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
DamonShe’s gone.I can feel it the second I walk back into the apartment. There’s a type of silence that hits differently. It doesn’t announce itself—it just spreads. Thick. Cold and absolute.The bathroom door is open and the balcony is empty. No sign of her scarf, the one she always leaves flung over the back of a chair, like it doesn’t matter. Her phone's missing too.She left.My pulse spikes, but I don’t show it. I don’t alert the guards, don’t raise my voice. I know how this works. If I make a scene, it’ll turn into a wildfire. One wrong move and we’re headlines again.So I keep it quiet.I slip out of the apartment, telling one of the guards I’m heading to the gym. They nod, uninterested. Good. I move fast but calmly. Through the corridor. Past the courtyard. I check every corner she might've ducked into.Nothing.She’s not on the grounds. Not in the garden, not in the small café behind the main building that she sometimes stares at for hours. Not even the private reading room
Aria‘He was watching?’That’s it?‘He was watching???’That’s all he could say? No apology. No hesitation. No sign that maybe, just maybe, he regrets shoving his mouth on mine in the middle of a Paris street.We step into the apartment, and the door clicks shut, but all I hear is the static in my head. My jaw clenches. My fingers twitch at my sides. I want to scream, throw something, make him feel what that moment did to me. But I don't.Because deep down, I know I can't put this all on him.I didn’t stop him.Could’ve pushed him off. Could’ve yelled. Slapped him. Anything.But I didn’t.I froze for half a second—long enough to give him a window. And then I did something worse.I leaned in.So no, I can’t go full firestorm on him. Not when my own body betrayed me first.He walks to the balcony like he always does. Like it’s his designated spot in this war zone of a living space. Hands in his pockets, face angled toward the skyline, pretending this city has more to offer than a thousa
AriaMornings like this are the worst. Not because they’re bad, exactly. But because they pretend to be good. The kind of quiet, golden mornings that try to fool you into feeling safe. The ones where sunlight filters through unfamiliar curtains like it belongs there, like I belong here. It paints lazy lines across the bed, across my skin, and for a second, just a second, I almost let myself sink into it.And then comes the voice. His voice.“This isn't the far end of the bed, Ava. You're getting too close for comfort.”Not a hello. Not even a grunt of Good morning. Just that dry, clipped tone that cuts straight through the illusion and drags me back to earth. Back to him.I don’t answer right away. What’s the point? I stretch, slow and deliberate, the way cats do when they’re irritated. I toss the covers back like they’ve personally offended me.“Good morning to you too, Damon,” I say, flat, unbothered, the sarcasm barely veiled.He doesn’t even look at me. Of course, he doesn’t. He’s
AriaBefore long, he returns.The crowd hasn’t thinned much, but he moves through it like a wave parting the sea. His steps are confident and measured, like he belongs here. And when he reaches me, he doesn’t say anything at first. Just slips his hands into mine and rests them there like it’s normal. Like it’s muscle memory. Like it’s something he’s done a thousand times.His arm remains wrapped around my waist as we drift together through the rest of the evening like a couple caught up in their own cloud. Except we’re not. We’re just good at pretending. Or maybe he is, and I’m just trying to keep up.For the remainder of the sip and paint, he’s relentless in his performance. From one to another: A kiss on my temple. A soft peck on my cheek. A casual, perfectly timed rub against the small of my back that makes my breath catch even when I know it shouldn’t. He whispers things—“A, hope you’re good,”—just loud enough for people nearby to hear. Sometimes, he says it when no one’s watching
DamonIn some twisted way, this week has been an escape. A breath from the chaos waiting back home. The headlines. The family scandals. The vultures circling the company like it's already dead. Father calling every hour with another demand, another threat disguised as fatherly advice. The board nudging me to make decisions I don’t believe in. The pressure doesn’t let up. Not even for a second.And then there’s her.Ava.Aria.Or whatever the hell she calls herself now.She walks like Ava. Talks like Ava on some days. But there are cracks. Differences that slip through the surface when she thinks I’m not looking. And after that kiss, I haven’t stopped looking.I tell myself I kissed her because Derek was watching. That it was part of our elaborate performance. A move to keep this facade real. Believable at the very least. But the truth cuts in quietly, mocking me.Because I didn’t hate it.That kiss didn’t feel like revenge or control. It felt... real. Warm. New. Like kissing someone f
DamonThe second I step into the alley, my body just goes. Feet moving, eyes scanning, and every nerve in me alert like I’ve done this before. Like, I know how this ends. I don’t even think—I just move.Something about the way she said it. That line. “It was my name on the note.”Didn’t sound rehearsed. Didn’t sound rehearsed. And it stuck. Like a thorn under the skin.It shouldn’t matter. I should’ve just gone on to the apartment. Should've paid her no mind. But I didn’t walk away.I’m here. In the dark. Looking for something. For someone.The alley is quiet, but not empty. There’s a story in the dirt. Footprints, maybe. A flyer stepped on and left to rot. And then I see it—a folded piece of paper, just like the other one.My fingers are already reaching down before I decide if I should. Unfolding it before I realise I’m holding my breath.Nothing.No message. Which somehow feels worse.Blank paper says, I’m still here. Says, I’m watching. Says, I don’t need to warn you anymore.It’
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
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