(The Angel Wings Trap)
The meeting finally took place five days after Aria Larkspur arrived in Southeast Asia. From the moment she stepped through the gates of Kurt Voss's estate, a single thought echoed in her mind: *This man is stealing enough money to buy a country.*
The mansion was absurd.
Outside the gates, the local villages struggled to keep the electricity running for more than a few hours at a time. Children worked the fields instead of studying, and families survived on whatever scraps they could scrape together.
But here? Marble fountains. Imported orchids. Gold-trimmed pillars and crystal chandeliers that could have lit up a small town. The private courtyard alone was large enough to host a royal wedding.
Aria glanced around, her expression perfectly blank. "Either he's spectacularly successful..."
"Or spectacularly corrupt," Kael Verin muttered beside her, keeping his voice low.
"Actually, those two aren't mutually exclusive."
Kael hid a smile as a middle-aged man approached them. Kurt Voss wore expensive silk that stretched dangerously tight over his round stomach. His smile was warm, but his eyes were entirely calculating—a deeply unsettling combination.
"Miss Larkspur!" Kurt exclaimed, extending his hands. "An absolute honor."
Aria returned a polite smile—the kind wealthy people spent years perfecting to hide the fact that they despised other wealthy people. "Mr. Voss."
Tea was served almost immediately. It was top-quality Longjing, rare, expensive, and incredibly fragrant. Aria lifted her cup, caught the scent, and set it back down on the saucer. Untouched.
Across the table, Kurt noticed. His smile twitched, just for a fraction of a second. "Miss Larkspur doesn't care for tea?"
Aria leaned back in her chair. "I care for living."
Silence fell over the patio. Kael choked back a laugh, while young Zayn looked fiercely impressed. *Savage. Entirely savage.*
Kurt forced his smile back into place, and the conversation drifted into business. For thirty minutes, they danced through a exhausting maze of politics, shipping routes, trade licenses, and import taxes. It was a masterclass in verbal gymnastics. Aria wanted to jump out the nearest window; the man talked in circles so much she was starting to suspect he got paid by the rotation.
Finally, Kurt reached the point. A heavy, fabricated sigh escaped him, and his shoulders slumped with practiced dramatic flair. The performance deserved an award.
"Truthfully, Miss Larkspur... I needed to get your attention."
Aria folded her hands in her lap. "There are cheaper ways to introduce yourself."
Kael looked down at his boots, his shoulders shaking. Kurt pretended not to hear him.
"I only want one thing from you," Kurt said, his voice dropping to a confidential whisper.
There it was. The real motive. Aria's gaze sharpened. "And what is that?"
"The gemstone," Kurt said, leaning in. "Angel Wings."
For the first time all afternoon, Aria felt genuinely interested. Of course. Not money, not territory, and not influence. A legendary jewel.
The infamous Angel Wings was a gemstone so rare that collectors had practically fought proxy wars over it. Three years ago, Aria had purchased it at an auction for an absurd, almost offensive sum—the kind of money that could fund a small network of hospitals. Since then, the rumors surrounding the stone had only grown: luck, power, immortality, destiny. People loved attaching cosmic nonsense to shiny objects.
Kurt watched her closely, clearly bracing for immediate resistance. Instead, Aria asked calmly, "And why do you need it?"
The answer came too fast, too perfectly rehearsed. "My wife."
*Here we go,* Aria thought as the performance shifted into high gear. According to Kurt, his beloved wife was dying. Her final wish was to lay eyes on the Angel Wings. Their love story was apparently the greatest romance of the modern era, a devotion so profound the moon practically wept for them every night.
Aria listened politely, but internally, she was fighting the urge to roll her eyes. Nothing about this estate suggested a devoted husband lived here. There wasn't a single feminine touch in sight—no photographs, no personal belongings, no signs of a shared life. Meanwhile, at least six beautiful young women were floating around the courtyard serving drinks.
When Kurt finally finished his monologue, Aria almost wanted to applaud. What a storyteller. Hollywood was wasting prime talent.
