The call connected on the second ring.
"Aurora Hale," came the crisp, professional answer—polished, guarded, the voice of someone used to answering for her mother's empire.
"It's Seraphina."
A sharp intake of breath. "Sephy?" Curiosity flooded Aurora's tone first, then genuine concern. "Is everything all right? I saw the headlines… everyone has."
"Everything's fine," Seraphina replied, her voice cool and controlled, giving nothing away. "I heard you're graduating this week. Congratulations."
"Thank you," Aurora said slowly, clearly trying to gauge where this was going. "I am."
"And do you have a job lined up yet?"
A hesitant laugh. "I've been applying. There's some interest from a fashion studio downtown—they like my portfolio—but nothing's signed."
Seraphina let the silence stretch just long enough to build tension, then delivered the blow with casual precision.
"My executive assistant just went on extended leave—indefinite. The position's open. Executive Coordinator, reporting directly to me. Double whatever that studio's offering, full benefits, equity options, and every perk you can imagine. You start tomorrow."
The line went utterly silent. Seraphina could almost hear Aurora's pulse racing, quite like her own.
Trusting Clara's daughter felt like handing a loaded gun to the enemy camp—but the memories of her previous life made the gamble necessary. Aurora had been the only one to fight after the staged suicide. While Evelyn toasted her victory and Victoria poured champagne, Aurora had stormed police stations, demanded re-examinations, argued that Seraphina would never take her own life.
"You're… serious?" Aurora finally whispered, her voice cracking with disbelief and something dangerously close to hope.
"Deadly serious," Seraphina said, a faint edge creeping into her tone. "Eight a.m. sharp. Don't be late. Bring your degree certificate and whatever portfolio you have. We'll handle the rest."
"I—yes. Of course. Thank you, Seraphina. I won't let you down."
"Good. See you tomorrow."
Seraphina ended the call without ceremony.
She set the phone down and leaned back in her chair, staring out at the darkening skyline.
Aurora had clashed openly with Evelyn, refused to attend the "celebratory" family gatherings, and kept the case alive in quiet corners of the media long after everyone else moved on. That fierce, stubborn refusal to let the lie stand had been the single honest light in Seraphina's blurred afterlife.
If her full-blooded sister could betray her so completely, perhaps this half-sister—raised in Clara's shadow, always slightly outside Victoria's favor—could be shaped into something useful. Something loyal. Something Seraphina could use.
By late afternoon, everything was in motion, the offer letter sent, contracts signed digitally, access badges prepared, and a discreet background check already running. Clean, as expected. Aurora had no ties to Evelyn's circle that Seraphina could find.
The tall glass building of Hale Lumina emptied floor by floor. The city lights flickered on below like a thousand watchful eyes. But she didn't want to go home.
Not yet.
It wasn't every day that a person was reborn.
And since she was blessed with this opportunity, she wanted to make use of it—to enjoy herself, at least for today. Away from bankruptcy, the crashing stocks she knew would get worse tomorrow. Especially with no one around to save her.
She just wanted a day of rest and escape.
So she found herself driving to Eclipse—the beating, exclusive heart of Athena City's elite nightlife. Invitation-only, mercilessly selective. The city's youth obsessed over leaked stories—who hooked up with whom, which celebrity disappeared into the VIP vaults, which deals were sealed in the shadowed booths. Rumors of a thriving black market for forged invites had even led to a handful of high-profile arrests, only adding to the mystique.
Seraphina had held permanent access since boarding school, when she and the owner, Sebastian Voss—a darkly charming heir to old European money—had been classmates and occasional partners in teenage rebellion. He still sent her a new engraved pass every season, no questions asked.
The club was a converted waterfront warehouse: unmarked black steel door, violet neon eclipse glowing above. Inside, a glowing turquoise infinity pool dominated the ground floor, with illuminated waterfalls cascading from the upper levels. Fiber-optic stars twinkled overhead, mirrored corridors reflected endless light, and private glass pods hovered for discretion. The top-floor Vault was darker—crimson lights, velvet walls, one-way mirrors overlooking the frenzy below.
She moved through the high-energy pulse of Eclipse's music, the bass thrumming deep in her chest like a second heartbeat. Violet and turquoise lights strobed across the crowd, bodies swaying under cascading waterfalls and swirling fiber-optic stars. The air was thick with heat, salt mist from the glowing pool, and the sharp tang of expensive cocktails.
Her eyes scanned the upper platform and found them—her old boarding-school crew, clustered in the hovering glass pod she had reserved earlier. A single group invite by the owner and dear friend Sebastian had summoned them all here.
They spotted her at the same moment. Cheers erupted as she climbed the illuminated stairs, water still streaming from her hair and dress. A heavy crystal tumbler of whiskey was pressed straight into her hand.
"Seraphina fucking Hale!" Sebastian Voss's voice boomed, loud, confident, cutting clean through the pounding music. He leaned against the pod's railing, tall and broad-shouldered, that infamous grin flashing white under the strobing lights—the same grin that had made half the boarding school drop their panties.
"So it was finally bankruptcy that dragged you out of that company of yours," he teased, eyes dancing with mischief.
Seraphina grinned back, sharp and sarcastic. "Well, it's better than death, Seb."
The group roared with laughter. Natalia—elegant, razor-tongued Natalia—leaned forward, swirling her drink. "How's the bankruptcy treating you, darling?"
A cold dread twisted through Seraphina's stomach. The company wasn't bankrupt—not yet. The stocks were bleeding, the boycott still biting, but no final blow had landed. She hadn't found the solution. Not in this life.
Tonight, she didn't want to think about it.
"Nothing that cannot be handled."
She tilted her head back and downed the entire whiskey in one burning swallow.
The pod exploded in cheers, whistles, and raised glasses.
The night blurred into a haze of laughter and heat. Old stories were retold louder with every round—boarding-school pranks, forbidden parties, heartbreaks that felt catastrophic at seventeen. Someone cranked the pod's private sound system until the bass rattled the glass walls. Seraphina danced—really danced—for the first time in years, hair wild and wet, dress plastered to her skin, moving like she could sweat out every ghost of that rope, every echo of betrayal, bankruptcy and death.
In the late hours, when the crowd below had thinned and the energy in the pod had settled into a warm, drunken glow, Seraphina excused herself with a grin. "Need a refill."
She slipped down the illuminated stairs, the bass still thrumming through her body, blood humming with alcohol and adrenaline. The main bar on the second level was quieter now, lit in deep indigo, the glowing pool reflecting ripples across the ceiling.
She leaned against the polished black marble counter, the cool surface grounding her as the club's pulsing lights danced across her skin. Before she could order, her gaze drifted across the dimly lit space—
And locked onto a pair of dark blue eyes.
Dark blue. Deep, stormy, holding secrets that seemed to pull at the edges of her soul.
They widened after seeing her.
A soft gasp escaped her lips, barely audible over the throb of the music.
Because those eyes had haunted her every night since high school.