Aria’s POV

When we reached the car, Camilla hurried ahead and reached for the front passenger door as if it were already hers.

To my surprise, Enzo caught her wrist lightly.

“Wait,” he said, then glanced at me. “Aria… you can sit in front.”

There was something almost apologetic in his tone, as if offering me the seat could undo everything else.

“Camilla can take the back.”

“No,” Camilla objected immediately, her lips forming a dramatic pout. “I get nauseous in the back seat. The baby’s been making me dizzy all day, Enzo.”

I let out a quiet breath through my nose.

Enzo hesitated, clearly trying to navigate between us.

“It doesn’t matter,” I said evenly. “She can sit in front.”

“But—”

“I said it’s fine.” My voice sharpened slightly. “I don’t care where I sit.”

A brief silence followed.

Camilla’s lips curved in subtle triumph.

Enzo frowned but didn’t argue further.

I slid into the backseat carefully, biting back a wince as my body protested the movement. Every bruise and stitch reminded me of the hospital bed I had just left.

I leaned my head against the cool glass of the window and stared outside, distancing myself from the scene unfolding just a few feet away.

Five minutes into the drive, Camilla began her performance.

She rested her hand casually on Enzo’s thigh. Her fingers moved slowly, deliberately. I didn’t turn my head, but I could see the faint movement reflected in the side mirror—and the sideways glance she threw in my direction.

Enzo stiffened.

“Camilla,” he warned quietly, removing her hand.

She blinked at him with exaggerated innocence. “What?”

When he didn’t elaborate, she returned her hand to his leg, this time sliding it higher.

“I said stop,” he snapped, more firmly.

Instantly, her eyes filled with tears. She withdrew her hand and covered her face.

“Why are you yelling at me?” she whimpered. “I’m pregnant. You’re stressing me.”

Enzo exhaled, frustration melting into concern. “I’m not yelling. Just… not when she’s here.”

He didn’t say my name.

As if I were nothing more than background noise in my own life.

Camilla sniffled softly, then leaned forward to open the glove compartment. “I’m just looking for tissues,” she muttered.

What she pulled out was not tissue.

She held up a delicate scrap of red lace between her fingers and laughed softly.

“Oh, Enzo,” she said sweetly. “Remember this? That night we didn’t make it to the hotel? You pulled me onto your lap right here in this car—”

“That’s enough,” Enzo cut in tightly, eyes fixed on the road.

She shrugged. “Relax. Aria knows it’s just hormones. Pregnancy makes everything more intense.” Her hand drifted back to his thigh. This time, he didn’t remove it.

Through the rearview mirror, his gaze flickered toward me.

For a second, our eyes met.

I looked away immediately.

There was nothing left for him to see.

—

The moment the car stopped in front of the orphanage gates, I stepped out without a word.

I didn’t wait for them.

I walked through the iron gates and into the building my father had built with his own hands long before the city learned to fear his name. The scent of old wood and disinfectant greeted me. For a brief moment, memories tightened my chest, but I forced myself forward.

Mr. Damien, the administrator, looked up from his desk when I entered his office.

His eyes widened. “Miss Aria,” he said warmly, standing at once. “We weren’t expecting you.”

“I won’t take much of your time,” I replied. “There are matters we need to review immediately.”

We went over documents, security updates, funding allocations. I ensured every contract and ownership clause was ironclad. By the time we were finishing, I felt steadier than I had in days.

Then a scream tore through the building.

It wasn’t playful.

It was panicked.

My heart lurched violently.

Another cry followed—sharper this time.

I didn’t wait. I rushed out of the office, Mr. Damien right behind me.

The smell hit me before I saw it.

Smoke.

Thick and bitter.

It burned my throat instantly.

The screaming was coming from the west wing—the dormitory for the younger children.

I ran toward it, dread tightening every muscle in my body.

When I reached the corridor, I froze.

Flames licked up the walls near the far exit. Smoke rolled along the ceiling in dark waves. Children were crying, some huddled near the stairwell, others coughing desperately as staff tried to herd them away from the spreading fire.

For a heartbeat, everything felt unreal.

Then instinct took over.

“Get them out!” I shouted, my voice cutting through the chaos. “Use the east exit! Move now!”

My father’s orphanage was burning.

Aria's POV

The west wing was ablaze.

Flames roared through the old corridor like a living thing, swallowing doors, curtains, furniture—anything in reach. Thick black smoke rolled along the ceiling and poured down the hallway, clawing into my lungs the moment I inhaled.

