AriaThe door shuts behind us like a full stop at the end of a sentence neither of us finished.I set my coffee cup on the counter with a soft clink and slide my phone onto the couch cushion. Damon doesn’t say a word after opening the door. Doesn’t even look at me. Just walks a few steps ahead, jaw locked, back straight, like he’s holding something in that’ll burst if he loosens his grip on it even a little.So I do the only thing I know how to do in awkward silences lately—I pretend like I don’t notice.I kick off my sneakers, stretch my toes against the cold floor, and gather my items littered by the closet. I pack them to the couch, kneel, and start arranging slowly. Deliberately. Waiting for something. A glance. A breath. A reaction. Anything.Still nothing.My chest tightens, but I ignore it. I’m not going to beg for conversation. Not today. Not after the good morning I just had.He disappears towards the bedroom. I hear the closet door slide open, the faint sound of a zipper, t
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