ARIA'S POV
The wine glass slips from my hand.
I watch it fall like I'm watching someone else's life. Red liquid sprays across my tiny apartment floor. The glass shatters. I don't move to clean it up.
My phone keeps ringing.
"Mom" flashes on the screen. That name shouldn't make my heart race like I've just run a marathon. That name shouldn't make my hands shake so badly I can barely breathe.
But it does.
Because Mom never calls. Not in two years. Not since I ran away from home and built this small, quiet life in Paris. A life where I'm just Aria. Not Aria Chen, the perfect princess. Not the girl in the golden cage. Just… me.
I let it ring three more times before I answer.
"Hello?"
"Aria." Mom's voice is ice. It's always ice. "Come home. Immediately."
My stomach drops. "What? No. I can't just—"
"Family emergency. Your father and I need you here. This isn't a request."
"Mom, I have work. I have a life here. I can't just drop everything and—"
"You'll be on a plane tomorrow." Her voice could freeze fire. "Or we'll come get you ourselves. Your choice."
The line goes dead.
I stare at my phone. My reflection stares back from the black screen. I look scared. I look like the girl I used to be. The girl I've spent two years trying to forget.
My roommate Sophie walks in, sees the broken glass, sees my face. "Aria? What happened?"
"I have to go home."
"To China? But you said you'd never—"
"I know what I said." I'm already opening my laptop, searching for flights. My fingers won't stop shaking. "It's a family emergency."
Sophie sits beside me. She knows some of my story. Not all of it. No one knows all of it. "Is it your parents? Are they sick?"
"I don't know. She didn't say." I find a flight leaving tomorrow at noon. Thirteen hours to Shanghai. Then another two hours by car to the Chen Estate. "She just said it's an emergency."
"Then maybe it's actually serious this time."
I laugh, but it sounds wrong. Broken. "With my mother, everything is serious. Everything is life or death. Everything is—"
I stop.
Because I almost said his name.
Damien.
My brother. My protector. My shadow for twenty-two years. The reason I ran. The reason I had to run.
Sophie squeezes my hand. "You've been happy here, Aria. Really happy. If you go back…"
"I know." I book the ticket before I can change my mind. The confirmation email arrives instantly. Tomorrow. 12:47 PM. Paris to Shanghai. "But I have to. If I don't, they'll just keep calling. Keep demanding. I'll go, handle whatever crisis they've invented, and come back. Two weeks maximum."
"Promise?"
"Promise."
But we both know I'm lying.
I don't sleep that night.
I lie in bed and stare at the ceiling and try not to think about him. About amber eyes that followed me everywhere. About hands that were always too gentle, too careful, like I was made of glass. About the way he said my name— Aria —like it was a prayer and a curse all at once.
About the day I finally understood what his protection really meant.
Marcus. Sweet, normal Marcus from the university. He'd asked me to coffee. Just coffee. He'd smiled like sunshine, and for the first time in my life, I felt… normal. Not like a princess. Not like property. Just like a girl someone wanted to know.
We had coffee three times.
On the fourth day, he was fired from his internship. His scholarship revoked. His student visa cancelled. Gone. Erased. Like he never existed.
I'd asked Damien about it at dinner. Casual. Light. "Did you hear about Marcus? That intern at Dad's company?"
Damien had cut his steak, not looking up. "Who?"
"The student from France. He was working in marketing."
"Oh. Him." Damien's voice was flat. Empty. "He made inappropriate advances toward you. Father and I agreed he needed to go."
My blood had frozen. "Inappropriate advances? We had coffee ."
"Did he touch you?"
"We shook hands!"
"Then he touched you." Damien had finally looked at me then. His eyes were amber fire. Burning. Consuming. "No one touches what's mine, Aria. You should know that by now."
I'd stopped eating. Stopped breathing. "I'm not yours. I'm your sister."
His smile had been terrifying. "Keep telling yourself that, little bird."
That was when I knew. That was when I finally, truly understood.
The photographer who'd asked for my number? His studio burned down a week later.
The barista who'd written his number on my cup? Disappeared. Transferred to another city. Another country. Gone.
Every boy. Every man. Every person who looked at me too long.
Damien removed them all. Quietly. Efficiently. Like pulling weeds from a garden.
And I'd been too blind to see it.
So I ran. Changed my number. Moved to Paris. Told my parents I needed space, needed to find myself, needed to grow up. They'd agreed. Reluctantly. Suspiciously. But they'd agreed.
Damien hadn't called. Hadn't texted. Hadn't followed.
The silence had been worse than his presence.
Because I knew—knew—that silence meant something. Silence meant he was waiting. Planning. Letting me have my moment of freedom before he pulled me back.
And now Mom was calling me home.
Family emergency.
What kind of emergency?
The flight is packed. I squeeze into my economy seat—I paid for the ticket myself, refused to use family money—and try to sleep. I can't. My mind won't stop spinning.
Thirteen hours of thinking. Of remembering. Of dreading.
The plane lands in Shanghai. I clear customs. I don't tell anyone I'm coming. Don't call ahead. Maybe if I surprise them, I can handle whatever crisis this is and leave before—
My phone buzzes.
Unknown number.
I almost don't answer. But something makes me click accept.
"Hello?"
"Welcome home, little bird."
His voice.
Damien's voice.
I freeze in the middle of the airport. People push past me. I can't move. Can't breathe.
"How did you—"
"Did you really think I wouldn't know the moment you landed?" He sounds amused. Pleased. Like I've done exactly what he wanted. "I've been tracking your phone for two years, Aria. Did you think changing your number would stop me?"
Horror washes over me. Cold. Drowning. "You've been tracking me?"
"Every day. Every hour. Every moment." His voice drops lower. Darker. "I know about the gallery. About Sophie. About the little life you built. I let you have it. Let you play pretend. But now it's time to come home."
"This isn't my home anymore."
"Oh, Aria." He laughs, soft and dangerous. "It was always your home. You were always mine. And now…" He pauses. "Now we don't have to pretend anymore."
"What are you talking about?"
"You'll see soon enough. The car is waiting outside. Terminal 2, Gate B. Black Mercedes. Don't make me come get you."
The line goes dead.
I stand there, shaking, as the truth crashes into me:
This isn't a family emergency.
This is a trap.
And I just walked straight into it.