She rose slowly from her seat. Kurt's eyes brightened, a smug look creeping into his expression. He thought he'd won. Poor man.
Aria offered him a warm, bright smile. "I must say, Mr. Voss."
"Yes?" His grin widened.
"That is the most creative lie I've heard all month."
The grin froze. Dead. Extinguished.
Kael looked away to hide his face, and Zayn bit his lip. Kurt's expression darkened instantly, but Aria continued with casual indifference. "If your wife actually exists, I highly suggest introducing her to your six girlfriends."
The courtyard went dead silent. One of the serving girls nearly dropped her tray. Direct hit. Critical damage. Kurt's jaw tightened, though he managed to keep his composure. It was impressive, if incredibly annoying.
Before he could find his voice, Aria spoke again. "Still, I'm willing to consider your request."
Now everyone looked blindsided—Kael, Zayn, and Kurt alike.
Aria tapped the armrest of her chair thoughtfully. "The Angel Wings is secured in a private vault. I would need approximately ten days to retrieve it." That part, at least, was true.
Kurt looked relieved—far too relieved, which only made Aria trust him less. She stood up to leave. "Now, if you'll excuse me—"
"Wait." The word left Kurt too quickly, too urgently.
Aria's survival instincts instantly flared. Kurt stepped forward, trying to cut off her path, trying to stall, trying to keep her pinned to the estate. His polite businessman facade had vanished entirely.
"Surely Miss Larkspur can stay a little longer," he murmured.
Aria's expression turned to ice. "No." The single word cut through the air, dropping the temperature in the courtyard by ten degrees. "I take a specific medication every evening. And unlike your tragic romance, my schedule doesn't require a rehearsal."
Kael almost applauded. Kurt's eyes narrowed into slits, calculating his next move.
Then, everything fractured in a single second.
As Kurt moved forward again, Zayn instinctively threw himself between the man and Aria. He was fast, protective, and entirely fearless. But as he moved, his sleeve shifted upward, exposing his forearm.
A small emblem was stamped into the leather of his wristguard. A maple leaf insignia. Government forces.
Aria's heartbeat didn't accelerate; it slowed. Not from fear, but from the sudden clarity of the trap. *Damn it.*
Kurt saw it too. His face transformed, the pleasant host melting away to reveal the monster underneath. "There it is," he hissed, his voice turning to pure malice. "So I was right."
Zayn went completely pale, realizing his mistake the moment the words left Kurt's mouth. Aria reached out, squeezing the boy's wrist once—a silent command to stay steady and not panic. But the damage was done.
Kurt backed away, his face twisted with fury. "You brought a government rat into my house."
Aria remained standing, completely unbothered, almost bored. "You've got excellent eyesight."
The sarcasm hit like a slap, but Kurt wasn't playing anymore. Neither were the dozen armed men who suddenly poured out from the hidden corridors of the estate. Knives, machetes, and automatic weapons flooded the courtyard.
*Wonderful,* Aria thought. *Exactly what I expected.*
The space choked with tension. Zayn looked like he might faint, entirely consumed by guilt. If he hadn't exposed himself, if he hadn't made that stupid mistake, they wouldn't be cornered.
"Miss Aria..." he whispered, his voice trembling violently. "I'm so sorry."
Aria didn't look at him. She kept her eyes locked onto Kurt, cold, steady, and dangerous. "Zayn."
"Yes?"
"Stop apologizing."
She stepped forward slowly. The simple movement made several of the gunmen reflexively take a step back. It wasn't because she was holding a weapon; it was because that level of unadulterated confidence in a trap was terrifying.
Aria smiled. It was a beautiful, lethal expression—the kind a apex predator wears right before the strike.
"The kid made one mistake," she said, her gaze pinning Kurt to the spot. "But you just made several."
The room became deathly quiet. For the first time all afternoon, Kurt Voss looked genuinely nervous. Because somehow, the woman surrounded by guns looked significantly less afraid than the men holding them. And that was never a good sign.