CHAPTER FIVE: THE FIRST MISTAKE
660 Words
The sound of shattering glass echoed through Selena's penthouse.
Crimson wine spread across the marble floor like fresh blood.
Her breathing grew uneven.
"No..." she whispered. "She died."
She had to be dead.
Selena had planned everything too carefully for Ariana to survive.
She had made sure the truck couldn't be traced.
She had paid the driver in cash.
She had even arranged for the evidence to disappear before the police arrived.
So how...
How could Ariana still be alive?
Her phone buzzed again.
The same number.
"Speak."
"We've searched the hospitals, private clinics, and nearby villages. There's no trace of her."
Selena closed her eyes.
"Then keep looking."
"If she's alive, find her before anyone else does."
"And if we do?"
Her voice became frighteningly calm.
"Don't fail this time."
She ended the call without waiting for a reply.
Miles away, Ariana stood in the estate's greenhouse, surrounded by blooming white roses.
The scent reminded her of Ashford Manor.
Damien had planted white roses for her after they got married because she'd once told him they symbolized new beginnings.
How ironic.
Their marriage had ended.
And so had the woman she'd once been.
She gently placed a hand over her stomach.
"I'm sorry," she whispered to her unborn child.
"You'll never know the woman I used to be."
Behind her, Ethan approached quietly.
"You shouldn't blame yourself."
She didn't turn around.
"I trusted the wrong people."
"You loved them."
"Isn't that the same thing?"
Ethan was silent.
Sometimes, it was.
Later that afternoon...
Damien sat alone in his office.
His desk was covered with reports.
Every new document created more questions than answers.
His phone rang.
The caller ID displayed Unknown Number.
He almost ignored it.
Something told him not to.
"This is Damien Ashford."
A distorted voice answered.
"If you want the truth about your wife's death..."
Damien straightened in his chair.
"...stop trusting the people closest to you."
The line went dead.
He immediately called Noah.
"Trace that number."
"I'm already trying."
"And?"
"It doesn't exist."
Damien stared out the floor-to-ceiling window.
Someone knew the truth.
Someone was watching.
That evening...
Ethan placed several photographs across the dining table.
Ariana leaned closer.
"What are these?"
"Surveillance photos."
She froze.
Every picture showed her.
Leaving Ashford Manor.
Shopping.
Meeting clients.
Even having lunch with Damien months earlier.
Someone had been watching her long before the accident.
Ethan pointed to one particular photograph.
"Look at the date."
Three weeks before the crash.
A black SUV appeared in the background.
The same SUV.
Again.
And again.
Across different locations.
"They followed me for weeks," Ariana whispered.
"Yes."
"But why?"
Ethan's expression turned grave.
"I don't think you were the original target."
She looked at him, confused.
"What do you mean?"
"I think someone wanted something you had."
Ariana frowned.
"I didn't have anything."
Ethan reached into another folder.
"Are you sure?"
He slid a document toward her.
It was a copy of her late father's will.
Ariana's eyes widened.
"I've never seen this."
"Exactly."
She scanned the first page before stopping at a highlighted paragraph.
Upon the death of Richard Vale, all controlling shares of Vale Biotech shall remain in trust until Ariana Vale reaches the age of twenty-seven.
Tomorrow...
She turned twenty-seven.
Ariana looked up slowly.
"My inheritance..."
Ethan nodded.
"It's worth over two billion dollars."
The room fell into stunned silence.
Everything suddenly made sense.
The accusations.
The divorce.
The attempted murder.
Her funeral.
It had never been about revenge.
It had been about money.
And someone had been willing to kill her to get it.
Ariana slowly folded the document.
The grief in her eyes disappeared.
In its place burned something colder.
Something stronger.
Resolve.
"They wanted me dead because I stood in their way."
She lifted her chin.
"They made one mistake."
Ethan raised an eyebrow.
"What mistake?"
Ariana's lips curved into a faint, dangerous smile.
"They buried me..."
"...before making sure I was truly gone."
- Writer
