A Safe Full of Damnation

I didn't back down or move, just watched Aria calmly, as if appraising a work of art.

To her, my calmness was a provocation. How dare a sacrificial lamb, sent to be slaughtered, be so composed?

Then, I heard the faint rustle of the cashmere blanket slipping.

She propped herself up on the wheelchair's armrests, the lines of her body instantly tensing. Then, with a whisper of fabric, she shot up from the wheelchair!

The facade of sickliness and weakness she had so carefully constructed was torn to shreds in an instant.

Faced with her tall and powerful figure, I felt a suffocating pressure.

As she strode toward me, I involuntarily took a step back.

"Who gave you the nerve to look at me like that?"

Before she finished speaking, a slender, powerful hand shot out and clamped around my throat.

My airway was cut off instantly. I was forced to tilt my head back, my face flushing red from lack of oxygen as I met her murderous eyes.

"What game is Genevieve playing this time?" she growled, her voice thick with rage.

The pain of suffocation made my vision darken, but I knew this was my only chance. Pleading would only earn me her deeper contempt.

I used all my strength to squeeze out a few broken syllables. "Miss Crestwood… your legs… they healed… six months ago… didn't they?"

As soon as the words left my lips, I felt the hand on my throat freeze.

The rage in her eyes vanished, replaced first by shock, then by a colder, more dangerous scrutiny.

"Who the hell are you?" she demanded.

She didn't let go; instead, her grip tightened. My vision began to blur.

But I knew I had played the right card.

A moment later, she abruptly released me.

I collapsed to the floor, leaning against the doorframe and coughing violently, greedily sucking in air like a drowning man.

Aria sat back down in her wheelchair, as if the woman who had just stood had been a figment of my imagination.

She was still staring at me, but the murderous intent had been replaced by a sharp, calculating suspicion.

"How did you know?" she asked.

"Actually, I know much more than that," I replied.

I slowly pushed myself up and looked her straight in the eye.

"I know you're faking your paralysis to draw out your real enemy. And I know that enemy is Genevieve Sinclair—the same woman who sent me to you."

Aria's pupils contracted sharply.

"We're natural allies, Miss Crestwood," I said.

My throat burned, my voice hoarse.

I laid it all out—the truths from my past life combined with the clues I'd just tricked out of Spencer. "Genevieve stole my father's fortune. She swapped me with her lover's son at birth and sent me here to die like a pawn. And the car crash that killed your parents? She orchestrated it."

The study fell silent.

"So, the safe my father left doesn't contain bonds. It holds proof of Genevieve's crimes and my birth certificate, which Spencer is currently 'guarding' in the countryside. I'm sure you have the case file from your parents' crash. All the evidence points to one person."

"Genevieve!" Aria ground the name out through her teeth. Her hand on the wheelchair armrest clenched so tightly her nails dug into the expensive wood.

The shock and pain in her eyes could no longer be concealed, finally erupting into a monstrous hatred.

She had thought she was a lone hunter, but she never expected her chosen prey to be another avenger.

Just then, her private phone on the desk rang.

The caller ID showed Genevieve.

A cold glint flashed in Aria's eyes as she pressed the speakerphone button.

Genevieve's cloyingly sweet voice came through. "Aria, dear, is my son Rhys settling in alright over there?"

Aria didn't speak, just tapped her fingertips lightly on the desk.

Genevieve sounded a little nervous, covering it with a laugh. "I just wanted to check on Rhys. Is he settled in? He's always been very introverted; I hope he hasn't been any trouble."

"He's busy," Aria finally said, her voice tight with suppressed rage, "fulfilling his duties as my husband."

The words were loaded with insinuation. Genevieve's breath hitched, followed by a suggestive laugh. "Haha, that's good. You young people are so full of energy."

She quickly revealed her true purpose. "Aria, could I, um, speak to Rhys alone for a moment? You know, a mother always worries."

She wanted a private word, clearly assuming Aria couldn't overhear. A sarcastic smile touched Aria's lips as she handed me the phone, the speaker still on.

I calmly took the phone. "Hello, Mother."

"Oh, Rhys!" The moment she heard my voice, Genevieve's tone turned venomous. "Spencer has his eye on a project and needs some funding. You're Miss Crestwood's husband now, so put in a good word. See if she can get you a seat on the board, maybe funnel some resources our way. We're family, after all. She ought to help."

Her voice was low and domineering.

"And don't forget Philip's birthday is coming up. Get him a decent gift. Don't let people think you've forgotten your place just because you married a Crestwood. Don't embarrass us!"

Before I could answer, Philip snatched the phone, his shrill voice yelling, "Rhys! Stop playing dead! Did you hear your mother? Get Aria to invest two hundred million in the Sinclair family—no, five hundred million! What's that to her! And get me that Aston Martin I was looking at! Don't think you've made it just because you married into the Crestwoods. You're a replacement for Spencer! He's the real heir! Everything you have, we gave you, and it's time you paid us back!"

Just then, a loud crash echoed through the room.

Aria snatched the phone from my hand and slammed it against the wall. The screen shattered, the casing buckled, and the expensive custom phone was destroyed.

Genevieve and Philip's voices were cut off. Silence returned to the study.

Aria slowly looked up. Her eyes were bloodshot, filled with a ferocious, murderous intent.