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
AriaWhat happens after that?Breach the contract. Lose the little freedom I have. Put Derek in danger. Put myself in something worse than a floor next to a king-sized bed.I stare down at my plate.“A.” His voice cuts through again.And I realise—I’ve been sitting here in silence. Again.Just... zoning out and internally screaming.Derek leans forward, eyes searching my face, and gently places his hand to my forehead like he’s checking for a fever. “I’ve seen you twice, and both times, you’ve disappeared into your head. Are you okay?”I let out a soft laugh. The kind that doesn’t mean joy. “I’ve just... been in my head a lot lately.”“Yeah. I’m noticing.”He pulls his hand back, gives me that soft half-smile that used to make everything feel manageable. I look away.“So,” I say, trying to sound casual, like I’m finally ready. “Where do I start?”He doesn’t answer. Just waits. Elbows resting on the table now, fully leaned in.I could still tell the truth. I could finally say it.Inste
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
DamonI should've kept my damn mouth shut.The second the words left, I knew I'd screwed up. They were supposed to stay in my head—that fleeting thought, that one stupid line that wasn’t supposed to mean anything. But hearing them aloud, raw and unfiltered, made it worse.Wrapped around your finger?Jesus. Damon.I don’t even wait for her reaction. I hear the confusion in her voice, the sharp little sting behind her words: "What the hell does that mean?"And I do the next best thing. I walk away.Because there's no comeback, no retort, and no sarcastic deflection that'll save me from this one. I head for the mini kitchen and drop myself on one of the bar stools like gravity just doubled. My elbows hit the counter and I rub my temples, trying to get my head back.What the hell was that, Damon? Seriously.I pull out my phone, desperate for a distraction, and of course Kingsley's text is waiting:Two things. Home front is secure now. If you feel like returning. Also, Gina will be there
AriaI’m back in bed, curled under the duvet, and for a second, I let the warmth trick me into thinking everything’s fine. That I’m just tired, not emotionally frayed. That my body doesn’t feel like it’s been hit by a train, and my mind isn’t spinning with questions I’ve long stopped asking out loud.Then I hear his footsteps.Damon’s slow, unhurried steps, like he’s taking his time to think through what he’ll say. His hands are in his pockets, shoulders relaxed but not lazy. He stops by my side of the bed, close enough to feel the pressure of his presence even without looking up.“You should shower,” he says.I turn my head toward him, still not meeting his eyes. “I’m weak. I will... soon.”He doesn’t budge. “Someone’s coming to check you out. You’ll want to be cleaned up by the time they get here.”I sigh, eyes still closed. Maybe if I ignore him long enough, he’ll walk away.“You want me to help?” he asks, voice flat, not teasing or flirty—just serious. Serious enough that I open m
AriaI keep my back to him, curled under the duvet, but my mind's already far from here.He's obviously just running. From the truth. From everything. And maybe from me too.I’ve never even been alike with Ava. Not really. Identical? Sure. Uncannily. The type that makes people double-take and question their own eyes. But alike? Never. Anyone who’s ever spent more than five minutes with both of us could tell the difference. Personality doesn’t lie. Presence doesn’t either. Ava used to suck the air out of the room. I’ve always tried to fill it quietly. She walked in like she owned the place; I walk in hoping nobody notices.But here he is. A man who’s seen both of us up close. Still choosing to lie to himself instead. And I’m done arguing. Done trying to correct someone who clearly finds comfort in the version of the story that causes the least discomfort. For him, anyway.The sound of Damon’s voice pulls me from my thoughts. He’s on the phone. Probably Kingsley. It’s always Kingsley.H
