The silence inside the Rolls Royce was no longer a battlefield; it was a beautiful sanctuary. Outside the tinted windows, the world was in absolute chaos. Every news outlet in the country had just received the 8K footage of the "abduction," and the narrative had flipped completely. The "victim" was now the "Scarlet Queen," and the Vale family were the villains of the year.
Aria sat back against the leather seat, the adrenaline finally beginning to recede, leaving behind a cold, crystalline focus. She pulled out her phone, the screen reflecting in her erald eyes.
Her social dia feed was an avalanche. The hashtag #NationsAunt was trending at number one. Below it, #ScarletQueen and #LucasIsAJoke were climbing rapidly. She scrolled through the comnts, a ghost of a smirk playing on her lips.
"Did Aria just tell the Prince of Showbiz to kneel? I’m screaming!""Look at her face in the 8K video. That wasn’t fear. That was a woman who found her King.""I used to be a Lucas stan, but after seeing him stand there like a coward while Aria’s father tried to hit her... I’m done. Team Aria all the way."
She checked Lucas’s official fan club count. It was dropping by the thousands every second. His "Prince" persona was crumbling, replaced by the image of a weak, entitled boy who was completely overshadowed by the sheer authority of his uncle.
"You look satisfied," Damien said, his voice low in the quiet car. He was watching Aria, his golden eyes dark and unreadable. The way he sat—closer to her than usual—betrayed a shift in his state.
"I’m just checking where I stand," Aria replied, locking her phone. "Bella relies on the public’s pity. If you take away her ’victim’ status, she’s just a girl in a white dress with nothing to say. I didn’t just clear my na; I poisoned her brand. She can’t play the Saintess if everyone sees her as the snake who tried to fra her own sister."
Aria turned to look at him. "And the public loves a power couple. If they think we are a unified front, they’ll stop looking for cracks in the story. It makes our contract more stable."
Damien’s lips tilted in a ghost of a smirk. "Stable. Is that what we’re calling it?"
The car slowed as it approached the gated entrance of Starlight dia’s Studio 4. This was the main set for The Empress’s Shadow, a sprawling historical epic. Massive pagodas and hundreds of extras in silk robes created the illusion of an ancient dynasty, but the tension in the air was purely modern.
As the car glided to a halt, the activity on set ca to a grinding halt. Director Spielberg practically tripped over a cara cable to get to the door. Damien stepped out first, and the air seed to thin. Staff mbers whispered, eyes wide. They knew the "disgraced" actress they had once ignored was now the fiancée of the man who owned their paychecks.
Aria stepped out after him, still in the scarlet dress. She looked out of place in the modern studio, yet perfectly in tune with the "Demon Consort" role she was about to inhabit.
"Mr. Sinclair! Miss Vale!" the Director stamred, bowing low.
"I’m the Executive Producer," Damien reminded him, his voice cold. "I’m here to ensure the investnt is handled properly. And to ensure my fiancée isn’t ’mistreated’ by her co-stars again."
The Director swallowed hard. "Of course. Bella and Lucas are already in costu. We were going to start with the Saintess’s entrance, but if Miss Vale is ready..."
"I’m ready," Aria said. She looked toward the largest trailer—the one with Bella’s na in gold letters. "But I’ll need my own space. The Master Dressing Room has been cleared out for , I assu?"
The Director nodded frantically. Reclaiming the room traditionally reserved for the lead was Aria’s first act of war. As she walked toward the studio floor, Lucas Sinclair stepped out in golden Emperor robes. Behind him stood Bella in ethereal white.
Bella’s eyes were bloodshot, her makeup struggling to hide the puffiness. When she saw Aria in the scarlet Valentino, her hands clenched her silk sleeves until the fabric groaned.
"Sister," Bella whispered, her voice trembling. "You really ca."
"I wouldn’t miss our first scene for the world," Aria said. She leaned in, her voice dropping so only Bella could hear. "Try to keep your balance today, Sister. I’d hate for you to fall in front of all these people again."
Aria walked past them into the Master Dressing Room. Inside, a team of top-tier makeup artists stood waiting.
"Make look like a nightmare," Aria commanded.
She reached into her bag and pulled out a porcelain jar—Granny Shen’s specialized kohl. "Use this for the eyeliner. It doesn’t smudge. Even if I cry."
The transformation took an hour. When Aria stood up, she was dressed in the heavy, black-and-gold silks of Consort Li. Her hair was piled high, held by the ruby pins Damien had given her. Her eyes were lined with dark kohl, making the erald of her irises pop with supernatural intensity.
Damien stood by the door, watching her through the mirror. "The Emperor won’t know what hit him," he rasped.
"The Emperor is a boy playing with toys," Aria said. "I’m looking for the man who built the palace."
She stepped onto the set, her silk robes hissing against the floor. "Director! Bring the Saintess. I’m ready to teach her a lesson in acting."
As Aria took her place on the throne, her gaze flickered to the script resting on the Director’s table. Her eyes sharpened as she noticed a handwritten addition in the margins—a new scene where the Saintess was supposed to slap the Consort across the face to "assert her purity."
Aria looked at the Director, who imdiately avoided her gaze, and then at Bella, who was standing in the shadows with a small, triumphant smirk playing on her lips.
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