THE EMPIRE BETWEEN US

EPISODE 3

Aria POV

Two mornings later, our street looked like an evacuation scene from an old movie. Moving vans blocked both ends, men in orange vests sprayed white numbers on the doors, and a banner across Main read:

“Redevelopment Zone — Phase 1 Begins Monday.”

Monday. Five days.

Dad tried to stay calm, but every time the hammering started across the road, his hands shook. “It’s progress, sweetheart,” he said, though his voice sounded like he was trying to convince himself. Progress, that word again. It had been in every speech Lori gave. I hated it.

I spent the afternoon calling every journalist who’d ever covered the Blackwells. Only one answered, Tessa Raymond, a freelance reporter known for chasing stories billionaires wanted buried.

“Harbor Heights?” she said through the phone. “That’s the riverfront deal, right? The one with the anonymous owner?”

“Yes. I have documents that connect the land to an earlier design my father made for the city. They can’t demolish without clearing his copyright.”

“That’s a real angle,” she said. “Meet me tomorrow at Café Nine, eleven sharp. Bring everything.”

As I hung up, I looked out the window again. A black car rolled slowly past the block, tinted windows, no plates visible. I had a feeling I already knew who was inside.

Lori POV

When I got the report that Aria Lawson was speaking to the press, I almost admired her nerve. Almost. Publicity cuts both ways; she didn’t understand that yet.

I sent my driver away and walked the last few blocks to the office. Sometimes being seen without the convoy helped remind people I was still human. Not that it mattered much; half the city thought I was an entitled heir, the other half thought I was Adrian’s mouthpiece.

They weren’t entirely wrong.

Inside the lobby, the marble echoed with my phone vibrating again, Adrian. He rarely called; texts were his language.

“Lori,” his voice came, low and precise. “A journalist contacted me. About the girl.”

“I’m aware,” I said. “I’m handling it.”

“Don’t threaten her.”

I stopped walking. “Since when do you care about threats?”

“I don’t,” he said evenly. “But she’s not our enemy yet. Bring me what she wants before you move the trucks.”

Then the line went dead.

It wasn’t a request. It was an order.

Aria POV

Café Nine was tucked between an art gallery and a flower shop, all glass, soft jazz, and people pretending they weren’t eavesdropping.

Tessa spotted me first. Short, red hair, eyes that looked like they’d never missed a lie. “Aria Lawson?” she asked, sliding a coffee across to me. “Tell me everything.”

I spread the old blueprints and copies of my father’s letters across the table. “He designed the same structures they’re building now. Different names, same layout, same river curve. The city denied approval years ago, said the soil couldn’t hold high-rises.”

“And now?”

“Now the Blackwells say it can.”

She skimmed the pages, then whistled softly. “If this holds, it’s a scandal. The original project was canceled for safety reasons; they’d need forged reports to revive it.”

“So you’ll publish?”

“I’ll verify first,” she said, eyes gleaming. “If you’re right, this story’s worth gold. But the brothers play rough. Be careful.”

“Rough doesn’t scare me,” I lied.

When I left, the same black car was parked across the street. This time the window rolled down halfway. A man sat inside, dark hair, quiet presence, no expression. He didn’t look like Lori.

Our eyes met for half a second before he drove away. Something about that stillness felt heavier than any threat.

Adrian POV

Her file sat open on my tablet, but the words told me less than the few minutes I’d just spent watching her from the car. People reveal themselves in silence.

I hadn’t planned to go myself. I wanted distance; Lori was supposed to manage the storm. Yet I’d found the car steering there anyway, the same way I used to drive past our father’s old construction sites when I needed to remember why I built things at all.

She was different. Not naïve, not greedy, simply refusing to disappear.

I closed the tablet. “Set up a meeting,” I told my aide. “Under a different name. Offer her a position as a community consultant for the redevelopment.”

“Should I inform Mr. Lori?”

“No,” I said. “Let’s see what happens when she meets me before she knows who I am.”

Lori POV

The board meeting dragged past sunset. Numbers, charts, polite applause, none of it landed. My mind stayed on one question: why had Adrian suddenly intervened for this girl?

He never interfered in local projects; he left them to me, always. If he was getting involved now, it meant something more than good PR.

When the meeting ended, I looked out over the night skyline. Every window in those towers reflected the same thing, our empire, flawless from the outside, cracked from within.

If Adrian thought I’d let him risk it all over one stubborn girl from the riverside, he was mistaken.

This time, I’d protect the company, even if it meant saving it from him.

Aria POV

I got the email just before midnight. The sender name was Crestview Consulting.

Dear Ms. Lawson,

We’re impressed by your advocacy on behalf of Harbor Heights residents. We’re currently seeking a community liaison for the Riverside Redevelopment Project. The role would allow you to represent residents during the planning stage.

If interested, please meet our director tomorrow, 10 a.m., Blackwell Tower, 48th floor.

No mention of Lori. No mention of Adrian either. For the first time in weeks, I felt a flicker of hope and something else I couldn’t name.