Damon"Damon?"Her voice is barely there. A whisper, like it’s unsure if it even wants to exist. But it stops me in my tracks.I freeze on the balcony, hand still clutching the phone, Kingsley’s last words still hanging in the air like static. My pulse jumps, but I don’t turn immediately. I wait a beat, listening for more, for confirmation, for anything that’ll tell me if she heard what I just said. About Gina. About my need to reset. About punishing myself for dragging her into this mess.I finally turn, slow, controlled, like I’m disarming a live wire.She’s at the door, blinking, swaying a little, her fingers clutching the door frame like she’s not quite sure how she got there. Eyes half-lidded, skin flushed, and still bundled in the same hoodie and sweats she passed out in. And just like that, I know—she didn’t hear a thing. Not a damn word.Relief floods through me, sharp and sudden.I step toward her immediately, crossing the space between us in three long strides. “What are you
DamonThe towel’s warm. Damp. Smells like her shampoo because that’s all I could find. I press it to her forehead anyway, slow, like the way you’d soothe a startled animal, or… something fragile. I don’t know. I’m not good at this part. But I do it anyway. Carefully. Quietly. Like, if I move too fast, I’ll make it even worse.Her eyes are half-closed, her face slack with exhaustion. The fever’s still thereand her skin’s still hot to the touch. I shift the towel, flip it, and press again. She doesn’t say anything at first. Doesn’t even flinch. Just lies there, breathing slow and shallow.After a while, I ask, "Do you feel any better?"She nods. Barely. Not convincingly. But I’ll take it.I stay there longer than I should, watching her. The silence settles in, comfortable and strange all at once. Before long, my eyes grow heavy and the edges of the room start to blur, and before I even realise it, I’m slipping under.When I wake up, I’m still seated by the bed, back aching from the shit
AriaSteam coils around me like smoke as I press my forehead to the cool tile wall. The water pounds over my back, hot and relentless, but my mind's somewhere else entirely.Today is the end of it. I'm done asking Damon about what happened between us—the sex, the looks, the moments I keep replaying like they mean something. They don’t. Not to him. And I refuse to be that girl, the one who keeps chasing shadows just to feel seen.I tilt my head back and let the spray hit my face. God, I actually told him everything. All of it. From Daniel's name to the espresso to the damn boutique hopping. And for what? He just stood there like a stone, staring at me like I was reading out of someone else’s diary.Still, I’ll give myself credit. I didn’t flinch. Didn’t sugarcoat it. Just told him. That’s got to count for something.I grab the soap and lather off the day—the grime, the weight, the leather that clung to me like shame. Months of this. Months pretending this marriage, this arrangement, do
DamonShe was just here.I swear she was just here.The sound of the door closing didn’t even register when it happened. I thought maybe she was grabbing a drink, stepping out to get food. something. But not leaving. Nothing that would leave this suite feeling like a damn ghost town an hour later.Ten minutes.I glance at the time again.Fifteen.I walk to the door, pull it open, look left, right. The hallway’s empty. No sign of her. So I sit back down and wait, trying not to assume the worst, which is a feat in itself considering that’s exactly what I’m wired to do. Especially since Ashbury Lane.At thirty minutes, my patience hits a wall.I grab my phone and shoot off a text to her:Where the hell did you run off to?Nothing.Ten minutes pass. Still nothing.I toss the phone onto the bed and stare at the ceiling like it holds answers. It doesn’t. It's still just mocking silence.No, I’m not calling security. Not yet. That’d be overkill. She’s not kidnapped. She’s not stupid. She wou
Aria"Hello."Daniel's voice breaks through the static in my mind. I blink, jolted back into the moment, fingers still curled loosely around the ceramic cup."Sorry," I say quickly, managing a small smile. "I'm fine. Just... wandering thoughts. You know how it is sometimes."He nods, his expression softening. "All too well."I take another sip of the espresso, letting the bitterness ground me. It helps. A little.Daniel leans back in his chair, folding his arms in a way that makes him look less like a stranger and more like someone who's sat across from me more than once. "So. You know my name, you know I’ve got two daughters who boss me around like they run the UN, and you know I moved here with a suitcase and a half-broken heart. That’s a decent start. But I’m still trying to figure out who you are.""I'm a terrible shopper," I say with a grin that doesn’t quite reach my eyes.He laughs, warm and genuine. "No, you’re not. You’re just distracted. There’s a difference.""Touché."He t