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
DamonFor the rest of the flight, I switch off. Not in a dramatic way—just quietly shut the lights in my head. There’s no solving anything at thirty thousand feet. No need to rehearse the same questions I’ve already asked myself a dozen different ways. The silence is a welcome kind of dull. The hum of the jet fills whatever space she and I don’t.When we land, I stand, stretch, and make my way to the back. She’s still out cold, curled up on her side, one leg tucked under the other like she’s trying to disappear into the mattress. Her hair’s a mess, the oversized shirt clinging to one shoulder. There’s something small and strange about how she sleeps—like her body is constantly bracing for something. Even in rest, she’s not fully here.I catch the eye of the guard closest to the door and nod. He understands.“Carry her,” I say, not loud, just firm.He picks her up gently. She doesn’t even stir.Our cars are waiting by the edge of the runway. I take the one in the back. The guards begin
AriaMy eyes feel weak. Heavier than they were when I woke from the coma. Lifting them feels like peeling myself away from cement. They won’t cooperate. Not yet.It might be the exhaustion. Yesterday left nothing behind but scraps. No fuel. No air. Just the weight of survival and the kind of mental fog that sticks to your ribs.I squeeze my lids shut, trying to block it all out—the panic, the sprint, the stupid hope when I thought the gate was open. That brief flash of relief, followed by adrenaline so sharp it almost felt like clarity. For a second, I thought I’d made it, that I’d beat him.But no. He got to me first. And just like that, the fight drained out of me. Gone. I didn’t resist. Didn’t scream. I didn’t even speak.Just followed. Numb.Now my eyes flutter open, and the ceiling above is white, high, and unfamiliar.Where...?The smell hits me next. Expensive linen. Something floral. Subtle. The kind of scent you get in overpriced hotels with too many stars. I glance around.T
AriaShopping with Damon feels like walking through a movie set where the lead actors don’t speak to each other. Not out of tension, but because the script doesn’t require it.We’re in and out of stores within an hour. Fast. Clean. Efficient. The kind of shopping only someone like Damon could pull off without once looking up from his phone. Not even to see what I’m picking. Not even when I pause a little too long at a rack or glance toward the exit like it might suddenly open up into freedom. Not the countless times I looked over my shoulder in fear, or by instinct. And even when our guards glance back, he doesn’t. Doesn’t react. Doesn’t catch me looking. Doesn’t care.He moves like a man who’s figured out the world owes him nothing—and still manages to get everything. That quiet self-assurance used to be just annoying. Now it’s unnerving. And... fine, a little impressive. In that unsettling, dangerous way.He holds all the power and wields it without blinking.And I hate that I noti
DamonThe moment the car door shuts and the engine hums to life, the silence thickens. She’s quiet. Too quiet. Still wearing that smile she put on like war paint for her little sidewalk reunion.The driver shifts into gear, and before the wheels even roll forward, I say it.“What the hell was that?”It comes out low, even—but it slices through the quiet like a blade. I don’t raise my voice. I don’t need to. She knows exactly what I’m talking about.She stares out the window like I’m a minor inconvenience.“What?”She’s playing dumb now?“You ran,” I say. My jaw’s clenched, voice measured. “To a man. In public. With guards present.”She doesn’t flinch. “I know him.”Of course she does.“It doesn’t matter.”“He said my name.”“And that’s the bar now? He said your name so you throw yourself at him in the middle of Paris like it’s a goddamn reunion episode?”The memory flashes again—her full-on sprint, the way she flung herself into his arms like we didn’t have two security guards five st
DamonThe evening drags. I step out onto the balcony just to get away from the walls. Not that the Paris air helps—it's not some kind of cure. But inside, everything feels tight. Off. Too still.Down below, the city keeps going. Laughter. A scooter. Someone is yelling in French. People are living their lives without missing a beat. Meanwhile, in here, it feels like everything’s stuck in place.I lean on the railing, but my head’s somewhere else. Back in that moment. Her in his arms. That laugh. That look on her face. I haven’t seen that version of her in weeks—maybe not at all since she came crashing back into my world. And then he shows up, and she’s suddenly glowing like she’s finally breathing again.I glance inside through the glass.She’s on the couch. Phone in her lap, but she’s not looking at it. Just sitting. Quiet. And smiling. Not the kind of smile she puts on for people. This one’s small. Honest. The kind you don’t even realise you’re doing.It pisses me off more than I’d l
