Chapter 2: Echoes

Damien

I watch her walk away.  Like I did six years ago, rooted to the spot because I do not know how to fix this –to fix us. She didn’t even flinch when she saw me. The thought lodges in my throat. I’d imagined this moment a thousand times—what I’d say, how she’d react. But Aria Laurent had looked at me with the same polite detachment she’d give a stranger who bumped into her at the market. The emerald silk of her dress catches the light one last time before she turns the corner, leaving me in the gala’s golden haze. 

A small hand tugs my sleeve. 

“Daddy, can we go home now? I’m tired.” 

Theo’s voice snaps me back. His bowtie hangs loose, his curls rebelliously escaping the gel I’d carefully applied earlier. There’s a smudge of chocolate on his cheek from the dessert table he’d raided when he thought I wasn’t looking. 

I kneel to fix his collar. “Soon, buddy. But we have to say goodbye to Grandma first.” 

He groans, flopping against me. “But she talks forever.” 

“That’s because she’s important,” I say, tweaking his nose. “And because you’re her favourite.” 

Theo brightens at that. “Can I tell her I beat you in the race?” 

“You cheated.” 

His grin is all mischief. “Winning’s winning.” 

---

We make a stop at the coat stand, and I kneel down to straighten his shoes, smoothing out the small laces that have come undone again.

“I can do that myself,” he grumbles.

I smile, not because I disagree, but because I remember when his feet barely touched the ground. “I know, but let Daddy do it this time. You’re growing up way too fast.”

He sighs dramatically, but lets me finish. He’s 6 going on sixteen.

As we head back into the heart of the ballroom, I catch voices floating in from the left. A group of women, well-dressed and well-connected, stand in a cluster of polished smiles and vintage diamonds. I would’ve walked past them, but my name—her name—catches my ear.

“Adrian and Aria make such a cute couple, don’t you think?” one of them says, holding her champagne glass just so. “She always did have excellent taste. And they looked so cosy tonight. That hug? Adorable.”

Another woman chimes in, “It’s sweet. Honestly, I’m glad she’s finally moved on. She deserves happiness, after everything.”

My breath catches. I turn instinctively, eyes following the direction of their gaze.

And there they are.

Adrian’s laughing as he slips off his tuxedo jacket and drapes it gently around Aria’s bare shoulders. Her dress dips at the collarbones, and I can almost feel the warmth of her skin through the silk. She presses her hand to his chest in that easy, familiar way she used to with me. Then she tilts her head back and laughs.

God, that laugh.

The jealousy rises so fast, it stings. It shouldn’t. I’m the one who moved on, who got married, who now has a son who thinks the moon lives in his father’s pocket. I made choices. I did what was right, what was expected.

And still, some desperate part of me aches. The sight of her smiling at someone else shouldn't hurt this much.

“Daddy,” Leo tugs at my sleeve again. “I found Grandma!”

  Theo makes a beeline for my mother, launching into an embellished retelling of his “victory” while I linger at the periphery. The crowd has thinned, but the air still hums with champagne-laced gossip. 

“—that baker girl with Adrian. Honestly, a Michelin star doesn’t erase her background—”

“Cynthia, must you? “My mother’s voice slices through the chatter. Aria earned her place. Unlike some of us who simply married into it.”

Theo, sensing tension, tugs Mother’s hand. “Grandma, can we *please* go? Daddy promised me pancakes for breakfast.” 

A master negotiator, this kid. 

Mother softens instantly. “Of course, darling.” She presses a kiss to his forehead before turning to me. “You’ll call me tomorrow?” 

“Wouldn’t dare forget.” 

I try to get a glimpse of Aria again but I can’t seem to find her. The voice in my head says she left with Adrian, probably going home with him and spending the night there. I refuse to believe that. My heart simply can’t take it.

--- 

Our driver, Mr. Thompson, steps out and opens the door with a small smile.

“Evening, sir. Master Theo.”

Theo beams. “Hi, Mr. Thompson!”

“Hope the gala was good?”

“Eventful,” I murmur, helping Leo into his seat before settling in beside him.

Theo conks out before we’ve left the driveway, his head lolling against the window. Streetlights flicker across his face, highlighting the smudge of frosting still clinging to his cheek. 

Theo mumbles in his sleep, something about “spy cookies.” James chuckles. “He’s got your knack for trouble.” 

“And his mother’s sweet tooth,” I mutter before I can stop myself. 

The silence that follows is loaded. James has been with the family since I was in diapers—he knows better than anyone what isn’t being said. 

--- 

Theo barely stirs as I carry him inside. His room is a riot of colour—dinosaur posters, half-built LEGO sets, and the stuffed bear he insists is “too babyish” but still sleeps with every night. 

“Did you have fun tonight?” I whisper, tucking him in. 

“Mm… the spy lady gave me magic cookies,” he slurs, already half-asleep. 

I pause. Spy lady?

Then it clicks—Aria and her macaron. 

Of course he’d remember that. 

“She’s a baker, buddy.” 

Theo cracks one eye open. “Are you sure?” 

His tone is so suspicious I can’t help but laugh. “Sleep, secret agent.” 

---  

My bedroom is too quiet. 

I shrug off my jacket, the events of the evening replaying on a loop: 

Aria’s sharp inhale when she recognized me. 

The way she’d smiled at Theo—genuine, warm, unaffected. 

Her laugh as Adrian whispered in her ear. 

She didn’t even flinch. 

Six years. Six years of wondering what I’d say if I ever saw her again. Six years of rehearsing apologies in the mirror like a pathetic Shakespearean actor. 

And all I managed was “Aria.” 

Smooth, Von Adler. 

My phone buzzes. My heart leaps. I check it

 A calendar alert:  Theo’s Parent-Teacher Conference – Tomorrow, 3 PM

Right. Real life. 

My bed is wide and cold and dressed in a thousand-thread-count duvet that still feels sterile. I change out of my tuxedo and into a soft cotton T-shirt, rubbing at my face as I sink onto the edge of the mattress.

The silence creeps in like fog under a doorframe.

I lean back and let it take me.

And then she’s there.

Not really. Just in my mind. Aria, laughing at the way I always forget my keys. Aria, dancing in my arms under the glow of dorm string lights. Aria, lying beside me in the grass after we skipped class, whispering about dreams and Paris and a future where love was enough.

Her laugh. God, I forgot how much it could undo me.

And then I remember the worst part: the look on her face that day. When she found out. When the truth finally tore the lies out from under us.

I never meant to hurt her. But I did. And no amount of apologies could fix it.

I thought she’d fade with time. But here I am, years later, a father, living in a house full of silence, lying in bed replaying old memories like they’re gospel.

I close my eyes and let her ghost climb into the bed beside me, let her warmth settle along my spine, let the sound of her voice wrap around my heart like a bandage I never asked for but desperately need.

Sleep finds me like it always does—through the echo of her laugh and the feel of her name on my lips.

Aria.