Episode6:The Devil in the Mirror
1114 Words
The storm hit Manhattan just past 2 a.m.
Lightning split the sky over the Moretti penthouse as Aria stood at the window, wrapped in Damien’s shirt, staring out at the city she was slowly learning to rule. Her hair was still damp from the shower, her skin warm from the touch of a man who felt more dangerous in bed than on the streets.
But tonight, the rain couldn’t wash away the weight in her chest.
She had declared war.
Claimed her seat at the table.
Crushed Marco under her heel.
So why did it still feel like she was being hunted?
Behind her, Damien was asleep, muscles bare, jaw tense even in rest. She watched him for a moment, tracing the scars on his back with her eyes.
War left marks on everyone.
A soft chime echoed through the room.
The elevator.
She turned sharply.
No one should’ve had access.
She grabbed the pistol hidden under the nightstand and moved like muscle memory—silent, calculated, ready.
The elevator door opened.
A tall figure stepped out.
Masked. Hooded. Calm.
Not an assassin. No weapon drawn. But the air changed. Heavy. Still.
Aria leveled the gun. “One step closer and I shoot.”
The figure raised gloved hands. “Then you’ll never hear the truth.”
A voice. Male. Smooth. Foreign accent. Velvet over razors.
She didn’t lower the gun. “Who the hell are you?”
He slowly removed the hood.
Aria froze.
Not because she recognized him—but because something about him screamed dangerous and familiar all at once. As if the blood in her veins remembered him.
“Call me Lucien,” he said. “I knew your father.”
“Everyone ‘knew’ my father.”
“No. I knew the version of him even you didn’t see. The one who started the Game… and the one who tried to rig it.”
She blinked. “What?”
Lucien stepped into the light.
He was beautiful in a cruel, classical way. Black suit, silver cufflinks, eyes like smoke and secrets.
He moved like he didn’t fear death.
“I don’t trust people who show up uninvited in the middle of the night,” Aria said, tightening her grip.
“Your father did.”
“I’m not my father.”
“That,” he said with a smirk, “is exactly why I’m here.”
She watched him closely. "Start talking. Fast."
Lucien nodded. "The Game of Blood was never just about survival. It was about control. A shadow council of sorts—who dies, who rises, who fades. Your father created it with five others. But he planned a sixth seat for himself. A hidden power. One no one could challenge.”
Aria narrowed her eyes. “A secret king.”
“Exactly.”
“And you were what—his assassin?”
Lucien smiled. “I was his ghost.”
A chill ran down her spine.
“What do you want from me?” she asked.
“To finish what he couldn’t.”
“I’m not a pawn.”
“No,” he said, stepping close enough that she could smell the rain on his coat. “You’re the queen. And queens need allies who don’t play by the rules.”
He reached into his jacket.
She flinched, but he only produced a single red card.
A Joker.
Bloodstained.
“What is this?” she asked.
“A new player.”
“There are only five families.”
“There were,” Lucien said. “But now that your father’s seat is empty… someone else is moving in. Someone worse than Marco. Worse than Isabella.”
Aria’s chest tightened. “Who?”
“His name is Malik Reznov. Russian-Serbian hybrid syndicate. Old blood. Brutal. He doesn’t play the game. He restarts it.”
Damien’s voice cut through the room.
“He’s lying.”
Lucien turned slowly.
Damien stood in the doorway, shirtless, gun in hand, eyes dark with something Aria couldn’t quite read—fear? Possession?
“Get away from her,” Damien growled.
“I came to warn her,” Lucien said calmly.
“You came to manipulate her.”
Aria stepped between them. “Stop. Both of you.”
Damien’s jaw flexed. “You don’t know him.”
“I don’t know any of you,” she snapped. “But I’m done being kept in the dark.”
Lucien met her gaze again. “You’ll have to choose, Aria. Between the man who wants to keep you safe… and the truth that could burn you alive.”
And then—he was gone.
Like smoke.
---
The next morning, Aria didn’t sleep.
She sat in the study, flipping through the Joker card over and over. Her phone buzzed.
A message. From an encrypted number.
“Check your father’s safe. Behind the painting. Code: 0519.”
She stared at the text.
May 19th. Her birthday.
Her hands shook as she moved the canvas in the office aside. A hidden safe blinked in the wall. She entered the code.
Click.
Inside: a leather notebook. Black. Worn.
She opened it.
Her father’s handwriting.
Project Black Crown.
Dozens of pages. Notes. Names. Sketches. Bloodlines. And a photo.
Her father. Lucien. And… Malik.
The man she hadn’t yet met—but already feared.
She turned the last page. A scrawled message.
> “Aria, if you're reading this…
I’m already dead.
Trust no one—not even Damien.
And if you ever meet Lucien again—don’t let him walk away.”
Her blood ran cold.
Damien had lied.
Or her father had.
Either way, the Game had changed.
---
That night, Aria stood on the rooftop, wind ripping through her hair. Damien joined her, silent.
“You knew Lucien,” she said.
“Yes.”
“You didn’t tell me.”
“He’s poison.”
“So are you.”
He flinched.
“I need the truth, Damien. All of it.”
He didn’t speak for a long moment. Then—
“Lucien was your father’s personal executioner. He did the things your father couldn’t. The… unspeakable things.”
“And now?”
“He’s trying to finish what he started.”
Aria turned to him, eyes burning. “So am I.”
Damien stepped close, wrapped a hand around her throat—not to hurt, but to claim.
“I will protect you,” he growled. “Even from yourself.”
She pushed him against the wall, kissed him like punishment, like hunger, like she was drowning in it.
When their lips broke, she whispered, “Then you better keep up, Damien. Because I’m not slowing down.”
- Writer
