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’
Aria“I protect what’s mine.”“Performance or not.”The words settle in my chest like a brick, refusing to move even as the sun begins to rise. They linger long after the softness of his voice fades, long after the warmth of his hand trailing slow, absent circles on my arm turns to stillness. They hang quietly through the night, looping until the edges of morning peel back the dark.He couldn’t have meant it. At least, not in the way it sounded. Not in the way I processed it.But it felt like he did.Lying still with my eyes shut, I try to convince myself that maybe I dreamed it. That I imagined the way his arm pulled me closer. That my mind filled in the missing pieces of warmth I've long forgotten the feel of.Otherwise, it makes no sense.Eventually, the light pouring in through the curtains grows too strong to ignore, and my eyelids give way. The room comes into view slowly, drenched in that pale golden glow that always makes things seem softer than they are. But the illusion only
Aria"Put on something professional. You're coming with me," Damon says without looking up from his phone, the minute he steps back in, like it’s just a calendar reminder.I glance at him from over my coffee mug. “And what exactly am I dressing up for this time?” He finally meets my eyes. His stare is cool, detached, but underneath it, there's something unreadable. “It’s a meeting. A private meeting. You sit, you smile, you stay quiet through it all. That’s all.”“That sounds a lot like an order.”He slips his phone into his pocket and straightens. “This time, it’s a favour.”The word lands differently. Damon doesn’t ask for favours. That’s not how the script works. He demands. He orchestrates. But here he is, standing in the doorway, calling it a favor. That alone is enough to make me pause.I narrow my eyes. “What kind of favour?”“The kind that requires you to keep your mouth shut and your eyes open.”Sounds easy. But nothing with Damon ever is. Still, something about the way he s
AriaHours after the Duval disaster, we're back in the apartment, packing in silence for the flight back to New York. Back to the cage. Back to surveillance, secrets, and stiffly filtered air. I move around the room with slow, mechanical motions, folding clothes I don’t care about, pretending like this isn’t the same place where everything just spiralled out of control. And maybe if I move slow enough, time will slow down with me, and I won’t have to face what comes next.Damon’s here, too. Not that you’d know it. He hasn’t said a word in over thirty minutes, his back turned, his energy closed off like a door slammed shut. Colder than usual. Detached. His silence is a mood, but honestly, I’m too tired to match it. Too exhausted to figure out what kind of ice I’m walking on now.I do everything right. Act exactly as he says I should. Say nothing when he says so. Breathe evenly. And yet, still somehow, I feel like I’ve committed some crime. Like breathing wrong might trigger another exp
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