Aria’s POV

I flicked a glance at Richard. For once, his confusion looked genuine.

It was not him. That left only one answer.

The Darvin family.

At a moment like this, when I was finally gathering evidence, finally preparing to claw my way back, they were the only ones who’d benefit from dragging me into the mud again.

The reporters finally seemed to notice something was off.

There was no intimacy here. No tangled sheets, no compromised woman.

I stood tall, my spine straight, my wrist raised like a blade aimed at Richard’s throat.

"Do you realize this is illegal behavior?" My voice cut cleanly through the chaos.

Silence rippled outward. They hadn’t expected that.

"Ms. Aria Darvin," one stubborn reporter pushed, "are you refusing to answer because you feel guilty?"

I turned my gaze on him.

The air seemed to drop several degrees. My eyes burned cold and bright, and the moment they met his, he shrank back instinctively.

"I’ve always believed," I said evenly, "that people involved in journalism should at least understand the law."

My tone was calm. "I have no obligation to answer any of your questions."

No one moved.

"However," I continued coolly, "I can clarify a few things."

I gestured slightly with my wrist. "I am the victim in this situation. Everything has been recorded. The audio, video and even location. This includes what happened inside this room."

Richard stiffened beside me.

"The evidence will be submitted," I went on, "and I will be pursuing this matter fully."

A murmur rippled through the crowd.

"As for the clarification I promised earlier," I added, "it’s ongoing. You’ll get your answer in due time."

They nodded stiffly, intimidated despite themselves. Then I smiled.

"Oh, and I’ll be suing every single one of you."

The room froze.

"What?" "Ms. Aria Darvin, what do you mean?"

Now they panicked.

I crossed my arms leisurely, looking down at them as if they were unruly pups. "Are you innocent?"

My smile sharpened.

"Tell me who sent you," I said lightly. "And I might consider being merciful."

Beside me, Richard finally sensed it.

This wasn’t coincidence. Someone had set him up too.

His aura shifted. It became cold and dangerous, tightly leashed fury spilling out in waves.

I noticed but I didn’t care.

"It was..." one reporter started but hesitated, swallowing hard.

I didn’t wait.

"Then I’ll see you all in court."

I smiled calmly, lifting my hand in a lazy, dismissive wave, as if shooing away a pack of noisy birds.

"With the video evidence I have," I said lightly. "Legal summons will be sent to your respective companies. Make sure you check your inboxes."

The scent of panic thickened instantly.

A short, stocky reporter hiding near the corner cracked first. Sweat beaded on his forehead as he blurted, "It...it was Ms. Sophia Darvin!"

That single admission broke the dam.

"That’s right! She contacted us!" "She promised explosive news!" "She said we’d definitely get something big if we came!" "I still have the chat records!"

Voices overlapped, sharp and frantic, like wolves turning on one another.

If not for Sophia, they wouldn’t have come.

If not for Sophia, they wouldn’t be standing here now, empty-handed, exposed, and facing lawsuits.

Their resentment spilled out unchecked, ugly and desperate.

I watched them coldly, then glanced down at the micro-camera embedded in my watch. The tiny lens blinked softly.

Everything was recorded.

One by one, the reporters shuffled out of the hotel, their shoulders slumped, their faces pale. Relief clung to them despite the looming consequences.

"Oh, one more thing," I added sweetly, leaning against the doorframe. "While I could withdraw the legal summons, you’ve caused me considerable distress. Your companies will still handle internal disciplinary actions."

I waved again, smiling warmly.

Judging by their expressions, I might as well have been a fox baring its teeth.

When the hallway finally fell silent, I felt it.

Richard’s gaze. I turned slightly.

He still stood inside the room, unmoving, his eyes locked on me.

I was half-leaning against the doorway, my posture relaxed, my spine straight.

His throat bobbed.

This version of me unsettled him.

When the last footsteps faded, I turned fully to face him and shut the door. The softness drained from my eyes, replaced by glacial calm.

"Richard," I said quietly, crossing my arms, "I’m curious. What would you have done if I hadn’t come tonight?"

My wolf lifted her head inside me, ears pricked.

Richard stared at me for a long moment before shaking his head. "I knew you would come, you wouldn’t refuse."

"Why?" I asked, arching a brow, taking a measured step back to keep distance.

His gaze burned. It was raw, obsessive, unmasked.

"Because you know what kind of person I am," he said plainly. "Jackson was a warning. I took him once. I could take him again."

My fingers curled instinctively.

"Only when you showed up," he continued, spreading his hands as if stating a simple truth, "would all of this stop."

I laughed.

It rang sharp and cold, like red plum blossoms blooming against white snow, beautiful, lethal, impossible to tell whether it was a flower or blood.

"So you were certain I’d come," I said mockingly, "and you arranged for the drinks to be drugged in advance."

I tilted my head. "Richard, I always knew you were twisted. I just didn’t realize you were this shameless."

Something flickered behind his smile. His fingers clenched slowly inside his pocket.

"Aria, I had no choice," he said, his eyes darkening. "You divorced him, but you still won’t accept me. You even had a child with him."

The word child made my wolf bare her teeth.

"After everything he did to you," Richard went on, voice strained, "you still gave birth to his child. You dote on her. Protect her."

Pain and jealousy twisted his expression.

I stepped forward just enough for him to feel the pressure of my presence.

"First," I said coolly, "I have never had romantic feelings for you. From the moment you conspired with Sophia to betray me, you should have been praying I wouldn’t hate you."

My gaze sharpened.

"Second, someone as despicable and warped as you does not get to speak my child’s name."

The air seemed to thicken.

"Lana is my daughter," I said, voice steady and absolute. "From the moment Nathan and I divorced, she had nothing to do with him and she will never have anything to do with you."