LOGINThis must be a dream. No, a nightmare.
There’s this heaviness, this tightness I feel in my chest as I look at them while they try to adjust themselves. “Ari, Dear, I can explain this.” My Dad said as he tried to reach for me. “What exactly do you want to explain, Dad? The fact that you’re gay or the fact that your dick was just in my boyfriend’s mouth?” I shot at him. Then I turned to my so-called boyfriend, scratch that, my ex-boyfriend. “Is this the meeting you told me you were attending?” I lashed at him. “Ari…I…I was going to tell you.” He said, guilt crowding his features. “You were going to tell me that you’re gay or you’ve been fucking my Dad? What a fucking joke you are!” I yelled at him. “Ari…” My Dad started. “How long?” I asked, cutting him off. Then I turned to Finn, “How long have you been fucking my Dad, Finn?” He looked at me, then he looked down in shame. “Answer me!” I yelled, barely containing the rage coursing through my veins. “Three months.” His response only fueled my disdain. “Three months?! You’ve been fucking my father for three months?!” This is unfucking believable. And then, I started laughing, so hard tears formed in my eyes. I can’t believe this is happening! “Is this the reason you never wanted to have sex with me? Silly me thinking I was the problem when in reality, you’re just a boy who’s confused about his sexuality! Is this the reason you approached me? Because you have always been interested in my Dad?!” I can’t believe I was so blind. I mean, it’s really clear now that I think about it. Finn and I have been together for eight months now, and the farthest we’ve gone was only second base. Whenever I wanted to take it further, Finn would pull back and start telling me about him wanting to wait till marriage. I literally thought he was just conservative, but apparently, he had no problem fucking my Dad. “Sweetheart, we didn’t mean for you to find out like this?” My Dad croaked, rubbing his temples. I scoffed, “You didn’t mean for me to find out at all. Tell me, Dad, when did you start fucking men? This is a big joke! Here I was, terrified you’d found out about my fake scandal, not knowing you’re the scandal yourself!” And then, I looked at him again, “Is this why Mum left? Because she found out you enjoy fucking men half your age?!” My Dad was taken aback by my outburst, and he dared to look hurt. Good. I want him to feel the pain I’m feeling right now. I wish I could inflict more pain on him. “Ari….” Finn started, “Save it.” I cut him off. “I’ve heard enough.” I didn’t wait for either of them to respond; I turned and walked out of the house, letting the tears I’ve been holding back flow freely. “Fuck Finn. Fuck my Dad too. Fuck everything.” I mumbled to myself as I cleaned my face. I walked for hours, or maybe minutes, and found myself in front of a bar. The universe sure knows what I really need right now. I picked up my phone and called my best friend, Mike; his humor and lightness are everything I need right now but it went to voicemail. I guess I’m doing this alone tonight. I really need a drink or two. Alright, maybe more. “Ugh! Fuck this fucking city and everyone in it!” I yelled over the loud music, my words nearly swallowed by the bass vibrating through the floor and straight into my head. Six shots in, I needed to feel something. “Careful,” a voice said behind me, calm and amused. “Don’t let the cops hear you.” I turned towards the sound and froze. He was unfairly handsome; the kind people call exotic, dark hair with a silver threading through his temple and a set of sharp dark eyes. He wore a perfectly tailored grey three-piece suit that clung to his broad frame, his tie still neatly in place. Who the hell wore a suit to a bar? “Not you,” I said, squinting at him, alcohol loosening my tongue. “I like handsome men.” I paused, and then added “Has anyone ever told you that you look like an ultimate DILF?” I slurred, approaching him with heavily blurred vision. His brow lifted. A slow smirk formed on his lips. “A DILF?” He repeated. “Care to tell me what that is?” I shrugged, the room tilting slightly, “My best friend Mike says it's a term used for older men that look like sin.” He let out a soft laugh, “And you think I look like sin?” “Yes, sir.” I nodded solemnly. “The kind of sin men pray against.” His laugh deepened. “You are interesting,” he said, “I like you.” “My name is Aria,” I mumbled. “I’m much less fascinating when I’m sober.” I chuckled as another shot burned through my throat and