"Vincent says your work has lost its soul."

The girl on my husband’s arm was the twelfth one.

"He says I'm the only one who reminds him of his first love."

She flashed a diamond bracelet. "He gave me this the day we met. I bet he never gave you anything like this."

I picked up my sculpting knife.

She was the twelfth girl who looked like me.

The twelfth time I was forced to sculpt a statue for my husband's mistress.

The last time I refused, he grabbed my chin.

"Aria, if you don't want the De Luca name wiped from New York, you'll do as you're told."

"Be a good Mrs. Moretti," he'd said. "I'll come back to you when I'm bored."

Today, he tossed a black card on my workbench. "Your payment."

This time, I just smiled.

He forgot one tiny detail.

Our five-year marriage contract expired yesterday.

And that priceless painting he just bought at auction? The one called "Phoenix"?

The signature on it is mine.

————————

1

"I want this statue placed in our home." Vincent's voice came from above me, laced with an authority that left no room for argument.

"Vincent, won't Aria be upset?" Isabella cooed, but her eyes were venomous darts aimed straight at my heart.

"What right does she have to be upset?" Vincent sneered, leaning so close his warm breath ghosted against my neck.

"Did you hear that, Aria? Put your heart into it. This is, after all, a gift you're personally sculpting for your replacement."

He then turned to Isabella. "Once this is finished, I'll divorce her and marry you."

Isabella covered her mouth in a theatrical gasp of surprise, the smugness in her eyes practically overflowing.

The sculpting knife in my hand stilled. The crimson clay on my palette was the color of dried blood.

I didn't speak. I just stared at the face on the sculpting stand—a near-perfect copy of my own.

My silence clearly displeased him. He grabbed my wrist, his grip so tight I thought my bones would snap.

"What, cat got your tongue? Or are you finally too heartbroken to speak?"

There was a sick pleasure in his voice.

"I thought you'd be used to it by now."

I lifted my head, meeting his gaze with a faint smile.

"Not at all, Mr. Moretti."

"I was just thinking that this payment is enough for that penthouse in Tribeca with the studio I've been eyeing."

The color drained from Vincent’s face, his expression instantly darkening.

He never expected this. Not from me, the woman who had always been so pliant, who had cried and fought for him.

Sensing the shift, Isabella immediately wrapped her arms around his, pouting. "Vincent, Aria must be faking it. How could she not love you?"

"She's just jealous of me, jealous that you found that spark with me."

Vincent's expression softened. He released me and pulled Isabella into his arms.

"Ignore her. She's just a soulless artisan."

"Once the sculpture is done, I'll take you to the Maldives to see the dolphins."

As if I were nothing but air, they began planning their future behind me, their voices a low murmur of wedding dresses and honeymoon destinations.

With each slice of the knife, I carved the girl's features.

But when I reached her eyes, I paused.

Those eyes were identical to mine.

And identical to someone else's.

After the final cut, I set down my tools. "It's finished."

Vincent strolled over, appraising the statue with satisfaction.

"Not bad. It has some of your old magic."

He pulled out his phone, ready to wire the funds.

But I spun the sculpting stand around, revealing a miniature sculpture on the other side.

It was the mangled wreckage of a car, engulfed in flames. From the twisted metal, a single hand reached out in desperation.

Vincent's pupils contracted.

"Aria, what the hell is this?"

I smiled, taking out my own phone and dialing.

"Hello? Attorney Thompson?"

"You can proceed."

"I've sent you all the evidence of Vincent Moretti's breach of contract and emotional abuse."

"Also, tell him to expect a formal investigation into... the car bombing from five years ago."

"Aria, you're insane!"

Vincent's roar echoed behind me, tinged with a panic he couldn't quite conceal.

I didn't look back. I just walked straight out of the studio.

The sharp crack of shattering porcelain echoed from the studio, followed by Isabella's screams and Vincent's roars—a grotesque symphony.

I slipped into my car and gave the driver an address.

"To the Guggenheim Museum, please."

The driver’s eyes met mine in the rearview mirror. He looked like he wanted to speak but thought better of it.

I knew why.

There were still wet tracks on my face.

But they weren't tears of sorrow. They were tears of release.

My phone buzzed. A text from my agent, Chloe.

"Aria, everything is ready. We're just waiting for you to cut the ribbon."

"Today, you are the only star."

I texted back a simple "Okay."