AriaThe floor is cold in a way that makes everything hurt a little deeper.No matter how I shift, nothing about it gets easier. My shoulders are sore. The bones in my hips press against the thin padding of the duvet like they’re being punished. My hands are curled against my chest, fingers stiff from being tucked under me all night.But I stay down here.Because arguing about the bed? About fairness? That would’ve meant feeding his ego.So, no. I didn’t fight it.He doesn’t deserve my outrage. Doesn’t deserve the part of me that reacts to this bullshit with fire. That’s the part he wants. The fight. The spark. So he can push, provoke, and control.Instead, I gave him nothing.Just silence and surrender.At least, that’s what it probably looked like from up there—his throne of pillows and comfort. Like he won. Like I folded.But I didn’t. Not really.This was the only way to avoid him entirely.Because the moment he walked out the door this morning, I was always going to get up off th
DamonI don’t stick around to watch whatever the hell that is. My feet start moving before my mind catches up. Back through the lot. Back toward the hotel. Back inside this building that feels like a fucking simulation at this point. My head is spinning.Two little girls. Him. A.What the hell was that?They're not hers, obviously. But the ease. The way she crouched, smiled, and smoothed the hoodie over one of their tiny shoulders like she'd done it a thousand times.And then the man.He walks up, and it's like watching a scene I have no business interrupting. The rhythm. The ease. Like they were a family.Like she belongs there.My chest tightens, and I tell myself to shut it down. You're not her husband. Not really. You can't claim what isn't yours. Especially when you're the one who built a damn fortress between you both.We’ve got a year left, if it’s even still up to that. Maybe less. Then she’s out. Free.So why the hell does it feel like something's slipping away?The elevator
Aria The first thing I notice when I wake up is how warm the bed still feels.The second? Damon’s still asleep.He’s facing the other way, one arm folded under the pillow, the other draped over his chest. The blanket’s slipped down his torso, exposing just enough skin to send a flood of images racing through my already too-busy mind.I close my eyes for a second and exhale. Right. Last night.It comes back slowly — the way I rolled into him like the boundaries no longer existed, the way I literally pulled his hand over my waist like he owed me comfort. What the hell was that? Was I high? Drunk?Then it hits me.Dinner with Daniel. The wine.That damn bottle of wine I picked — rich, smooth, with a punch strong enough to mess with my better judgment.Still, that doesn’t explain why some pathetic part of me needed to feel his arms around me last night. Especially after everything; Gina showing up like some scene from a soap opera, his usual ice-cold responses, and the silence that alway
DamonThe staring contest lingers longer than it should.My gaze locks with hers, and for a second, neither of us flinches. It’s stupid—childish even—but neither of us gives. And that says more about us than any argument we’ve ever had. We’re both too damn proud to blink first. Too wrapped up in whatever this cold war is between us to just end it.But eventually, I give in.With a grunt, I tear my eyes away, jaw tight, and push myself up from the edge of the bed. I head straight to the kitchen without another word. Maybe if I move, breathe, distract myself, this feeling—whatever the hell it is—will pass.I rinse the glass I brought over, toss her empty meds packaging in the bin, and stand there with my hands braced on the counter, willing my thoughts to just stop spinning. Then I head to the bathroom, stripping off my shirt and jeans on the way, and let the cold water hit my face harder than necessary. Fresh clothes. No more talking. Just silence and sleep.Back in the bedroom, the li
DamonIt’s past seven.The soft tick of the clock is all I hear, that and the faint hum of the city leaking through the glass walls. I check my phone again, screen lighting up like it's got a better answer than the last five times.Still nothing.I set the phone back down.If I wanted a reset so bad, now’s the time to take it. Silence. Distance. Detachment. Isn’t that what I asked for? But my mind is doing the exact opposite. Picturing her. Wondering if she’s warm enough. Wondering where she went, who she’s with, why the hell it’s taking her this long to get back.She was sick just yesterday.So where is she?I reach for my phone again, thumb hovering over the keyboard, debating whether or not to shoot off a text. Then I hear the knock. Better.I stand immediately, cross the room in three long strides, and yank the door open.She’s standing there, arms full of shopping bags, looking exactly like someone who forgot time existed.She doesn’t say anything. Just bends to pick up her bags.