chest. “You shouldn’t be drinking so much anyway.” He announced. “What are you? My Dad? How do you know how much I’ve drunk?” I frowned, irritated at the sound of ‘You shouldn’t’. Don’t fucking tell me what to do. “I’ve been observing you for a while, and it’s clear you are really drunk.” He laughed as we sat down. “Well, that’s good because the last thing I want to look like is my actual state.” I went in for another drink which he swiped out of my hand. “It can’t be that bad, baby girl.” He sighed, placing the drink away from my reach. “It can’t be? For starters, I have a blackmailer who is making my life unbearable, my supposed sex tape is out for the whole world to see, and as if that’s not enough, I stumbled upon a secret that should have remained hidden.” I said and reached for another shot. He frowned, but he didn’t stop me. Good. “I shouldn’t have entered that god-forsaken room,” I whispered to myself, and then I looked up at him, “Why am I even saying all this to you? I don’t even know you.” I slurred. “Perhaps, you find me attractive enough to tell your secrets?” He smirked. I scoffed, “Don’t get ahead of yourself, Hotshot.” He laughed, “Wow, two nicknames in one night? You’re truly talented.” I smirked at him, “I’m talented at other things too; want me to show you?” His eyes darkened, and he moved closer, all traces of humor gone, “Don’t test me, Aria.” He whispered in my ear, his voice lowering an octave. The way he whispered my name sent ripples straight to my lower region. God damn, this man truly is sin. I leaned into him, my body impossibly close to his, and whispered, “Or what?” I nibbled his ear a little bit. He grabbed my neck and kissed me hungrily. I kissed him back with the same urgency while grabbing his shirt, and then he paused, his lips a few inches from my lips. “Not here. My place.” He said, his breathing harsh. He walked me towards his car and drove me to his place. The sound of a phone ringing jolted me up, and I was attacked with a splitting headache. I cursed lowly, served me right for drinking that much last night. My eyes swept over the unfamiliar room until they landed on a stranger who seemed to be getting satisfaction from watching me. A really hot stranger. Memories from last night rushed in, and I grimaced. “Here, take this; it will help with the headache.” He placed a pill in my palm and gave me a cup of water. I peeked at him suspiciously, “Are you trying to drug me?” He looked at me incredulously, “You can’t be serious. I was with you the whole night, if I wanted to harm you, don’t you think I’ve had enough chances to do that?” I ignored him and took the pills, then a phone started ringing, the same ringtone that woke me up. I later figured it was my phone. “You might want to take that. It has been ringing nonstop, seemed important.” He said while handing the phone to me. “Stella?” I answered. Nothing could have prepared me for the words that followed. “I’m sorry for what I’m about to say, Ari,” Stella said, her voice shaking. “But your Dad got into an accident last night.” My heart stopped. “What?!” “He is now in a coma.”“Look, if you don’t want to go, we can make an appearance and leave early. Or we can skip the whole thing.”I was taken aback. “You’d do that?”“Of course.”“But it’s your family’s event.”“And you’re my wife.”The ache returned, sharper this time.I wanted to tell him that he made this marriage easier than it had any right to be. That his thoughtfulness sometimes frightened me more than Lucien’s intensity because I could imagine getting used to it.I wanted to tell him that I was sorry. Instead, I reached across the island and stole a piece of chicken from his plate.He stared at me.“Seriously?”“Marriage is about sharing.”“That’s not what you said when I asked for a bite of your dessert last week.”“I was protecting you from unnecessary sugar.”“You ate the entire thing!”“And look how healthy you are.”He shook his head, grinning.For the rest of dinner, we argued about terrible films, embarrassing childhood stories, and whether pineapple belonged on pizza. Micah confessed that h
