Chapter 325: The Snake Sends Her Regards

Aria slowly tilted her head back to look up at her husband.

Damien’s jaw had locked so tight she could see a muscle jumping in his cheek. His golden eyes were fixed on Séverine with an expression that suggested he was actively reconsidering the whole ’not murdering her’ decision.

"You are blaming me," Damien said, his voice dangerously soft, "for saving my wife’s life."

"Je te reproche de l’avoir mise sur toutes les couvertures de magazines du pays," Séverine replied coolly.

Jade squeaked. "She says she’s blaming you for putting her on the cover of every magazine in the country."

Aria set her teacup down on the table. The porcelain hit the saucer with a sharp crack that made Jade jump.

"No," Aria said.

Séverine’s emerald eyes cut back to her.

"You don’t get to do that," Aria said, her voice low and steady. "You don’t get to shove me off a bridge in the dark, with no warning, and then sit here and blame the one person who came after me."

Jade hesitated. Then, very quietly, she translated.

"Your men were waiting under the bridge? Great. Nobody told me that. All I knew was that I was falling." Aria didn’t look away from her aunt. "And then he was there. He came for me. So don’t you dare make that the thing that went wrong."

Aria took a slow breath. Underneath the anger, there was something heavier sitting on her chest.

A boat. Blankets. A doctor.

The woman hadn’t been trying to kill her. She had been trying to erase her. And from what Aria had learned about her mother, erasing people apparently ran in the family.

"The Key," Aria said. "What is it?"

Séverine was quiet for a long moment. She looked down into her tea.

"Ce n’est pas à moi de te le dire," she finally said. "Mais toi, tu sais où elle est."

Jade blinked, glancing between them in confusion. "She says it isn’t her place to tell you what it is. But... she says you know where it is."

Aria let out a short, disbelieving laugh. "I don’t. I genuinely don’t. People keep coming after me over this thing, and I have no idea what it even looks like."

"Ta mère te l’a dit," Séverine insisted, leaning forward slightly. "Tu avais six ans."

"Your mother told you," Jade translated softly. "You were six."

"I was six," Aria repeated, frustration bleeding into her voice. "I don’t remember what I ate for breakfast last week!"

Séverine didn’t argue.

Instead, she did something that made the entire room go still.

She started to hum.

It was a soft, low melody. Slow and a little sad, the notes rising and falling like a boat rocking on water.

Aria stopped breathing.

She knew that song.

She didn’t know the name of it. She didn’t know the words. But her body knew it. Her fingers suddenly curled into the fabric of her hoodie, and the back of her neck prickled, and something warm and aching cracked open in the middle of her chest.

A garden.

Sunlight.

Her mother on her knees in the dirt, her sleeves rolled up, humming that exact song. Soft hands pressing something small and cold into Aria’s palm, then closing her little fingers around it.

’C’est notre secret, mon trésor.’

(It’s our secret, my treasure.)

A sharp, stabbing pain lanced through Aria’s temple.

She gasped, pressing the heel of her hand against her forehead. The garden shattered like a dropped mirror, leaving her staring at the chipped teacup on the table, her heart hammering violently against her ribs.

Damien’s hand was on her shoulder instantly, his grip warm and heavy.

"Aria." His voice had lost every ounce of its hostility. "Look at me."

"I’m okay," Aria breathed, though her hand was trembling. "I’m okay. It’s just a headache."

Séverine stopped humming.

"Ça reviendra," she said, her voice gentler now as she looked at Aria. "Pas d’un coup. Petit à petit."

"She says it will come back," Jade whispered. "Not all at once. Little by little."

Aria lowered her hand from her forehead. The pain was fading into a dull throb, but the image of the garden stayed stubbornly behind her eyes. Her mother’s hands. The dirt. Something cold in her palm.

She didn’t want to think about it right now.

"Fine," Aria said, clearing her throat. She sat up straighter. "Then answer something you can tell me. The ledger. You had it stolen from Julian’s safe. Where is it?"

"Je l’ai brûlé."

Aria didn’t need Jade for that one either. She stared at her aunt. "You burned it?"

"Oui."

"That ledger was the only real evidence we had against Lydia!" Aria’s voice rose. "Payments to Dr. Evans. The poison. Everything! Do you understand what you did? She walked out of a police station because of you!"

Séverine looked at her niece with a quiet, terrible sort of pity.

"Il y avait le nom de ta mère dedans," Séverine said softly. "Juste à côté de celui de Lydia."

Jade hesitated. She looked at Aria with genuinely apologetic eyes before she translated.

"She says... your mother’s name was in it too. Right next to Lydia’s."

The room fell silent.

Aria felt the words land somewhere deep in her stomach. Her mother’s name. In the book of crimes. Right next to the woman who had killed her.

Damien’s hand found hers on the armrest. He didn’t say anything. He just laced his fingers through hers and held on.

Aria opened her mouth. She honestly didn’t know what was going to come out of it. A question. An argument. A scream.

She never found out.

Bzzzzt.

Jade’s phone vibrated violently in the front pocket of her hoodie.

Jade jumped. She fumbled the phone out, and the second she looked at the screen, every drop of color drained from her face.

"It’s Leo’s number," Jade whispered.

Séverine was on her feet instantly.

"Answer it," Damien ordered.

With shaking fingers, Jade tapped the screen. It wasn’t a call. It was a video message. She turned the phone around and held it out so they could all see.

The footage was dark and grainy. A bare concrete room. A single bulb swinging overhead.

And in the center of the frame, zip-tied to a metal chair, was Leo.

His lip was split, and there was a vicious purple bruise blooming across his left cheekbone. His head hung low, his chin resting against his chest.

Jade let out a strangled sob, slapping a hand over her mouth.

Slowly, Leo lifted his head. He looked straight into the camera. His eyes were swollen, but they were open.

He was alive.

Then a slender hand drifted into the frame from off-screen.

Dangling from the woman’s fingers on a thin silver chain was a pendant. A coiled silver snake with two glittering ruby eyes. It swung lazily back and forth in front of the lens, catching the light of the bare bulb.

A woman’s voice floated through the phone speaker. It was low, smooth, and amused, laced with a thick French accent.

"Bonjour, Aria."

Aria’s blood turned to ice.

"I believe you have something that belongs to me," the voice purred. "And as you can see... I have something that belongs to you."

The ruby eyes of the snake winked in the light.

"Seventy-two hours, chérie. Don’t make me wait."

The video cut to black.

Nobody in the room moved. Aria slowly turned to look at her aunt.

Séverine was staring at the black screen. For the first time since Aria had stepped out of that SUV, the woman looked genuinely afraid.

"Valérie," Séverine whispered.