AriaThe moment Damon walks toward the balcony, I shift on the stool by the kitchen island and just sit there, watching his retreating figure disappear behind the glass. He slides the door shut behind him and vanishes into the skyline, just like he always does when things get a little too real.There’s a whole woman outside, dressed like she walked out of a damn catalog, and he has nothing to say to me. I didn't ask what that was. I didn’t ask who she was. A part of me already knows. Or at least, knows enough to not want to dig further.I sit back down on the stool by the kitchen island and let my body lean forward. Elbows on the counter, cheek resting against the cold marble. I don’t have the strength to overthink this right now. I’m still a little weak, still running a slight fever, and stress is the last thing I need to add to the mix.I check my phone. One minute passes. Then two. Then three. I feel the pressure build up inside me, but I fight it off. I won’t spiral. Not today. No
Damon The walk to the elevator takes forever.The moment the elevator doors shut behind us, I press the button for the ground floor. I don't say a word. Just watch the numbers blink slowly on the screen.Then she speaks."I'm stressed already, Mr. Stone."I don’t respond. Not immediately. My jaw clenches, and my hands form a fist by my side.Can I get a damn minute to think? One minute without someone poking and triggering me?I exhale slowly through my nose. "I’ll pay you double whatever Kingsley promised if you just shut the fuck up. For the most part. In fact, zip it till I need you."She blinks, then shrugs. "Fairs."The elevator continues its crawl to the lobby like it's dragging its feet on purpose. I slip out my phone and dial Kingsley. He doesn’t pick up.Of course.Perfect timing to go ghost after throwing a grenade unto my laps.I tap my foot against the floor, jaw tight, hand dragging through my hair. The silence is suffocating, but I need it. My head’s still spinning from
DamonThe morning light creeps through the curtains in gold slivers, cutting across the bed in quiet streaks. I’m already awake. Have been for a while. Not that I slept much. My arm's numb, pinned awkwardly under A. She’s curled into me, still shivering occasionally despite the layers of warmth.I glance down. Her face is softer in sleep. There's no walls. No snark. Just silence and breath.She stirs a little, her fingers twitching against my side, and I freeze for a second, not wanting to wake her. Then again, she’s not the type to stay still for long. Sure enough, she shifts again, and I feel her body tense slightly as her lashes flutter open.She tries to blink past the light, squinting. Then she flinches and squeezes her eyes shut again. It takes a minute before she tries again, turning slowly to peek in my direction. I keep my eyes closed. Not ready to deal with whatever this moment could become. Not ready for the questions her face might be holding.But I feel her gaze. Not flee
AriaMorning hits slow, like it’s apologizing for showing up. I don’t even know what time it is, but the light filtering through the sheer curtains feels too aggressive for my eyes. I blink once, twice, and then just give up and shut them again. My body still aches, but not as badly as yesterday. That has to count for something.Something shifts behind me.And I remember.Damon.I try not to make a big deal of it in my head, but it’s not every day the man who treats you like an inconvenient accessory suddenly starts acting like... this. Whatever this is.Carefully, I turn just enough to peek at him over my shoulder. He’s still. On his side, facing me. His eyes are closed, lashes dark against his skin. His jaw looks less tense in sleep, the sharp edge of his cheekbones softened by the early light. It’s unfair how good he looks when he’s not being a jackass. Even now, with my heart still bruised from the emotional whiplash he put me through, I catch myself staring.God, I hate him. And
AriaI don't have it in me to argue with him anymore.The moment he blocks the door and tells me I can't leave, I just stand there for a heartbeat, feeling his eyes on me like a weight I can't shake off. And then I turn around, walk back to the bed, and fall into it like my bones are made of glass.No retort. No clapback. No eye roll. Just quiet.Because honestly? I'm too damn tired.My body feels like it’s folding in on itself. Every breath feels like it’s asking for too much. My muscles ache in that dull, warning-sign way. The fever's probably creeping back up. And as much as I’d love to throw something at him, shout, or kick the door down just to feel something other than this exhaustion... I can’t. I simply can’t.So I do the only thing I can do in this moment. I sleep.---Night creeps in like a fog, slow and thick, and I’m barely aware of time passing. The ceiling is a blur. The hum of the city feels like it’s coming from underwater. I’m shivering so hard my teeth are lightly cl