If there was one thing I had learned about Micah, it was that he could make the simplest things, like dinner, a whole big deal.I stood in the doorway of the kitchen, watching Micah Blackwood move around the stove with the confidence of a man who had never burned a meal.He was wearing a black T-shirt, grey sweatpants, and an apron that read Kiss the Chef.I stared at it. Then at him. Then back at the apron.“Please tell me that doesn’t belong to you.”Micah glanced down at his chest. “What?”“The apron.”He looked offended. “What’s wrong with it?”“Nothing. I was just wondering what the main focus is supposed to be. The chef or the meal?”I glanced at his apron once again and scrunched my nose. “What a hideous apron.”He laughed, shaking his head as he stirred something in a saucepan.“Careful, Mrs. Blackwood. Insult the chef and you might end up eating cereal.”Mrs. Blackwood. It landed oddly, two words that sounded entirely different depending on whose mouth they came o
I did not sleep. I couldn’t. That was the first problem with choosing with my head: it kept me up all night arguing with my heart, and my heart, unlike my head, had no concept of closing arguments.By six, I’d given up on the ceiling. By seven, I was dressed in a charcoal pantsuit sharp enough to double as armor and slipping out of the house before anyone else was awake. On the way past the dining room, I caught sight of a sticky note on the table, stuck to Micah’s half-finished mug in his truly terrible handwriting.Pasta tonight? I’m cooking. Don’t say no.I ate that note’s worth of guilt for breakfast.Stella met me at the elevator with a coffee in each hand, took a glance at me, and shook her head.“You look like you lost an argument with a pillow.”“The pillow cheated.” I took the coffee gratefully. “Anything from Asher?”“He texted at four a.m. Quote, still digging, tell her to drink water. Unquote.” She handed me my tablet. “I believe that’s his version of a hug.”“It’s better
“No, Aria. I don't.”He said it without hesitation.“I remember searching everywhere for you afterward. I wanted to find you again, and I had no idea who you were or where you came from. Who knew you'd turn out to be Sebastian's daughter and, eventually, my daughter-in-law?”He said the last part as though the words tasted like poison.Then his gaze settled on me, unwavering.“You don't know how hard I've tried to stay away from you, Aria. How many times I've told myself you're off-limits. How many times I've reminded myself that you're Micah's wife.”He dragged a hand through his hair and sighed.“I tried to convince myself that what I felt was temporary. That it was the circumstances, the attraction, the fact that I never expected to see you again after that night. I thought if I kept my distance, whatever this was would eventually disappear.”“And did it?”His laugh was humorless.“Look at me and tell me what you think.”I couldn't.Because the truth was written all over his face,
For a moment, we sat in silence.I stared at Lucien, trying to reconcile the man sitting in front of me with the young man who had once trusted my mother enough to consider her a sister.She had ruined three lives and gotten away with it. That was what made me angriest. She had destroyed everything the first time and walked away without consequences. Now she was back, ready to ruin lives all over again.I pulled out my phone.I wouldn't let her have her way. Not this time.Lucien's eyes followed the movement. “What are you doing?”“Calling my ace.”“Who?”“Asher.”I scrolled through my contacts and pressed his number. He answered on the first ring.“Little boss.” His familiar, cocky voice came through the speaker. “If this is about the office, I'd like to remind you that I'm still waiting for my very generous working conditions to be improved.”I rolled my eyes. “Do you ever get tired of hearing yourself talk?”“Not particularly. It's one of my most charming qualities.”I couldn't see
Aria’s POVBy the time Lucien finished telling me about the glass of water, I had stopped breathing properly.He told it flatly, the way you recite a thing you’ve rehearsed a thousand times in the dark so it can never ambush you again. The takeout. The picture from the beach. The floor tilting. The punch that had split his lip before he’d even understood what he was being accused of. He left out the worst of it, I think. I didn’t ask him to put it back in.“She drugged you,” I said. My voice came out smaller than I wanted it to. “My mother drugged you.”“She tried to.” He clenched his jaw. “There’s a difference, and I’ve spent a long time holding on to it.”“But she did!”I stood before I knew I was standing, some stupid, instinctive part of me wanting to cross the room and do something with my hands. He lifted one palm, just slightly, and I stopped.“I didn’t tell you for sympathy, Aria.”“Then why?”“Because you asked what kind of woman she is. That’s the answer.”I sat back down. T







