SERPENT'S HEIR

CHAPTER.3

ARIANA'S POV

Today was my birthday. Twenty-four years old. Not that anyone at work knew.

I sat at my desk scrolling through cheap restaurant options on my phone. Maybe I'd treat myself to dinner somewhere nice. Or at least nicer than the usual takeout I ate alone in my apartment.

It was pathetic really. Planning my own birthday celebration. But I didn't have anyone else to celebrate with.

No close friends, no family. Just me and whatever plans I could scrape together to make the day feel less lonely.

I'd thought about inviting Marcus from my building. He'd probably say yes. Would probably be thrilled that I finally accepted one of his many subtle offers to spend time together.

But the thought made me uncomfortable. Inviting someone meant questions.

Questions meant lies. And I was tired of lying about who I was and where I came from.

So dinner alone it was. Maybe I'd get myself a cupcake too. Stick a candle in it. Sing happy birthday to myself in my empty apartment like the completely normal well-adjusted person I pretended to be.

I was still scrolling through restaurant menus when I heard footsteps in the hallway outside my office.

That was weird. The museum had been closed for two hours. Everyone else went home at five. I was always the only one here after hours.

Maybe it was the security guard making his rounds. Old Mr. Patterson who usually just waved at me through the window and kept walking.

But the footsteps stopped right outside my door.

A shadow appeared in the gap under the door. Someone was standing there.

My heart rate picked up. I told myself not to be paranoid. It was probably just Mr. Patterson checking to make sure I was okay.

But something felt wrong. The way the shadow just stood there without knocking, without moving.

I waited, and counted to ten. The shadow didn't move.

I moved towards the door slowly and saw a black envelope on the floor, under the door. It was an expensive-looking paper. No address visible from where I sat.

I stared at the envelope on my floor. Every instinct told me not to touch it. To call Mr. Patterson. To leave it there and go home.

But curiosity won.

I got up from my desk and walked slowly to the door. I bent down and picked up the envelope.

It was heavier than I expected. The paper was thick and textured, quality stuff. Not the kind of thing you bought at a regular store.

My name was written on the front in elegant handwriting. Just my name. No address, no stamp.

I should have opened the door. Should have looked into the hallway to see who'd left this.

But my hands were already opening the envelope. Sliding out what was inside.

A single card came into view. Black like the envelope and pressed into the paper was a wax seal.

Red wax, shaped like a serpent eating its own tail.

The air left my lungs in a rush. I knew that symbol. I had seen it burned into my nightmares for twelve years.

The same symbol embroidered on my parents' robes that night. The same symbol carved into the stone altar where that girl had been tied.

My hands started shaking. The card trembled between my fingers.

This wasn't possible. Nobody knew about that symbol except me. Nobody else had been in that chamber and survived. At least nobody who would send me mysterious birthday cards.

I forced myself to breathe. To look at the message written below the seal.

The handwriting was the same as on the envelope. Beautiful and elegant like something from centuries ago.

It said: Come to the Valtieri Estate this Friday at eight PM if you want to know the truth about Thomas and Miranda Vale.

Thomas and Miranda Vale.

My parents' full names.

I dropped the card like it had burned me. It fluttered to the floor and landed face-up. The serpent symbol staring at me.

Nobody knew those names. Nobody at all.

I'd changed my last name when I turned eighteen. I went from Ariana Vale to Ariana Moore. Cut all legal ties to my past and sealed all the records from my time in foster care.

The people at the museum knew me as Ariana Moore. The quiet archivist who kept to herself and never talked about her family.

Even my therapist didn't know my real last name. I'd lied on the intake forms. Paid cash so there was no insurance trail.

I'd been so careful. So paranoid about keeping my past buried. About making sure nobody could connect me to Thomas and Miranda Vale and the night they disappeared.

But someone knew. Someone had found me. Someone knew exactly who I was.

I picked up the card again with shaking hands and read the message over and over like the words might change if I stared long enough.

The Valtieri Estate. Friday at eight PM.

Three days from now.

If I wanted to know the truth about my parents.

The truth. After twelve years of questions and nightmares and half-remembered fragments that nobody believed.

After twelve years of therapists telling me I'd imagined the ritual. That trauma had created false memories. That my parents had died in a tragic accident and my brain had invented a more dramatic story to process the grief.

After twelve years of wondering if they were right. If I was crazy. If what I remembered was real or just the delusions of a traumatized child.

Someone was offering me the truth.

I should throw the card away. Should pretend this never happened. Should go back to my safe quiet life where the past stayed buried.

But my hands wouldn't let go of the card.

My eyes kept reading those words. The truth about Thomas and Miranda Vale.

What if they weren't dead? What if they'd survived that night somehow? What if they'd been alive all this time and never came looking for me?

The thought made me sick and hopeful at the same time. Sick because what kind of parents abandoned their twelve-year-old daughter? Hopeful because maybe I could finally get answers. Finally understand what I'd witnessed. Finally know if I was crazy or if everything I remembered was real.

I walked back to my desk on shaky legs. Set the card down. I opened my laptop.

Searched for Valtieri Estate.

The results loaded immediately. Dozens of articles and photos.

The Valtieri Estate was a massive property in the Hudson Valley.

And the owner was someone named Lucien Valtieri.

I clicked on his name. More articles appeared, photos of a man who looked like he belonged on a magazine cover instead of in real life.

Billionaire, CEO of Valtieri Industries. One of the richest men in the country. The media called him ruthless, brilliant. Dangerous in the way powerful men often were.

There were society photos of him at charity galas. Business articles about his companies.

Nothing about cults, nothing about serpent symbols, nothing that connected him to what I'd seen twelve years ago.

Just a rich powerful man who lived in a mansion and ran an empire.

Why would someone like that know about my parents? Why would he send me this invitation?