The sharp crack of the sniper's bullet echoed in Aria's mind as she paced the spacious confines of her apartment. The shattered streetlamp, the distant screech of tires, and the panic of her security team played on repeat. The attempt on her life wasn't just a warning—it was a declaration.
Yet, even now, Thomas Whitmore remained unaware. After their meeting, he had been swiftly escorted away before the scene could escalate. Aria chose not to inform him, not yet. He was still a valuable asset, but his uncertainty lingered. She needed him focused, not fearful.
Julie's voice crackled through the phone.
"The shooter vanished without a trace. No witnesses, no usable surveillance footage. Whoever they were, they knew exactly how to avoid detection."
"It wasn't Logan," Aria stated firmly.
"You're sure?" Julie sounded doubtful.
"Logan's not reckless. He wouldn't risk something so obvious. He still wants to maintain the illusion of control."
Aria's jaw clenched.
"Someone who wants both Logan and me to spiral. This isn't just about eliminating me. It's about stirring chaos."
Julie nodded, her eyes scanning the darkened alley. The bar's neon lights flickered behind them, but the atmosphere had turned cold, the tension from the assassination attempt lingering in the air. Aria's breathing was steady, but her mind raced.
The crack of the bullet still echoed in her memory. She had been moments from death. The thought sent a wave of anger through her veins. Yet, something about it didn't sit right. The shot had missed. Not by chance — it was intentional.
"They wanted me to know I was a target," Aria murmured, half to herself. "This wasn't a mistake."
As she spoke, her gaze caught something amid the gravel and broken glass near the sidewalk. A small, folded piece of paper, crumpled and smeared with dirt. It was out of place, almost too deliberately so.
"What is that?" Julie frowned, watching as Aria bent down.
Aria hesitated for a moment before picking it up. The texture was rough, the edges torn. With trembling fingers, she unfolded it. The streetlamp above cast just enough light for her to see the dark, jagged letters scrawled across the page:
*"You harmed what was mine. Now I play with what's yours."*
The words struck like a blow. A chill crept up her spine, but it wasn't fear that took hold. It was the sickening realization that this was personal. Not just a calculated move by Logan. No, this was someone else. Someone who believed she had wronged them.
Julie leaned in, reading the note with wide eyes. "What the hell does that mean?"
Aria's voice was low, steady. "It means this isn't just business. It's revenge."
"But who?" Julie asked, confusion etched across her face. "Who would want revenge like this?"
"That's what we need to find out."
Aria's grip on the note tightened, her knuckles turning white. She refused to let the fear control her. The sniper had missed on purpose. This was a warning — a sick game. But whoever had started it clearly underestimated her.
"They think they can scare me," Aria whispered, the flicker of determination igniting in her gaze. "They're wrong."
Julie gave a firm nod. "We'll find them."
Aria didn't reply. She slipped the note into her pocket, her mind already racing. The war had shifted. And she was ready to face it head-on.
"Someone who wants both Logan and me to spiral. This isn't just about eliminating me. It's about stirring chaos."
Her thoughts were interrupted by a sharp memory—a glimpse of something on the ground as she had rushed away from the scene. Amid the shattered glass and debris, a small, crumpled piece of paper had caught her eye. Even now, it rested on her table, the jagged letters scrawled across it sending an eerie chill through the room.
"You harmed what was mine. Now I play with what's yours."
The handwriting was unfamiliar, but the intent was clear. Fear curled in Aria's chest, but alongside it burned something more potent—defiance.
---
Meanwhile, at Hale Enterprises, Logan paced his office like a caged predator. The buzz of his phone interrupted the tense silence. His assistant's voice came through, trembling slightly.
"Sir, there's been an attempt on Aria Vance's life. Outside the bar she was seen leaving."
Logan froze. "What?" The words struck him harder than he expected. "Is she dead?"
"No. The shot missed. But it was close."
Logan's grip tightened on the phone. "Who gave the order?"
"We're still investigating. It wasn't any of our men."
His teeth clenched. "I want answers. Now."
He slammed the phone down, his fury simmering beneath the surface. His senior security advisor entered the room, already sensing the storm that awaited.
"Not us. None of our men were involved," the advisor answered, carefully avoiding Logan's piercing gaze. "We're looking into it."
Logan slammed his fist against the desk.
"Someone tried to take her out without my approval. That's not a mistake—that's a message."
The implications gnawed at him. He had enemies, certainly, but this move had a different weight. He clenched his jaw, the name that haunted him surfacing in his thoughts.
The figure in the shadows.
Logan's mind raced. That cursed voice from his last call had taunted him about Aria's resilience. Was this their doing? Were they playing him like a pawn?
"Find out who's behind this," Logan growled. "And when you do, make sure they regret it."
---
But elsewhere, the true orchestrator watched from the darkness.
A dimly lit, high-rise office served as the perfect vantage point. The shadowy figure leaned back in a leather chair, gazing at the city lights below. The sniper had missed, yes—but that was never the point. Fear was far more effective than death. And now, both Logan and Aria were unsettled, forced to search for threats in the shadows.
The door creaked open, and a tall, broad-shouldered man entered—the figure's driver and personal bodyguard. His dark eyes lingered on his master, confusion etched into his expression.
"The shot missed," the bodyguard said gruffly. "The sniper was trained, precise. Yet, it missed. Was it truly a failure?"
The shadowy figure chuckled softly, the sound low and unsettling.
"Failure? No," the figure replied, steepling gloved fingers. "It was never meant to hit. That bullet wasn't for her life. It was for her mind."
The bodyguard frowned. "But why spare her? Wouldn't eliminating her have been more effective?"
"Not yet." The figure's voice was calm, calculating. "She needed a taste of what's to come. A brush with death to rattle her. Now she knows someone is out there—someone who wants her to suffer. And as fear seeps into her bones, she'll wonder... why?"
The bodyguard's eyes narrowed. "You want her to question. To realize there's a ghost from her past."
"Exactly." The figure's smile deepened. "Phase two has already begun. The assassin's bullet was merely the first whisper of the storm. Aria Vance will soon understand that this is personal. That she's wronged someone—someone who intends to dismantle her, piece by piece."
A flash of satisfaction gleamed in the figure's eyes. The fear would grow, and with it, her desperation. Aria would dig through her past, searching for the identity of her unseen tormentor. But every step she took would be one the figure had anticipated.
The bodyguard shifted uncomfortably. "And Logan?"
"He will fall deeper into the trap," the figure answered without hesitation. "His paranoia will consume him. He'll suspect Aria, his allies, even his own reflection. In the end, both will be too broken to fight back."
The figure's gloved fingers traced a map sprawled across the desk, marked with interconnecting lines and circles. Logan's empire, Aria's assets—every move accounted for.
"Phase two has begun," the figure murmured. "She'll see. Soon, they both will."
A small, twisted smile formed as they lifted a photograph from the table—a picture of Aria Vance, her determined eyes staring back. The message had been delivered. And the war had just turned deadly.