AriaEverything feels heavy. Limbs, eyelids, even thoughts. There’s a hum somewhere—soft, constant. A vent? Maybe. My eyes open slowly to a ceiling I don’t recognise. Smooth, white, untouched.This isn't my apartment.The bed is too soft. The sheets are too crisp. Light spills in through pale curtains, warm and golden. The room’s beautiful, like something out of a lifestyle magazine. Pale blue walls. A fancy headboard. Everything is perfectly arranged. Too perfect.A slow breath in. My throat is dry. My body aches like it’s been asleep for far too long. Maybe it has.What... happened?Pieces start to click into place, but they come slowly. Disconnected.Damon. His voice. The letter.God, the letter.Hey Aria, it’s been a minute.The words replay, dripping with familiarity and malice –the strange, almost intimate tone. I remember Damon reading it, and his expression hardening. My stomach turning. The blood draining from my face. Then—Darkness.I blink and sit up, head pounding. The we
AriaShe stands at the top of the stairs, arms gently crossed, with a look on her face like she’s stepped into a memory. Her smile stretches wide, full of warmth and some quiet amusement, like seeing me is the final piece of a puzzle she’s waited years to complete.I pause, one foot still on the step. Her presence feels out of place—like I walked into someone else’s story.“Who are you?” The words come out sharper than I mean them to.“Oh, my darling,” she says, voice light and familiar, “you wouldn’t know me.” She starts down the stairs, moving like the place still remembers her. “I’m Eunice. Just got back this morning.”I squint slightly. Nothing about her rings a bell.“I’m not following. Got back from where?”“I’ve served the Stone family for over twenty years,” she says with a kind of nostalgic pride. “Took a break to tend to my health. But now I’m back.”Something in her voice carries history. It pulls me in despite myself.“Nice to meet you,” I offer. “I’m Aria.”She touches my
AriaThe knock comes early. Soft, respectful. There's no room to pretend I'm still asleep.The maid enters, jumping straight to business, "Good morning, Miss. It’s time."In no time, the room is already buzzing. The dress hangs like a ghost near the window, perfectly pressed and waiting. Makeup brushes glide across palettes. A steamer hisses from the corner. The scent of roses and perfume lingers in the air.If only this were real. If only Ava didn't. If she didn't leave me here. The Ifs keep pouring.I sit still while hands flutter around me. Moisturizer. Foundation. Concealer. A little blush. Hair curled, pinned, twisted into shape. As my dress is zipped up slowly, none of it feels real. The girl in the mirror isn’t me. She looks flawless, but her eyes are someone else's. Someone trained to smile. Someone trapped. Someone without a choice. I noticed Eunice hovering nearby, watching with that unreadable expression of hers. When the stylists finish, she steps in and starts adjustin
Damon.She walks toward me without panic.Every step is measured—shoulders high, chin forward, eyes locked. It’s not practised; it’s something more dangerous than rehearsal. She’s wearing a certain skin, like it’s never not been hers.The dress hugs her perfectly, fluid and silk-spun. Light catches on to her as she moves, like the world decided to spotlight her just for walking into it. But it’s her face that pulls me apart. It’s calm. Still. Too still. No cracks in her smile. No tremble in her jaw.And yet, somewhere behind the calm, something else lingers. A flicker of the girl who kissed me at Father’s estate. The one who fought back. The one who spat fire when I pushed too hard.My hand grazes hers when she gets to me. Just a brush, almost nothing. But she shudders. She’s shaking. Not visibly, not enough for the guests to notice—but I do.I grab her hand fully, wrapping my fingers around hers until the quiver subsides. It's not affection. It's instinct. It's performance.But maybe
Damon“What? Talk to me.”“I’d rather you come see for yourself, man,” Kingsley says, and right away, I know this is bad.“No. Don’t do that. Just talk to me, Kay. Give me a damn idea at least.”“Okay, but it’s just a clue, not the full—”“Just freaking spit it out, please.”I barely get the words out before another voice slices through the line.“Everything okay there?”I freeze.Father.My spine straightens as my thumb snaps the phone shut. If there’s one person who can’t get even a whiff of what Kingsley’s talking about, it’s him. The last thing I need is my father sniffing around unfinished business. He doesn’t ask questions out of concern. He digs until he owns the mess.I turn, smoothing out my expression before facing him. “Yes—yes, Father. Just a work thing. I should’ve shut the phone off. It’s my wedding day, after all.”“You should have,” he says, frowning. “But… beautiful ceremony you’ve put together, son.”His tone is flat. Praise from him always sounds like a report card.