Half an hour later, the car pulled up in the heart of Manhattan.

A massive electronic screen played a news segment on a loop.

"The mysterious sculptor 'Phoenix' will make her first public appearance today. All works under her name will be auctioned for charity, with the proceeds donated to the 'Seraphina' Art Foundation."

I looked up at the sculpture on the screen, the one named "Phoenix," and a small smile touched my lips.

*Vincent, you always wanted to know who "Phoenix" was, didn't you?*

*You always wanted this statue to commemorate your one true love?*

*Today, you'll see it all.*

The museum entrance was a madhouse.

The constant flickering of camera flashes was like a galaxy of stars in broad daylight.

I took a deep breath and stepped onto the red carpet.

The moment my heel touched the first step, every lens swiveled to face me.

"Oh my god, 'Phoenix' is her!"

"The Moretti family's daughter-in-law?"

"What on earth is going on?"

Gasps rippled through the crowd.

I walked to the podium, took the microphone, and let my gaze sweep over every stunned face.

"Hello, everyone. I am 'Phoenix.' My name is Aria De Luca."

"Today, I am here to announce three things."

"First, I am here to announce my divorce from Mr. Vincent Moretti. As of today, we go our separate ways."

"Second, under the name 'Phoenix,' I am filing a lawsuit against Don Costello Moretti, head of the Moretti family, and his son, Vincent, for premeditated murder."

The moment the words left my mouth, the venue erupted.

Vincent shoved his way through the crowd and stormed the stage, his eyes bloodshot as he glared at me.

"Aria, what the hell are you talking about? What premeditated murder?"

I looked at him, my voice cold as I enunciated each word. "Five years ago. The car bomb that killed my sister, Seraphina. It was no accident."

"It was orchestrated by your father, the Don."

"And you, Vincent Moretti, were his accomplice."

"Impossible!"

The color drained from Vincent's face as he denied it instinctively.

"My father would never..."

"Wouldn't he?" I cut him off, projecting a document onto the large screen behind me.

"This is a report from the FBI's reopened investigation. It clearly states that the hitman who planted the bomb was a Soldato of the Moretti family."

"The day before the bombing, a wire transfer for five hundred thousand dollars appeared in his family's account. The sender was your father's Consigliere."

"Vincent Moretti, are you going to stand there and tell me you knew nothing about this?"

Vincent's lips trembled, but no words came out.

The shock and disbelief in his eyes seemed genuine.

It was almost as if he really had been kept in the dark.

*Of course you didn't know,* I thought with a flash of contempt.

"From the very beginning, you were just a pawn in their game."

"You thought you were marrying your one true love, Seraphina. In reality, you were just a tool for the Moretti family to absorb the De Luca's influence in New York."

"And I, Aria De Luca, was the pathetic replacement, forced to live in my sister's shadow."

I looked down into the audience, where my father, Marco De Luca, stood with an ashen face.

He never imagined I would detonate our family's secrets in public.

"Papa, are you going to remain silent?"

"For the sake of the so-called family business, you sacrificed one daughter and threw another into the fire. Does your conscience even bother you?"

Marco flinched and bowed his head, unable to meet my gaze.

Vincent, however, seemed to have found a final, desperate lifeline. He lunged onto the stage and grabbed my shoulders.

"Aria, you're lying! You wanted to marry me!"

"You've loved me for years, how could you..."

"Love?" I let out a sharp, humorless laugh and shoved his hands away.

"Vincent Moretti, you are so breathtakingly arrogant."

"I have never loved you."

"I learned to sculpt, copied my sister's techniques, wore her style of clothes, and cooked her favorite meals, all to make you believe I was her."

"I endured you parading those replacements in front of me, forcing me to sculpt their faces, just to gather evidence. Just to wait for this day."

"To wait for the chance to send you, your father, and the entire Moretti family straight to hell!"

My voice, laced with a bone-deep chill, echoed through the museum.

Vincent staggered backward, bumping into the backdrop.

He looked at me with eyes full of fear and a horrifying lack of recognition.

"You... you're not her..."

"Who are you?"

I pulled a necklace from my throat and threw it at his feet.

It was a small pendant, a sculpting knife with the letter "S" engraved on the back.

"This was my sister's."

"Vincent Moretti, open your eyes and look."

"I was never your one true love."

"I'm the ghost of your own making, Vincent. And I've crawled out of hell to collect what I'm owed."