The drawing room felt more like a throne room.
High ceilings, velvet drapes, and a fire that crackled just enough to suggest warmth—without offering any. Gilded furniture sat untouched, cushions too perfect, like no one ever really sat here. Not to rest. Not to talk. Not to feel.
Aria stepped through the arched doorway, damp coat still clinging to her shoulders, shoes silent on polished marble.
No one offered to take it. She didn't ask.
A single cup of tea waited for her—already poured, already cooling. It wasn't a gesture of kindness. It was a placeholder.
The women in the room didn't stand.
Isabelle stood near the fire, spine straight, chin lifted just enough to signal dominance without saying a word. Pale blue cashmere wrapped around her like a sheath. Her expression didn't change.
"I see you made yourself at home," she said smoothly, voice dusted with condescension.
"I followed the invitation," Aria replied, tone clean and light. "Would've been rude not to."
Isabelle gestured to the seat opposite. "We're not accustomed to unexpected guests."
"I imagine not." Aria sat, unbothered. "But I wasn't unexpected. Just inconvenient."
Selene looked up from her phone for the first time. "So you talk." Her voice was smooth, sardonic. "For a secret, you're surprisingly articulate."
Juliet lounged near the windows, head tilted like she was appraising an artifact. "I thought you'd be more... quiet. Maybe unsure. Bastards usually are when they step into a room built without them."
Aria let that sit.
Then she picked up the tea cup—porcelain, too fine—and sipped.
"I don't mistake silence for fear," she said calmly. "And I don't need a name on a wall to know where I'm standing."
Juliet blinked. Selene's posture shifted—just enough for Aria to notice.
Isabelle's smile didn't budge. "Still, it's good that you understand your position."
"I understand plenty," Aria replied.
Selene crossed her legs. "What exactly is it you think you've walked into? This isn't one of your undergrad debate clubs. This house—this family—isn't something you navigate with a few clever comebacks."
"I didn't come here to spar," Aria said, voice cool. "I came because I was summoned."
"Summoned?" Juliet repeated. "You're not royalty."
"No," Aria replied. "But neither are any of you. Yet here we are."
That landed. Quietly. Perfectly.
Selene's fingers drummed against her phone. "Let me guess. You think Father's trying to reconnect? That he suddenly remembered he had a daughter with the housekeeper and decided to give her a seat at the table?"
"I think he remembers more than you're comfortable with," Aria said evenly.
Isabelle's voice cut in, firm and controlled. "Whatever my husband's reasons, you should know—we're watching you. Every step. Every word."
Aria smiled, soft and deliberate. "Then I won't have to repeat myself."
Juliet frowned. "What's that supposed to mean?"
"It means," Aria said, setting her cup down gently, "that I didn't come here to be accepted. I came because I'm already part of something you can't erase just by pretending I don't belong."
The silence that followed wasn't loud. It was brittle.
Then—
A knock at the door.
Noel stepped in without pause, sleeves rolled to the elbow, file in one hand. His presence pulled the air slightly. Focused it.
"Apologies," he said, his voice steady. "Mr. Moreau asked this be delivered directly."
Isabelle accepted the folder with a brief nod. "Thank you."
Noel turned to leave, but his eyes found Aria on the way out.
A pause. Measured. Intentional.
Not warm. Not cold.
Just aware.
She held his gaze. Looking at him while wondering in her mind if he knows about the things that happened in the past
He nodded at her. Slightly a way of greeting just acknowledging her presence unlike the rest of the maids.
Then he left.
The door shut behind him with a whisper.
Juliet shifted in her seat. Selene's smile returned, but thinner now.
Isabelle hadn't opened the file.
Aria sat straight, calm, and certain. She didn't need the last word.
She'd already said everything in her silence.
And as the tea cooled beside her, she breathed in slowly.
You died with me… and I owe you one. This time, I'm not leaving without a fight—and not until they pay.