To plug a three-billion-dollar hole in the company accounts, my biological brother and my fiancé conspired to sell me off to the "Barbarian" of the Northwestern mines.
The entire capital waited with bated breath, assuming I was rotting in purgatory, eager to laugh at my misery.
But they didn't know the truth. They didn't know that the rough, savage man they mocked would tuck my freezing feet against his chest on snowy, wind-battered nights to warm them. They didn't know he would run hundreds of kilometers just to find me fresh strawberries.
I still remember his voice, rough as gravel but tender as a prayer. "Aria, you are the moon in my sky. I would dig out my own heart before I let you suffer a single grievance."
But then, the moon shattered.
He died in a carefully orchestrated "accident." No body. No bones. Nothing left to bury.
Five years later, heavy with his child and dressed in rags, I barged into the Henson Group's celebration banquet.
I watched my former family cover their noses in disgust. I listened as they plotted to force me to abort the "Barbarian's bastard" in my womb.
And I laughed.
They thought I came back to beg?
Wrong.
I came back to drag them down to hell with me.
——
It was the fifth year since I had been sold to the Great Northwest.
Because my husband, Sebastian James, was dead, I returned to the capital.
The Henson Group's 50th Anniversary Gala was being held at the ultra-luxurious Bulgari Hotel. The city's elite—the powerful, the famous, the filthy rich—had all gathered in one glittering hall.
And then there was me.
Wearing a severely worn tactical jacket and hiking boots caked in yellow mud, I appeared like a spectre at the entrance.
"Where did this lunatic come from? Do you know where you are? Get lost, now!"
Several security guards brandished electric batons, moving to shove me out.
I didn't flinch. I simply raised my head.
"Move."
My voice was hoarse from disuse, but it carried a piercing chill that cut through the noise.
The orchestral music screeched to a halt.
Every pair of eyes in the room locked onto me.
"Why does that crazy woman look a bit like Mr. Henson?"
"Wait... is that the Henson family's eldest daughter? Aria Henson? The one who vanished five years ago?"
"Look at her clothes... and her stomach. Is she pregnant with the Barbarian's spawn?"
Amidst the hushed whispers, the crowd parted like the Red Sea.
On the stage, three glamorous figures finally deigned to look my way.
"Aria?"
The man on the left faltered, his expression crumbling.
That was my biological brother, Matthew Henson, President of the Henson Group.
On the right stood my childhood friend, the man I grew up with—Ryan Gilbert, now the capital's top "gold-medal" lawyer.
And standing between them, basking in their adoration, was Georgia Pruitt. The woman who stole everything from me.
Five years ago, she was just a poor student Ryan sponsored. Five years later, she was the Chief Assistant of the Henson Group and the cherished "little princess" held in the palms of the capital's two most eligible bachelors.
"Aria, is it really you?"
Georgia's eyes widened in feigned surprise, tears instantly welling up to make her look sympathetic. "Sister, how much have you suffered? You used to love beauty so much... how could you come here dressed like *this*?"
She sounded heartbroken, as if she were defending me.
Ryan's brow furrowed heavily. He scanned me from head to toe, his gaze dripping with revulsion.
"You reek of poverty." He didn't bother masking his disgust. "Did you come back specifically to make Georgia uncomfortable, or just to humiliate Matthew?"
Ice-cold. The eyes that once looked at me with affection were now walled off by indifference.
Matthew strode over, his expression complicated.
"Aria, you're being incredibly ignorant. Is this the place to make a scene?" His voice dropped to a hiss, as if speaking to me was a stain on his reputation. "Security! Bring Georgia's spare dress... actually, no. That one is too expensive. Just find a waiter's uniform and put it on her!"
Impatience bled into every syllable.
I didn't answer.
I simply tossed the dirty woven bag I was holding onto the marble floor with a dull thud.
