Aham knew the moment she walked in.
The air shifted.
Old wounds stirred.
Instinct screamed.
Kelly stood at the entrance of the quiet restaurant, her silhouette framed by soft golden light. She looked exactly the way she knew he would remember her-elegant, fragile, familiar. Her eyes scanned the room until they landed on him.
And then she smiled.
Aham did not return it.
She approached slowly, as if afraid he might vanish again.
"Aham," she whispered. "Thank you for coming."
He gestured to the seat across from him. "Sit."
Kelly flinched at the coldness in his voice but obeyed. Her hands trembled as she wrapped them around the cup of tea placed before her.
"I heard you were out," she said. "I wanted to see you. To explain."
Aham leaned back, studying her the way one studies a loaded weapon.
"Explain," he said.
Her eyes filled with tears on command. "I was trapped. Don Pedro controlled everything. He threatened me. He threatened my family."
Aham felt the lie settle comfortably on her tongue.
"I loved you," she continued. "I still do."
Inside, Aham smiled.
Outside, he looked tired.
"You disappeared," he said quietly. "You watched me rot."
Kelly lowered her head, sobbing softly. "I was afraid."
Afraid again.
Always afraid.
He let the silence stretch until it pressed on her lungs.
Finally, he said, "You shouldn't have come back."
Her eyes snapped up. "I had to. I can't live with what I did."
She reached across the table, fingers brushing his.
Aham didn't pull away.
Across the city, Clara stood in her office, staring at her phone. She had felt it the moment Kelly re-entered Aham's life-like a disturbance in calm water.
The old woman sat nearby, reading quietly.
"She's back," Clara said.
The woman nodded without looking up. "Of course she is. Serpents always return to warm places."
Clara's jaw tightened. "He's meeting her."
"Yes," the woman replied. "Because he needs her to believe she still has power."
Kelly left the restaurant convinced she had cracked open the door she once owned.
She called Don Pedro immediately.
"He's soft," she said. "He still feels something."
Don Pedro smiled on the other end of the line. "Good. Stay close. We'll finish this cleanly."
Kelly hesitated. "You promised this would be the last time."
"It will be," Don Pedro replied. "One way or another."
That night, Aham stood on his balcony, the city lights reflecting in his eyes.
Clara joined him quietly.
"She contacted you," Clara said.
"Yes."
"Did she tell you she was sorry?"
"Yes."
"And did you believe her?"
Aham turned to face her fully.
"No."
Clara studied his expression. "Then why let her back in?"
"Because," he said softly, "she's the thread that leads to Don Pedro."
Clara exhaled slowly. "Just don't let her cut you."
Aham stepped closer, lowering his voice. "I won't. I promise."
For a moment, the space between them charged with something deeper than strategy. Something fragile. Unspoken.
Elsewhere, in a heavily guarded estate, Don Pedro poured over old files.
"Jane Smith," he muttered.
The name bothered him.
She had disappeared years ago-quietly, completely. Too completely.
"She knows something," he said.
A subordinate nodded. "Do we move on her?"
Don Pedro's eyes darkened. "Not yet. First, let's see how well Aham dances with ghosts."
Late that night, Kelly stood alone in her bathroom, staring at the small vial hidden in her makeup bag.
Clear. Odorless. Lethal.
She smiled at her reflection.
"This time," she whispered, "you won't survive."
Miles away, Aham opened a secure message on his phone.
Clara: She's lying. Be careful.
He typed back calmly.
Aham: I know. Let her believe I don't.
The trap had been set.
And the game had truly begun.
---