turned.

"I need you to come with me," Cassandra said. "Now. You're not safe here."

"Why should I trust you?"

"Because the man you married might have been protecting you from the world, but I'm the one protecting you from him."

At that moment, Damon's voice echoed from downstairs. "Aria? Everything alright?"

Too late.

Cassandra swore under her breath and slipped something into Aria's palm-a tiny, black SIM card. "If you want the truth... use that. Burn the drive. And do not let him know I was here."

Footsteps approached.

Cassandra was gone in a blink, heels silent against the hallway as she disappeared into the guest wing.

By the time Damon appeared, Aria was already back on the bed, laptop closed, hands trembling under the sheets.

He looked at her for a long moment.

"You alright?" he asked again.

She nodded, heart thudding. "Just tired."

But her mind was anything but calm.

A fake death. A spy. A drive full of ghosts.

And a marriage built on lies.

Later that night, Aria slips the SIM card into her burner phone and dials the number stored on it.

A distorted voice answers after three rings:

"Welcome to the truth, Mrs. Callahan. I hope you're ready to bleed for it."

Morning came far too quickly.

Sunlight filtered in through the gauzy drapes, spilling across the silk sheets in shades of white gold. Aria lay still, pretending to sleep as Damon dressed beside her. The air between them was too quiet-calm in a way that felt unnatural, like the pause before a detonation.

She heard the click of his watch, the soft zip of his tailored pants, the creak of leather shoes against the floorboards.

"You barely moved all night," he murmured at last.

Her eyes stayed shut. "Didn't sleep well."

He lingered by the bed, his gaze heavy on her. "Are you upset about what I said yesterday?"

A beat.

Aria sat up slowly, letting the silk sheet slip off one shoulder. "Which part?"

"That you don't know me," he said, watching her too closely. "That I've done things you wouldn't understand."

Her fingers curled around the edge of the blanket. "You're right. I don't understand. Not yet."

A pause. His jaw tightened.

"But I will," she added.

Something in her tone made him tilt his head slightly, as though trying to read the change in her.

"You know I'd never hurt you," he said, stepping closer. "Whatever you're thinking-whatever Cassandra told you-forget it."

Aria blinked. "You knew she was here?"

"Of course," he said softly, brushing a hand along her jaw. "She's been trying to dig into Callahan operations for months. She's not your ally."

"She said the same about you."

He smiled-too easily. "Did she give you a choice? Me or her? That's her game. Divide and conquer."

"I don't want to play games, Damon."

"Then don't," he whispered. "Just stay on my side."

His lips pressed to hers-gentle, warm, familiar. But she didn't melt into it like before. Not anymore.

Not with the weight of a SIM card burning a hole beneath her pillow.

-

Later that afternoon, she stood in Damon's private office, alone.

He had been called into an emergency board meeting downtown, and she had exactly twenty-seven minutes until the driver returned. The room smelled like cedarwood and aged leather, with thick curtains draped against the glass walls. Every corner was curated. Controlled.

But not locked.

The bottom drawer of his desk slid open easily. Too easily.

She found what she was looking for: a burner phone, sleek and black, tucked inside a velvet pouch beside a silver-plated revolver.

Aria inserted the SIM card Cassandra had given her.

No PIN. Just one contact preloaded.

UNKNOWN: V.H.

She hesitated-then tapped the number.

It rang once. Twice.

On the third ring, a deep voice answered. Rough. Distorted by something synthetic.

"Mrs. Callahan."

She froze. "Who is this?"

"You already know. You just don't want to believe it yet."

"Vincent Hale is dead."

"Is that what Damon told you? Or what your father made you believe?"

Her throat went dry. "What do you want from me?"

"You. Alive. Aware. Not his pawn."

"I'm not his pawn."

"You're his wife. Which is worse. You're in bed with the man who helped bury your father's empire."

Aria's voice cracked. "Why should I believe anything you say?"

"Because I have proof. Meet me tonight. Midnight. Battery Park. Come alone."

The line went dead.

She stared at the screen for a long moment, then powered down the phone and slid it back into the pouch.

Behind her, the door creaked.

Aria spun.

Damon stood in the doorway, eyes unreadable.

"You forgot your coffee," he said, holding a ceramic mug with her lipstick on the rim.

He stepped inside. His gaze dropped to the drawer behind her-still slightly ajar.

Her pulse thundered.

But Damon simply handed her the cup, then leaned down and kissed her temple.

"You really should stay out of my office, darling," he murmured, voice like velvet over a blade.

