AriaIt’s today.Today, I get to make either the best decision I’ve made in months…Or the worst one of my life.But honestly?What could be worse?What could possibly be worse than living like this?Caged. Paraded like a trophy. Watched. Controlled.Living every second like a marionette, dancing to someone else's strings.Two years of this?No.Hell no.The worst part isn’t even being forced into this stupid arrangement.It’s the hatred.The slow, creeping hatred building in my chest — not just for Damon Stone, but for myself.Mostly for myself.For every glance I can’t stop.For every damn moment my body betrays me.For every stupid, reckless heartbeat that pounds harder when his eyes darken in that particular way.For losing pieces of myself every day.For noticing things I shouldn't — the way his shirts hang on his frame, the rare roughness in his voice when he's tired, the way his eyes darken when he’s furious or… worse, protective.It’s sick.I’m sick.Of myself.Of the way my s
AriaI run as fast as my legs can carry me, the slap of my shoes against the pavement echoing through the alley.No looking back.No thinking.Just moving.Only when my chest burns and my vision blurs from the rush do I dare slow down. A cab crawls by at the end of the street, and I wave frantically, my heart hammering against my ribs like it’s trying to break free.The driver pulls up, and I jump in, slamming the door behind me.“Where to?” the driver asks, his tone already edged with irritation.“Sorry—I'm sorry, just give me a sec,” I rasp, fumbling for my phone in my bag. Hands shaking, I finally manage, “Take me to 47 Ashbury Lane, please.”The man grunts and starts the engine.I let my head fall back against the headrest, exhaling shakily.“You alright, ma’am?” he asks, glancing at me through the rearview mirror.“Yes. Yes, please. Just... step on it. Please.” The words fly out, desperate.He nods without another word, focusing on the road.The world outside blurs: buildings, st
DamonI sit there, locked into the chair like my body's forgotten how to move. Minutes bleed into hours. Nothing changes.Not the heaviness in my chest.Not the thick mess in my head.Sleep doesn't come.Of course it doesn’t.It’s not quiet either. Not in my mind. Not even close.The worst kind of noise is the one you can't turn off—the kind that keeps circling, tighter and tighter, until it feels like you’ll suffocate under the weight of your own damn thoughts.I must drift off at some point, because the blare of my phone rips me out of the fog- Leo.My hand fumbles over the nightstand, knocking over a glass before I finally grab it.Whatever it is can wait.It’s barely been two days since I left. Two days for God's sake.I let the phone ring out.But the second it stops, It rings again.Persistent.Something's wrong.A knot forms in my stomach before my brain even catches up.I yank the phone to my ear, the edge in my voice cutting sharper than intended.“What?”"I’m sorry, boss," L
AriaI run.Hard.Faster than my legs have ever carried me.No time to think. No time to look back. Just the pounding of my feet against uneven pavement and the sound of my heartbeat screaming in my ears.Only when the sharp ache in my ribs forces me to stop do I realise how long I’ve been running. The lights have changed. Everything has.It’s dusk now—that eerie moment between light and night. The buildings cast long shadows across the cracked sidewalk, and the street is emptied out, save for a few too-quiet figures lingering on corners I don’t want to walk past. My gut twists at the sight of them.There’s no one.Not even a cab.This is a bad place.It’s not safe out here. Not by this time.No phone. Just the cash I stuffed in the bottom of my bag. Worse, no way to call for help, even if I wanted to. Even if I gave in and decided to crawl back.But I'm not going back. Not yet. Not until I figure out what the hell this is.A flicker of neon catches my eye up ahead—an old inn tucked b
DamonWhere the hell are you, A?Why couldn’t you just sit your ass down?Why?One week. That’s all I asked for. One week to get my head straight. To clear this goddamn fog that’s been clouding every thought since Paris.But no. Of course not.It’s already late. The sky’s dark, the streets are quieter than usual, and every fucking second that ticks by adds weight to my chest. I grip my phone like it might suddenly offer an answer, but instead it rings, the sharp sound slicing through the silence.Kingsley.“Any news?” he asks the second I pick up.“No, man. She’s not here. I found her phone in an alleyway, but she’s not here.” My voice comes out flat. Resigned.He exhales sharply. “Keep searching. She couldn’t have gotten far. Hopefully, she managed to get away."“Right. Thanks. This stays between us. You know what’s at stake.”“Of course,” he says, his tone grave. “My prayers are that no one’s recognised her in all this mess.”“Right. That too. It would be a fucking disaster.” I mutt
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
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
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
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