The morning light was pale and cool when Aria opened her eyes in the modest hotel room.

She'd checked in late last night—a small, nondescript place a few miles from the Hayes estate. Nothing fancy. Just four walls, a bed, and a bathroom. Enough to wash the blood off her hands, change the bandage on her wrist, and lie down for a few hours.

She hadn't slept much. Her wrist throbbed, and her mind was too full to rest. But she'd used the hours well. She'd accessed her accounts, confirmed her funds, and mapped out her first moves.

Now, as the Uber pulled up to the grand stone edifice of Veridia City Hall, she pushed the door open and stepped out into the daylight.

She was still wearing the same simple clothes from last night. Her suitcase was scuffed, her hair was slightly disheveled, and there were shadows under her eyes. But her spine was straight, and her gaze was clear.

Grant was already there, waiting on the steps. He'd changed into a different, equally expensive suit, and he was tapping his foot impatiently.

His eyes raked over her, from her simple clothes to the scuffed luggage. The contempt in his gaze deepened. "Looks like you had a rough night."

Aria met his stare without flinching. "Better than any night I spent in that suffocating house."

She walked past him and pushed open the heavy doors.

The process was brutally efficient. With their lawyers present, they signed the final documents. The clerk stamped the last page with a heavy, definitive thud.

It was over. Aria felt a weight she didn't even know she was carrying lift from her shoulders.

Back outside, under the morning sun, Grant made one last attempt. "Aria, I'm giving you one last chance. The five million..."

"No, thank you," she cut him off, her tone final. "I wish you and Ms. Price a long and happy life together. Please, lock it down. Don't let each other out to inflict yourselves on the rest of the world."

She turned and walked away, leaving him standing on the steps, his face a thunderous mask of fury and confusion.

Aria found a quiet café a few blocks away. She ordered a black coffee, sat at a small table in the corner, and opened her laptop again.

She tethered it to her phone's hotspot and opened an encrypted browser. A login screen appeared—one she knew by heart. It was her private cloud service, the one she'd been using long before she crossed into this life.

She typed a long, complex password. Her password. The one she'd used since her previous existence, belonging to no one in this world.

Access granted.

She navigated through encrypted folders until she found one she'd created herself, labeled "Foundation." Inside was a complete backup of everything that mattered—scanned passports, identity documents, tax records, and most importantly: the full details of a Swiss bank account.

The account was hers. Even before she crossed over, in the world where she'd lived for over two decades, this account had belonged to her. Every cent in it was money she'd accumulated herself, independent of Aria Foster, independent of Warren Foster, independent of Yuri Sullivan. It was her money, her asset, the one thing in this world that truly belonged to her and her alone.

She opened the transaction history. The balance was intact. Every cent was still there. It was as if her death and rebirth had changed only her body—her identity and her assets had followed her seamlessly. After all, this was the same world, and she had the same name.

A small, genuine smile touched Aria's lips for the first time. This was good news.

She memorized the account details, logged out, and meticulously wiped the access cache from her laptop before shutting it down.

She was alone in a strange body, in a strange city, with nothing but a suitcase and a computer. But she had money. She had her skills. And she had unfinished business.

Her phone buzzed, vibrating against the wooden table. An unknown number.

She answered, holding the phone to her ear.

A man's voice, choked with rage, exploded from the other end. "Aria! Have you lost your mind? You get back here right now!"

The original Aria's memories supplied a name to the voice. Warren Foster. Her father.

It seemed Grant hadn't wasted any time in reporting his failure to his prospective business partner.

Aria took a slow sip of her coffee.