Then he smiled.

And walked away.

Aria dressed in silence that night.

No glittering gowns. No red carpet lipstick. Just a black trench coat, dark jeans, and boots made for running. She left the mansion without a sound, nodding curtly at the sleepy guard stationed near the eastern wing's gate.

Battery Park waited for her like a cold, open mouth.

Fog hung low over the Hudson, masking the far side of the pier in shifting greys. The air reeked faintly of seawater and diesel, and her footsteps echoed across the worn planks like gunshots.

She reached the coordinates Cassandra had sent. No one.

Until-

"You came."

The voice came from behind her.

She turned, her heart slamming into her ribs.

The man who stepped from the mist wore a charcoal suit and a hat pulled low. His face remained in shadow, but the voice was unmistakable. The one from the burner phone. Cold. Rough. Edged in scars she couldn't see.

"You're V.H.," she said.

"No. I'm his echo."

"I don't need riddles-"

"I need your trust."

He reached into his coat slowly and pulled out a folder-thick, sealed in black matte plastic.

"This is everything your father built... and everything Damon destroyed."

"I want answers," she said, her fingers tightening around the folder. "Why me? Why now?"

"Because your father made you the contingency. You're the only blood left who can reclaim his empire. Damon married you to control that legacy. To cage it."

She shook her head. "Damon saved me. He found me when I had nothing."

"No," the man said quietly. "He created the fire that left you with nothing."

Aria took a step back. "You're lying."

"If I were, you wouldn't be shaking."

She hated that he was right.

He stepped closer. "Inside that folder are coded bank transactions. Offshore accounts. Photos from the Callahan vault. And... the final page your father ever wrote."

Her fingers froze at the seal.

"But be careful," he added. "Truth costs more than lies. And Damon never loses what he owns."

She blinked-and he was gone.

No footsteps. No car. Just a thinning veil of fog curling into the empty space he left behind.

Aria clutched the folder to her chest, breath unsteady. She couldn't open it here. Not yet.

As she turned to leave, her phone buzzed.

DAMON: Where are you?

Another buzz.

DAMON: Come home, Aria. Now.

She swallowed hard.

And ran.

Aria's heels echoed through the Callahan mansion's marble halls as she slipped back in just after 1 a.m.

The house was dark-except for the study.

The door stood ajar.

Golden light spilled from within, flickering like a trap.

She paused in the hallway mirror to collect herself. Wiped the sweat from her brow. Adjusted her hair. Hid the folder beneath her coat, flat against her spine like a second heart.

Then she stepped inside.

Damon sat by the fireplace, tie loosened, drink in hand. His expression unreadable-too still. Like a storm gathering beneath glass.

He didn't look up. "I asked you not to leave the house without telling me."

Aria shut the door softly. "I needed air."

"You always did like the night."

His voice was calm. Too calm.

"I couldn't sleep," she added.

His gaze lifted slowly, locking with hers. "You lied."

She blinked. "About what?"

He stood. Walked toward her.

"You were at Battery Park. Do you want me to list the CCTV cams you forgot about?"

Aria didn't move. Didn't breathe.

"You think I don't see everything, Aria? I knew the moment Cassandra crossed our gates. I let her speak to you. I let her hand you that drive."

She swallowed. "Why?"

"Because you wouldn't believe me until you saw the poison yourself."

He stopped just a foot away from her. Close enough that his scent-woodsmoke and ruin-invaded her thoughts.

"She gave you a folder, didn't she?" Damon asked, voice low. "Lies wrapped in paper. My past twisted to suit her vengeance."

"Is it true?" Aria whispered.

"That I built an empire out of ash? That I made enemies? That your father and I had blood between us?"

"Yes."

A pause. The silence screamed.

"Yes," he said finally. "And no."

He reached behind her before she could react-pulled the folder free, slow and deliberate. Then tossed it into the fire.

"No!" she lunged, but his arm locked around her waist.

"Don't," he breathed into her ear. "That truth will burn you long before it ever saves you."

They stood frozen, watching the plastic seal curl into black smoke, pages folding into themselves like dying secrets.

Aria turned in his arms, heart racing. "I don't know who you are."

"You do," he said, eyes glowing beneath the firelight. "You just don't want to admit it."

She shook her head. "You manipulated me. You took my pain and dressed it as love."

Damon cupped her face with both hands. "I gave you everything. And I will burn everything again to keep you."

The words hit like gunfire.

But it wasn't the intensity that terrified her.

It was how much she wanted to believe him.