AriaThe silence in the car stretches so long, it starts to feel personal.The kind that settles in your bones. Thick, heavy, impossible to shake. Damon sits beside me, eyes fixed out the tinted window like the night offers more peace than this leather seat ever could. Not a word since we got in. Not a glance.Fine by me.I can’t pretend anymore tonight. Not after all the smiling. Not after being paraded like some carefully groomed acquisition—packaged, tagged, and displayed. I played the role, alright. Gave them the blushing bride. Giggled at their terrible jokes. Pretended his hand on my back didn’t make my skin crawl.And now, I’m just... tired.The dress is too tight, my scalp aches from the pins holding up my hair, and the corners of my mouth still feel strained from holding the same fake smile for hours. My whole body feels like it’s been rented out to someone else. No room left in it for me.And now this—a stop, before Paris. No explanation. No warning. Just another layer of th
AriaThe room feels too small. Too still. Damon’s face doesn’t move, but I feel the uncomfortable shift in him. Kingsley’s talking, but it’s all background noise. My pulse is too loud. I lean in toward the screen, half-hoping I misread the message. But no. It’s still there. My name. Again. Not Damon’s. Mine. And that’s when it hits—this wasn’t about rattling us. It was about me. Someone made damn sure I saw it, and they wanted me to feel it. This is personal. I glance at Damon. He’s frozen in front of the screen, eyes scanning it like he can peel the truth out of the pixels. Jaw locked, shoulders stiff, completely unreadable. He doesn't say a word. Just gives Kingsley a tight nod like that’s his way of saying keep going.“Damon,” I say quietly.Nothing.“Damon,” louder this time.His eyes finally meet mine. No warmth. No surprise. Just that same detached focus, like I’m a problem to manage.“Get yourself together, dammit,” he says. “Don’t make me regret bringing you along.”Then
DamonShe’s predictable. I knew she’d run.Didn’t even have to check the cameras. The second I didn’t find her in the hallway, I knew where she was headed. There’s only one exit out back that slips past the guards. Hidden, rarely used. Most people don’t even notice it. But she did. Of course she did. She’s sharper than she looks when she’s quiet. Too sharp, sometimes.I don’t follow her right away. I wait. Just long enough for her to get close. For her to think, maybe, just maybe, this was her moment. Freedom. A break in the walls. A chance to breathe without my name wrapped around her throat.But nothing about this place is unplanned. Not even that gate. I had it locked the second I saw her step through the side hallway.So when she reaches it and starts pulling at it, desperate and barefoot, I step out from where I’ve been standing the whole time.“Where do you think you’re going?”My voice is even. Calm. She freezes. Doesn’t turn around. Doesn’t say anything. Just grabs the latch a
AriaThe Vancouver skyline stares back at me, cold and smug through the tall glass windows. We’re at the top floor of one of Damon’s luxury hotels—his name, his money, his power carved into every inch of this place. But for all the luxury, it feels more like a cage than ever. A prettier one, but a cage nonetheless.The room is ridiculous. Opulent. Sleek floors, floor-to-ceiling glass, m everything. A bottle of wine rests untouched on the coffee table. Our suitcases sit side by side near the closet like they’re in a truce we can’t manage.And I’m pacing.My phone buzzes. Again.Derek: Still in town. Can we catch up? I hesitate, thumb hovering.Me:Unfortunately not. We can catch up right here.Damon steps out from the bathroom, sleeves rolled, watch glinting against his wrist as he fastens it. He hasn’t said much since we landed. Not about the trip. Not about the room. Not even about the last time we spoke.Just a clipped, "Dinner. Twenty minutes. Dress accordingly."Like we’re here fo
DamonIt’s still early when I walk into our adjoined room. Not quiet, not loud. Just the kind of silence that means she’s inside—maybe awake, maybe pretending not to be.I pause by the door that connects our rooms, knock once. No answer. Doesn’t surprise me. She’s made it a habit lately to answer when she feels like it, not when I ask. I reach for the handle anyway and step in.She’s by the window, back turned to me. Sunlight touches her hair, giving it a bronze tint. Her posture’s stiff, too still. She heard me. She’s just not in the mood.Figures.“We’re leaving tomorrow,” I say flatly. “Pack enough. It won’t be a short trip.”No response. Not even a twitch.I let the silence hang, let her fill it or ignore it. The power play doesn’t matter today.“The security logs were compromised again,” I add. “It’s worse than the last time.”Now she moves. Just barely. A shift in her shoulders. “So this is what now? Another emergency evacuation?”“Something like that.”She finally turns, arms c
DamonShe doesn’t slam the door behind her.That’s how I know she’s angry.She slams doors when she’s trying to make a point. Not when she’s actually pissed. This silence? This quiet exit back into her own space? That’s worse.The adjoining door clicks shut, and the room feels colder.I let out a breath I hadn’t realised I’d been holding and stare at it for a second longer than I should. It’s just a door. A wall with a handle. But tonight, it might as well be a damn fortress.It’s not like I didn’t see this coming. Every move she’s made since Kingsley’s told me exactly what page she’s on.But it doesn’t make it easier.I tug at my collar. The shirt feels tighter than usual. Everything does lately. I’ve barely settled in since we got back, and I already feel suffocated. The walls of this house, of this arrangement, all closing in.I cross to the bar, pour two fingers of scotch into a glass, and let it burn down slowly. It doesn’t help much.She hasn’t said as much as I know she would w
