Chapter 8 Chaper 8.
Morning light bled through the velvet drapes, casting long shadows across Aria’s unfamiliar room. She sat on the edge of the massive bed, still in the clothes from the night before. The silence was eerie. Not peaceful—dangerous. Like the calm before a violent storm.
A knock shattered the stillness.
She tensed. “Yes?”
The door opened and a tall woman in her late thirties stepped in, sharply dressed in all black. Her gaze raked Aria with quiet disdain.
“I’m Francesca. Mr. Moretti sent me,” she said, coolly. “I’m to prepare you.”
“Prepare me?” Aria frowned.
“For your transformation.” Francesca replied.
"Hun?" Aria raised an eyebrow, confused.
Francesca crossed the room and placed a sleek black garment bag on the bed. “You’ll find a full outfit inside. Wear everything. No substitutions.”
Aria stared at the bag like it might bite. “What exactly am I being transformed into?”
Francesca didn’t flinch. “Someone worthy of standing beside Lucien Moretti.”
The woman turned and left before Aria could respond.
Francesca's words rang omniously in Aria's head. "What the hell did she mean by that?" She thought.
Standing up, the bed cover hooked on to the jewel on the wedding ring on her finger. Unhooking the fabric from her ring, Aria caressed the ring on her finger, the memories of her wedding day washing over her. "Is this a sign, Nat? Is this a sign that you don't want me to do this?" She muttered. "Are you trying to tell me that I shouldn't go on with what I'm about to do? Is this a silent reminder that I'm to be yours forever?" Her voice cracked as her heart tightened.
She stayed like that for a few minutes tired and confused on what to do. Taking a last glance on her ring, she spoke with determination, every word a promise. "Don't worry I'm only yours forever. Just let me avenge your death, okay?"
With that, she rose from the bed and walked into the spacious and luxurious bathroom.
Aria's eyes met her reflection in the mirror, and for a moment, she stared at the stranger staring back. The exhaustion and grief etched on her face seemed to belong to someone else. She took a deep breath, the determination she had summoned earlier still simmering beneath the surface.
With a quiet resolve, Aria began her transformation. She stripped off the clothes from the night before, the fabric rustling as it fell to the floor. The shower was a sanctuary, the warm water washing away some of the emotional weight she carried. She shampooed her hair, something she hadn't done for days now. The scent of lavender and chamomile filled the air, invading her nostrils, soothing her.
As she stepped out of the shower, Aria wrapped herself in a plush towel, the softness a gentle caress on her skin. She dried her hair, the blow dryer humming in the background. The sound was almost soothing, a brief respite from the turmoil brewing inside her.
Aria's gaze fell on the garment bag, still untouched on the bed. She approached it with a mix of curiosity and trepidation. Unzipping the bag revealed a stunning outfit – tight black slacks, a silk burgundy blouse, and a tailored jacket. Everything was impeccably designed, the fabrics luxurious.
As she dressed, Aria felt a sense of detachment, as if she was putting on a costume for a role she didn't fully understand. The clothes fit perfectly, the fabrics hugging her curves in all the right places. She styled her hair, her hands moving with a practiced ease.
When she finally emerged from the bedroom, Francesca was waiting, her expression unreadable. "You look... acceptable," she said, her voice devoid of emotion.
Aria's eyes narrowed, but she said nothing. She followed Francesca down the stairs, the silence between them thick with unspoken tension.
As she descended the grand staircase, she saw Lucien waiting below, seated with one leg crossed, sipping espresso as if the world spun to his rhythm.
Noticing her presence, he looked up. His gaze lingering longer than it should have with an intensity that made her skin prickle. “You clean up well.”
Aria ignored the heat creeping up her neck. “Didn’t have much of a choice, did I?”
“No,” he said smoothly. “You didn’t.”
Aria's gaze met his, a spark of defiance flashing between them. "What's the plan, Lucien?" she asked, her voice cool.
He walked over to her, his smile a slow, calculated gesture. "We'll discuss that over breakfast," he replied, offering his arm.
Aria looked at his arm with a disgusted look on her face.
"Still won't take my hand?" Lucien asked.
"I'll never take your hand." Aria replied firmly.
Lucien scoffed, "you seem to forgetting that you're mine now..." he stepped closer to her. Leaning in to her, he whispered into her ear, sending shivers through her. "You're mine to use and to ruin."
Aria’s heart raced, the tension coiling tighter in her chest. She refused to show any sign of weakness, though the chill of his words sent a shiver down her spine. “I’m not a toy for you to play with, Lucien. Don’t forget that,” she shot back, fighting the urge to step away from him.
He chuckled softly, the sound dark and rich, smirking as if reveling in their exchange. “We’ll see how long that defiance lasts, Aria.”
Not wanting to engage further, she swept past him, trailing a breath of defiance in her wake as she walked toward who knows where. She finally came to a halt, realizing she didn't know her way around the house.
"What are you waiting for? Lead the way, I'm following behind you." Lucien said with an edge of sarcasm in his tone.
Aria stepped aside,a silent request for him to lead the way.
As if sensing the message, Lucien led the way to the dinning room and she followed closely behind him.
The table was laid out meticulously, silver platters gleaming under the soft light. A sumptuous spread of fresh pastries, fruit, and an array of breakfast options was laid out, a feast fit for a king.
Her stomach grumbled at the sight before her and it was then she realized she hadn't taken anything for days.
"Mmmm, someone's hungry," Lucien remarked as he settled at the head of the table.
Ignoring him, she grabbed a plate and began serving herself, attempting to concentrate on the food rather than the man watching her every move.
Filling her plate to her heart's content, she moved to the foot of the table to settle in.
As Aria sat down at the table, the aroma of freshly baked croissants wafted through the air, mingling with the rich scent of espresso. The cool leather of the chair seemed to mold to her body as she sat down, providing a subtle sense of comfort amidst the tension. Lucien watched her, his eyes never leaving her as she began to eat, the clinking of silverware against fine china punctuating the silence between them.
The way she ate without reserve made him question what she really had passed through these few days.
Noticing his gaze on her, Aria recomposed herself, embarrassment creeping up her cheeks.
"So a tigress can be this embarrassed, how fascinating." Lucien exclaimed, feigning amazement.
Aria shot him daggers from her eyes and Lucien chuckled. He had done that on purpose to drone out her embarrassment.
He stood and walked over to her, holding out a phone. “From now on, this is your number. Your ID has been changed. Your name is now Elena Voss—you’ll use it for everything until I say otherwise.”
"What?" Aria burst in disbelief.
Her jaw clenched. “You’re changing who I am.”
“I’m protecting who you were,” he said simply.
She hated that his logic made sense.
“I don’t want a new name,” she muttered.
He leaned in, his voice dangerously low. “Then you shouldn’t have signed your soul over to me.”
