Novels by Lila Hartfield

FlashbackIt was an afternoon like any other, but Damien couldn’t tear his eyes away from her. Aria was sitting on the edge of the fountain, sketching something in her notebook. She was deep in concentration, her fingers moving gracefully across the pages as the soft breeze tugged at her hair, which fell in perfect waves around her shoulders. Damien stared at her, completely absorbed, his thoughts momentarily consumed by how effortlessly beautiful she was. It wasn’t just her looks though she had those, in abundance, but the way she existed in the world, with an ease and confidence that drew everyone’s attention without her ever trying.“You’re doing it again, man,” Jake muttered, nudging him with an elbow. “You’ve been staring at her for the last five minutes. What’s the deal with you two?”Damien blinked, slightly caught off guard. He hadn’t realized how obvious he was being. “What can I say? She’s... incredible.”Jake raised an eyebrow. “Incredible? Dude, you sound like a broken rec

Damien I’m back at her bakery.I’m not even pretending to be subtle about it this time. I didn’t take a detour. I didn’t slow my pace and consider turning away. I walked straight here with purpose.But I brought Theo.That’s my one defence. Or maybe my excuse.“Dad,” he says as we stand just outside the door, “can I get whatever i want ”I glance down at him. His cheeks are already flushed from the morning sun, curls springing in every direction, his little hands jammed into the pockets of his too-small coat. I should remind him that we are just here to order a cake but honestly, my head’s elsewhere.Mainly behind that door.“I think we can manage that, but just one whatever you want” I say, pushing the door open.The bell chimes softly.She’s there. Of course she is.Aria.Her back is to us, adjusting something behind the counter. There’s flour on her apron, a smudge on her wrist. She’s humming—quiet, tuneful, unaware of the shift in my chest just from looking at her.And then she

AriaThe restaurant is low-lit, all golden warmth and soft jazz, the kind of place that makes you feel like you're living in a Vogue spread. The air smells like truffle fries and overpriced ambition. I'm sandwiched in a booth between two of the most chaotic women I know.Tonight? I’m good. I’ve got a red dress, a tall glass of sangria, and friends who never let me drown.Karissah raises her glass. “To us, French fries, and absolutely no male species”We clink. Hard.Elena laughs into her mojito, eyes sparkling. “You are so extra.”Karissah flips her braids over one shoulder with exaggerated elegance. “Thank you. I do try.”“So,” I say, leaning back. “What’s the latest from the battlefield?”Karissah grins like she’s been waiting all week for this question. “Okay, so remember that guy I told you about…the one with the sleeve tattoos and the six-pack and the vocabulary of a small-town priest?”Elena groans. “Please don’t say you're still talking to him.”“Oh, I’m not talking,” Karissah

AriaMy couch is a mess of throw blankets and open books, but I’m curled into my usual corner, hoodie pulled over my knees, wine glass untouched on the coffee table. My phone rests propped up against a candle jar, Elena’s face glowing on the screen, her background a blur of fairy lights and bad dorm lighting.“Wait…back up.” Elena leans in, brows up. “You’re telling me Damien came inside?”I nod slowly. “Sat at a table. Too long, Maeve didn’t know what to do with him.”She blinks. “Was he lost?”“Apparently, he came for a croissant. But he hates croissants.”“Elaborate.”“I gave him a lemon tart instead,” I mutter.“Because you know he likes lemon tart better,” she says, like it’s the most obvious, most damning thing in the world.I sink deeper into the cushions. “He looked... like he didn’t know what to say. Like the idea of me serving him dessert was this foreign, devastating concept.”Elena’s voice softens. “How did you feel?”“Like my lungs forgot how to function,” I say. “Like ti

FlashbackThe thing about Blackwood Academy was that it never made space for anyone. You either carved a place out for yourself or you vanished into the lacquered hallways and designer uniforms like wallpaper.Aria was determined not to vanish but she was off to a bad start.She was late, first of all. Not by much but just enough to make her feel like everyone was already watching, already whispering. She’d taken a wrong turn trying to find her Honours English class and ended up in what could only be described as the Aristocrat Wing , the marble floors, oil paintings of dead donors, and the distant sound of violin practice bleeding through the walls.This place is ridiculous.She turned a corner ,missed a step and tripped, her satchel sliding from her shoulder, papers scattering across the polished hallway floor. She muttered a curse under her breath and crouched to gather them, cheeks hot, praying no one had seen.Of course someone had.“I don’t think the hallway offended you,” came

AriaDamien Von Adler is in my bakery.He’s been sitting at a table in the corner for far too long, ordering nothing—just his fingers twitching like they’ve forgotten what they were made for. His presence slices through the comforting scent of brown sugar, cinnamon, and cooling puff pastry like a cold front. I can see my waitresses shifting, uneasy.He’s never been here. Not once. Not in six years.And I’ve owned this place for four of them.From the narrow slit in the kitchen door, I watch him. My heart drops out of rhythm, thudding low and uneven with the weight of everything unsaid.Last night, I told myself I was done. Done letting his memory linger in the corners of my mind like a stubborn shadow. And now he’s here. Casting it over everything again.Maeve slips in beside me, voice low and mischievous. “There’s a guy out there. Tall. Dark. Drenched. Looks like he owns Wall Street or maybe just casually dismantled it before breakfast. Friend of yours?”Not anymore.“I got it,” I sa