DamonThe silence in Kingsley's guest bedroom is deceptive.Aria's breathing has evened out, soft and rhythmic. She’s asleep again, but my mind is wide awake, refusing to rest. The ceiling stares back at me like it expects me to explain myself. It knows what I did and is daring me to justify it.She’s right beside me—warm, steady, impossibly close. The same woman I convinced myself to hate. To control. To manipulate.And I let all of it unravel. Just like that.One night. One touch. And I dropped the mask. It wasn’t supposed to happen. It wasn’t part of the plan.I shift slightly, keeping still enough not to wake her. Not yet. I don't want her to open her eyes and catch the guilt written all over mine. Guilt I can't afford.Not when I’ve already made a decision: I’m not letting her go. Contract or not. Not when the damage is already done.I just chose all this while not to see. She was never Ava.It’s not just the way she moves or how she speaks. It’s the way she fights back, even w
AriaI don’t know when sleep finally pulled me under, but I know the weight in my chest hadn’t lifted when it happened. Maybe I passed out more than drifted off—from exhaustion, from anger, from confusion. From the ache of feeling stupid again.My body aches in strange places. Not from pain—at least not entirely—but from memory.Last night comes crashing back. The weight of him. The heat. The way my own body betrayed me. Not that it was forced—no. That’s what makes it worse. I let it happen. I wanted it. Wanted him. In that moment, and maybe longer than I would want to admit.It was good.Too good.Better than anything I'd ever experienced before, which says less about him and more about the sad collection of men from my past.Still, waking up feels like being dropped right back into the mess I was trying to escape in the first place. The thoughts from the night before creep back in like shadows across the ceiling. That sting of feeling stupid. Used. And most of all, ignored.He didn’
DamonDamon freaking Stone.What now? What next?The ceiling stares back at me as my chest slowly rises and falls. Each breath steadier than the last, but not enough to calm the chaos inside.I can still feel her on me. Around me. I don’t dare look in her direction. If I do, I’ll give myself away—and not just with my eyes. The tight rein I've kept on this storm inside will snap, and I can't afford that. Not right now. Not yet.Because now, it’s clear. As clear as the silence hanging in this room.She isn’t Ava. Never was.I always had my doubts. From the way she spoke, to how she carried herself, to how she'd look at me—not like someone with history, but like someone new. But tonight? It sealed it. The way her body moved with mine, how she reached for me, the rawness of it—no calculation, no manipulation, just... raw.Unfiltered.Honest.It was never like that with Ava. There was always an angle. An agenda.But her?Aria?She was shaking. Trembling beneath my hands. Like every touch m
Aria “No, Damon!” I snap. “Don’t you dare. I never had you. Not really. I had a jailer. A freaking captor. A man who dragged me out of a hospital bed and threw me into this freaking cage!”He flinches. Just slightly.But it’s enough.“And I fought. Every damn day. I tried to hold on to what little I remembered. To what I felt. To my name. But you crushed all of it under your suspicion.”“You could’ve died out there,” he says, voice low, dangerous.“Then maybe I’d finally be free.”Silence.He walks toward me. Slowly.I should move. But I don’t.“I searched every fucking corner of that alley,” he says, voice hoarse. “And when I found your phone, I thought—” He stops himself. Shakes his head.“I thought I was too late.”Emotion clogs my throat.But I don’t look away.“You’re angry because I dropped my phone?”“I’m angry,” he growls, hesitating for a bit, “because I care.”That breaks me.Just like that.Because it’s the last thing I expect to hear. From him.The air crackles.But I don
AriaNot long after I doze off, a sharp pain splits through my head, jolting me awake. It pulses once. Then again. I wince, eyes clamped shut as if that alone could dull the sting.When I manage to pry them open, he's already seated beside me in a chair. A glass of water and a pill sit in his hand like some unspoken offering."I should have given you this before you slept," he says, voice even but clipped. "Get up."It comes out more like an order than concern.I try to push myself up, but a dull ache shoots through my leg. I flinch. Damon stands and sits on the edge of the bed, one arm supporting my back as he helps me up gently.That gentleness throws me off more than the pain.He's been like this since yesterday. Quiet, calculated, and gentle in ways he’s never allowed himself to be."Thank you," I murmur."Here. Take this," he replies, handing me the pills and water.I swallow it quickly, passing the empty glass back to him. He places it on the side table without a word.Then, str
DamonThe car pulls in minutes later. Leo jumps out, opens the backseat. I ease her inside, wrapping her in a spare blanket from the trunk.She doesn’t fight it. Just shivers, eyes closed, the shell of her body telling a story she won’t say out loud.I climb in beside her.“Drive,” I tell Leo.The ride is silent.The engine hums. The wipers slice the rain. Her breathing is steady, shallow, like the whole night’s events have finally caught up to her.I glance at her.No mascara.No lipstick.No sharp retort sitting on her tongue.Just a girl who ran too far, chasing someone who may not want to be found.And all I want in this moment is to reach across the seat and hold her hand.But I don’t.Because I’m still the monster.Have been. Still am.I’m cut out of my reverie by the sound of Leo’s voice.“Where to? Home or?” He asks, his voice tight with hesitation, eyes flicking back to the rearview mirror.He already knows the answer. Or at least the dilemma. We can’t go home.Eunice will sn