Beneath the low, heat-radiating undercarriage of the Maserati, Aria’s breath shuddered in her chest.

The digital timer on the brick of C4 flashed a mocking, glowing red.

00:55.

Her fingers were trembling so violently that the metal jaws of the wire cutters were clattering against each other. A thick, warm bead of blood tracked down the side of her face from the cut on her forehead, stinging her eye, but she couldn’t wipe it away.

She stared at the tangled nest of red, blue, and yellow wires.

Up above, the gritty voice of the French cartel boss cut through the air.

"Once upon a time, the Vipers were ruled by a king," the man began. "A ruthless, brilliant visionary named Marcel Martin. He was a god among men. He built our empire. And he was untouchable... until he met a succubus."

Aria carefully used her free hand to separate a blue wire from the cluster, her heart hammering against her ribs.

"She was an Orpheus Witch," the man spat. "Geneviève Orpheus."

Aria’s hand froze.

The wire cutters slipped, the metal jaws scraping dangerously against the plastic casing of the explosive.

Orpheus. She knew that name.

"She seduced him," the man continued. "She wrapped him around her little finger until our king was entirely blind to his own kingdom. Marcel was a fool in love. He threw away everything for her. He willingly surrendered his empire, his wealth, and his very identity just to give her the ’normal’ life she begged for."

Damien stood perfectly still, his Glock still leveled at the man’s chest. "So he ran away with her."

"He didn’t just run, Demon King," the man laughed, a bitter, hollow sound. "Marcel had a few surgical procedures. He had his face altered. And he had his memories altered too. I didn’t even know there was technology that could do that. He became a blank slate for her to mold. He became the man you all know today as... Raymond Vale."

Aria stopped breathing.

’What the fuck?’ she stared blindly at the ticking bomb. Her mind recoiled, desperately rejecting the information.

Aria refused to believe it.

"What a tragic sacrifice," Damien noted coldly.

"It wasn’t a sacrifice," the man roared, his voice cracking with years of pent-up fury. "It was a heist! Because Geneviève never wiped her own memory! She was a double agent for the Orpheus Syndicate the entire time!"

"She played him," the man sneered. "She stole his mind, and then she stole our Syndicate’s most prized possession. The Key. She vanished into American suburbia as Eleanor Vale, pretending to be a sweet, innocent housewife while she operated right under our noses."

Tears instantly welled up in Aria’s eyes, mixing with the blood on her face. She let out a soft, broken whimper, clapping a hand over her mouth to muffle the sound.

The foundation of her entire reality shattered into a million jagged pieces.

The mother she had worshipped. The mother who had lovingly brushed her hair. The mother she had sworn to avenge.

She wasn’t a tragic saint.

Geneviève Orpheus was a manipulative mastermind who had seduced a mafia boss, intentionally lobotomized him, and orchestrated a massive theft while using her own daughter as the ultimate cover for a quiet, suburban life.

Everything Aria knew about herself was a lie.

Her entire life, her suffering, her rebirth—it was all just the collateral damage of a cartel long-con.

00:30.

"And Lydia?" Damien asked smoothly. "Where does she fit into this?"

"Lydia," the man spat on the pavement. "Lydia was Marcel’s true wife. The Queen of the Vipers. Left behind, scorned and humiliated, while her husband threw his life away for a spy."

Aria squeezed her eyes shut, hot tears streaming down her cheeks.

’Oh my god.’

Aria finally understood the intense, irrational, deeply psychotic hatred Lydia had harbored toward her since she was a child. Lydia hadn’t just hated Aria because she was Raymond’s daughter from a previous marriage. She hated Aria because Aria was the living, breathing spawn of the woman who had stolen her husband and destroyed his mind.

"We are bound by the old codes," the French man explained. "We do not harm children. It is forbidden. That code is the only reason the Orpheus girl survived in her crib."

"We tasked Lydia to play the long game," he continued. "We forced her to infiltrate the Vale household, to endure living with the shell of her former husband, to babysit the she-devil’s spawn until she could locate the Key. But Lydia failed. She let the girl slip out of her grasp. She let the girl marry you."

00:15.

"So," the Frenchman smirked. "Since Lydia failed to manipulate the girl, we are here to collect the Key ourselves."

Beneath the car, Aria forced her tear-blurred, emerald eyes open.

She was having a full-blown existential crisis, but she was still Damien Sinclair’s wife. She was still a survivor. And if she didn’t focus right this second, they were both going to be blown into pink mist.

She grabbed the wire cutters. She stared at the red wire and the blue wire.

Her hands were shaking violently. The jaws of the pliers hovered over the red casing.

00:08.

’Fuck it,’ Aria thought.

She clamped the metal jaws over the blue wire.

00:04.

Aria closed her eyes and squeezed the handles.

Snip.

The metal sliced cleanly through the copper.

The rhythmic, terrifying beep died instantly.

The glowing red numbers on the digital display flickered once and then went dark.

Aria exhaled a shuddering breath, her head dropping back against the asphalt as she stared up at the dead brick of C4. She had done it.

"You’re a smart man, Sinclair," the boss mocked. "But your arrogance has blinded you. You married into a war you cannot win. Once we take the girl—"

The man stopped mid-sentence.

He glanced down at the detonator in his hand.

His smug smile instantly slid off his face.

The tiny, glowing green light at the top of the remote, the light indicating a secure, active signal with the receiver on the bomb, was off.

The small digital screen on the device was flashing a glaring message:

ERROR: SIGNAL LOST.

He froze.

He stared at the dead remote, his brain failing to comprehend what he was seeing. The signal was gone. The connection was severed. The bomb had been defused. 𝒻𝘳ℯℯ𝑤ℯ𝒷𝘯ℴ𝓋ℯ𝘭.𝑐ℴ𝑚

He slowly lifted his head, his dark eyes wide with shock as he looked back at Damien.

Damien hadn’t moved an inch. He still had his Glock leveled directly at the man’s chest. But the cold, stoic mask had shifted.

A smirk curled the corners of Damien’s lips.