(Sweet Lies & Sharper Truths)
"I want to hear it."
Ethan's tone wasn't loud, but it carried a weight sharp enough to slice through any excuse she could dream up. His gaze locked onto Aria like a hunter who had spotted a leopard pretending to be a house cat.
Aria offered him a serene smile. *Inside?* She was rolling her imaginary eyes. *Fantastic. He's interrogating me over a book. What's next—a full deposition under oath?*
The silence stretched between them, thick and suffocating. Ethan's eyes darkened a shade. "Are you lying to me, Aria?"
*Ah. Straight to the accusations. Subtlety clearly died a tragic death early in this man's life.*
Aria exhaled a soft, melodious sigh before she spoke. "It's *A Midsummer Night's Dream*," she began, her voice smooth as silk. "One of Shakespeare's comedies." She leaned back into the sofa, looking thoughtfully at the ceiling as if excavating a memory. "It looks like total absurdity on the surface, but everything is controlled by something... higher. There's a magical flower—drop its juice into someone's eyes, and they fall hopelessly in love with the first thing they see."
She paused, a playful glint in her eyes. "Human. Animal. Questionable choices included."
Ethan didn't interrupt. He watched her, looking for a stutter or a slip. Aria continued just long enough—accurate, concise, and utterly effortless. Then, she reached forward and plucked the book right out of his hand.
"You ruined my page," she said, her brow furrowing in a delicate pout. "Now I have to find it all over again."
Ethan blinked. She... actually read it? "I didn't notice the bookmark," he replied, his voice flat but lacking its previous bite.
"Clearly," Aria said, waving him off with a dismissive flick of her wrist. "Next time, try not to sabotage literature. Also, don't stand right there. You're blocking my light and my peace."
Ethan stared at her for a long beat, his expression unreadable. Then—without another word—he turned and left.
The moment the door clicked shut, Aria dropped the act. Her shoulders slumped and she covered her face with her hands. "I survived. Barely."
*"You almost got exposed,"* the System hummed in her mind.
"Excuse me," Aria muttered, "that was a masterclass in improvisational theater. But he's sharper than I thought. He checked the garden earlier; he knew I wasn't there." Her expression sharpened, the "fragile" girl vanishing. "The more I lie, the easier it is to slip up. From now on... I mix the truth with the illusion."
She tapped her fingers rhythmically against the book cover. "God, this man is exhausting."
That evening, for the first time in a week, Ethan stayed. Dinner was a silent, high-tension affair, followed by the muffled sounds of him working in his study.
Then—music.
From the ground floor, a soft piano melody drifted up through the villa. Ethan paused mid-sentence, his pen hovering over a document. The sound was... clean. Precise. Unexpectedly moving.
He stepped toward the hallway and looked down over the banister. Below, Aria sat at the grand piano. Her back was perfectly straight, her head slightly lowered, her fingers dancing across the keys as if they had lived there her entire life. The melody was elegant, controlled, and laced with a deep, haunting melancholy.
Ethan frowned. *Since when does she play like this?*
Downstairs, Aria's inner monologue was far less poetic. *Left hand steady. Right hand elegant. Don't mess up the crescendo. Don't flex too hard—you're supposed to be recovering. Stay 'fragile.'*
She switched pieces smoothly, transitioning into something softer and more emotional. The ultimate "White Moonlight" aesthetic.
Two staff members whispered in the shadows of the hallway. "Miss Aria is incredible." "Honestly, if I were Mr. Vale, I'd fall in love all over again."
Aria almost missed a note. *Control yourself, Aria. You are art. You are elegance. You are definitely NOT eavesdropping.*
The song trailed off into silence. She lifted her hands gracefully from the keys.
"Improved."
Ethan's voice came from right behind her. Aria turned, startled, and offered him a breathless smile. "Really? I thought I'd grown horribly stiff." She held her hands out toward him. "Look. My fingers feel like ice."
Her fingers were pale, slender, and—under the chandelier light—looked almost too perfect. Ethan stepped closer. Then, to her surprise, he took her hand in his.
"I'll show you," he said quietly. His grip was firm, warm, and guiding.
Aria's thoughts hit a snag. *Oh? Physical contact unlocked? Progress.*
"Thumb here," he murmured, adjusting her position. She tilted her head slightly, their personal space shrinking until they were far too close—and just close enough.
Then, she pulled back with a playful laugh. "Alright, alright, I get it." She beamed at him. "I may be out of practice, but I don't need a beginner teaching me the basics."
Ethan actually let out a short, surprised laugh. "Right. I forgot. You were always the better student."
Aria handed him a teacup she'd prepared earlier. "I made this myself. Try it." She blinked innocently.
He accepted the cup, suspicion still lingering in his eyes, but he drank anyway. It was warm, light, and unexpectedly complex.
"Not bad," he admitted.
Aria smiled sweetly. "Of course. I don't do anything halfway." Then she added softly, "Unlike some people who spend all day investigating and still find absolutely nothing."
Ethan paused, the cup halfway to the saucer. He looked at her slowly. *Interesting. Very interesting.*
Later, in the privacy of her room, Aria sat in the dark. The "White Moonlight" had vanished; her expression was cold and clinical.
The System displayed the latest data: **Trust Value: -2 → 0.**
Aria scoffed. "Zero? I performed a whole concerto and made artisanal tea for a zero?"
*"It's better than a negative,"* the System pointed out.
Aria leaned back, her eyes flashing. "Now I understand."
Screens of information flashed in her mind—stolen company files, contracts, hidden ledgers. Ethan Vale didn't care about her. Not as a person. What he wanted was the Larkspur Group shares—her inheritance, her name, her corporate value.
Aria laughed softly, a sound that held no warmth. "So I'm not a woman to him. I'm just a walking bank account."
*"...Essentially, yes,"* the System replied.
She stood up slowly, her eyes gleaming with a dangerous light. "Good." Her smile turned razor-sharp. "Because that means he *needs* me. And for Aria Larkspur... that's more than enough of a lead to win the game."