Children were crying everywhere.

Some had already been ushered outside into the courtyard, coughing and terrified. Others were still trapped deeper inside, their small voices cutting through the chaos as staff members scrambled to reach them.

“What happened?” I demanded hoarsely, grabbing the arm of one of the caretakers. “How did this start?”

She was crying so hard she could barely speak. “Your stepsister… she was in the kitchen. She kept tampering with the gas lines on the industrial cookers. We told her to stop. Then it just—” She broke down. “It exploded.”

For a split second, rage blinded me.

Camilla.

But fury could wait. The fire couldn’t.

“Get every child outside,” I ordered sharply. “Count them. I’ll sweep the rooms.”

Without waiting for a response, I plunged into the smoke.

The heat hit me instantly, searing my skin, stealing my breath. I covered my mouth with my sleeve and moved through the hallway, forcing open doors, calling out names.

“I’m here! Follow my voice!”

I found two boys huddled beneath a desk in one room, their faces streaked with soot. I dragged them out, one in each arm, ignoring the pain tearing through my muscles. My lungs burned with every breath, but I kept moving.

Room after room.

Child after child.

I didn’t stop.

My baby hadn’t been given a chance to live.

These children would.

Even if it cost me everything.

The fire spread faster than I expected. The ceiling above crackled ominously as embers fell around me. My vision blurred from smoke and exhaustion, but I forced myself deeper into the wing, checking the last rooms.

“Is anyone else inside?” I shouted, though my voice came out ragged.

No answer.

After a final sweep, I staggered back toward the main corridor, coughing violently as the smoke thickened.

I could barely see anymore. The air was heavy and suffocating. I kept one hand against the wall, feeling my way forward.

Then something slammed into me.

I stumbled backward, nearly falling.

“Camilla?” I choked.

She stood there, coughing, her face streaked with soot. Panic flashed across her features when she recognized me.

“I didn’t mean for this,” she sputtered, waving smoke away uselessly. “I just wanted to scare you. I didn’t think it would spread.”

My disbelief cut through the haze.

“Are you insane?” I shouted. “You set fire to a building full of children?”

She shook her head wildly. “I only wanted to upset you. I know how much this place means to you.”

The ceiling groaned above us.

“Move!” I grabbed her arm and shoved her aside just as part of the structure crashed down in front of us.

Debris blocked the nearest exit.

We were trapped.

Camilla began to cry, backing away. “I don’t want to die,” she sobbed. “Enzo! Enzo!”

Through the roar of the flames, I heard it.

“Aria!”

Enzo’s voice.

My heart stuttered.

“He’s still inside!” someone shouted from outside.

Moments later, he burst through the smoke, face streaked with ash, eyes wild. He was holding two gas masks—pulled from the emergency kit in his car.

His gaze found me immediately.

“Aria!” he yelled, rushing toward us.

For a fraction of a second—just one—I believed he had come for me.

That I mattered.

Then Camilla whimpered.

“Enzo…” she coughed weakly. “I can’t breathe… the baby…”

His expression shifted instantly.

He hadn’t known she was inside.

He moved toward her without hesitation.

“No,” I croaked, reaching for one of the masks.

He jerked them away from me. “She needs them,” he snapped. “What if one fails?”

Before I could respond, he secured a mask over Camilla’s face and lifted her carefully into his arms.

The second mask remained in his hand.

Unused.

Our eyes met.

There was no apology in his.

No regret.

Only calculation.

He turned away and carried her toward the flames, disappearing through the smoke.

And just like that, I understood.

He had chosen.

The heat intensified around me. The fire crept closer, devouring everything in its path.

I sank to my knees.

The air was nearly gone. My body felt too heavy to move. My lungs screamed, my skin burned, but I didn’t fight it anymore.

If this was how it ended, then so be it.

Through the roaring in my ears, I thought I heard footsteps.

Then arms—strong and steady—wrapped around me.

A familiar voice, low and firm, reached me through the haze.

“I’ve got you,” he said close to my ear. “Stay with me.”

I tried to lift my head, but everything felt distant.

“You’re safe,” he murmured. “I’m here.”

I didn’t need to see his face to know.

Dominic.

I let my body go limp against him as he carried me through the inferno, his voice repeating steady reassurances while the world around us blurred into darkness.

That day, the woman who had once answered to Aria Russo died in the fire.

And something far colder rose from the ashes.

Enzo Russo—

One day, I will make you pay.