Man Of Morals.

ARIA'S POV

The door shut, sealing us into a bubble of velvet seats and quiet, and I finally let out a breath I hadn’t realized I’d been holding since the moment Sibil spilled that drink. Since Zane called me a whore in front of cameras. Since I stood there frozen, humiliated, like some fragile thing again.

Kane didn’t say a word, he just sat there, perfect posture, his eyes trained on the window like he wasn’t part of the disaster that had just unfolded.

Meanwhile, I was vibrating.

I tapped my foot, fingers drumming against my thigh because I didn’t know what else to do.

Every part of me was buzzing with unspent rage, embarrassment, pain. And him? He sat there like a statue sculpted from indifference.

How can someone be that composed after watching me publicly unravel?

I couldn’t take it anymore.

"…Thanks" I muttered, voice low. "For… you know...standing up to him."

He turned slowly, nodded once. Just a nod like I was a business transaction he was confirming receipt of.

God, was I that disposable?

I huffed and shot him a dry glare. "Are you allergic to conversation? Or is talking to me some kind of exhausting labor?"

He didn’t blink. "No, I just don’t speak when I have nothing to say."

Of course...of course he’d say that. Stoic, pristine Kane Callahan, patron saint of monosyllables.

I clenched my jaw. Everything about this night was a disaster, and he was just… watching it all unfold like it was a mildly interesting play.

"So… why did you do it?" I asked, quieter this time. My voice lacked bite now, more tired than anything.

"Why wouldn’t I?" he replied simply.

I groaned and leaned my head back. "Why do you always answer a question with another question?"

"Apologies.." he said with a sigh. "But I won’t stand by and watch any woman, especially one attached to my name, be humiliated by someone like Zane."

And there it was.

Zane.

Just the thought of his name made my stomach coil. That smug expression, the way he held Sibil like she hadn’t been a knife to my ribs, the way he spat those words like I was filth under his shoe.

Like he hadn’t once buried his face in my neck and made love to me, if you'll call it that. Like we hadn’t made a child together and lost a child together.

Three years and yet it felt like three fucking days.

Every moment tonight was a fresh reminder of what they did. The matrimony bed, the blood, their moans.

I should’ve screamed at Sibil, or slapped Zane. Instead, I stood there and cried like the ghost of the girl I used to be.

And Kane... he was the only one who did anything. The only person who saw me breaking and stepped in, not out of kindness but principle.

Maybe that made it worse.

Because now I owed him a thank you. Because now, I was wondering if the villain I was partnered with had layers I didn’t sign up for.

I didn’t trust him and I didn’t want to owe him. But I was surprised...again.

He was a man of control and precision, and apparently, a man of morals.

Zane had none.

But I’m not his, not anymore and maybe tonight proved that.

Even if it cracked me wide open in the process.

My thoughts spiraled as the city lights blurred past the window. My foot still tapped, my fingers still drummed, but my mind had drifted far away to that kiss.

That damn kiss on the forehead.

Was it intentional? Was there softness in it? Or was it just another box Kane Callahan ticked for his precious "presentation"?

But then I remembered what he whispered into my hair after pressing his lips there.

"It’s all for the business."

Right, business...

It should remain that way.

And still... I hadn’t flinched when he touched me. I didn’t slap his hand away like I did Sibil’s. I didn’t glare or retreat.

I let it happen.

And for some goddamn reason, I wasn’t mad that he did it.

In fact, I needed it.

That tiny moment of human contact, a forehead kiss I hadn’t felt in years, felt like an anchor keeping me from floating into the abyss again.

We finally reached the penthouse, walking through those tall silent halls. Kane muttered something about rest and disappeared into his suite. I locked my door behind me and leaned on it for a second before dragging myself into the room.

I didn’t even care to turn on the lights.

I collapsed onto the bed, dress still on, heels still on, skin itching with the invisible fingerprints of tonight’s memories. Then, slowly, I peeled off the fake ring, my fingers trembling, the symbol of our lie.

Then came the dress.

I tore at it like it had insulted me. Yanked the zipper down like I could erase everything it represented, then I kicked off the heels. The night Zane saw me again, the cameras, the bloodstained humiliation.

Off.

Off.

I tossed it aside, then laid back, arms flung wide, legs splayed like I was surrendering to the ceiling.

My hand drifted to my stomach.

I used to touch this space and feel... life. A flutter, a nudge. That tiny shift, as if the baby inside me was saying "Hey, I’m here."

Now?

Nothing.

Just hollow.

A deep, echoing emptiness that no kiss or ring or designer dress could ever fill.

Then it happened again.

The room tilted and my breath hitched.

And there she was.

A little girl in a white dress, her hair bouncing as she took one step forward. But the dress was stained.

Crimson blotches bloomed like roses across her chest, down her legs. She reached out to me, those little hands, her eyes wide with sadness.

I reached back and screamed. I tried to cross the space between us.

But something stopped me.

Some invisible barrier, a wall of grief and guilt.

"No—no, baby...please" I gasped. "Please..."

Reality tore through me like glass as I dropped to my knees, arms wrapped around my throat, wailing into the darkness.

The sounds that came from me were years of silence, years of being strong, of burying her memory like it was shame.

And now, she was everywhere.

I heaved, gasping, trying to breathe through the grief as it wrung me out. I didn’t know how long I stayed like that. Minutes? Hours?

But when the sobs finally died into hiccups and my throat ached like it had been torn raw, I wiped my face with the back of my shaking hand.

Maybe now… just maybe…

I could sleep.

Maybe crying, really crying for the first time in three years, would let me feel like a person again.

I rose, my limbs aching, and stumbled to the bathroom, dragging my broken self behind me.

I gripped the edges of the sink, my knuckles pale, almost white from how tight I held on. I splashed cold water against my face—again, and again, and again like I could rinse off the shame, the grief, the mess of this night.

I stayed bent over for a moment, letting the droplets roll down my cheeks, dripping from my chin into the basin.

My breathing was shallow, uneven. My chest still trembled from earlier, but I forced myself to look up.

The woman in the mirror stared back at me smudged mascara beneath bloodshot eyes, lips parted like they couldn’t quite remember how to smile anymore..

I straightened slowly, wiping my face with the back of my hand. I had to pull it together. This wasn’t just about Kane or Zane or even Sibil anymore.

This was about me, about the baby I lost, the strength I buried and the fire they tried to stamp out of me.

I can't afford to be weak. Not if I want to survive this war.

And God knows, it is a war.

If I wanted any chance of clawing back even a sliver of my life I had to stand tall. Even if my knees trembled, even if my heart ached.

Kane… he wasn’t the villain I’d made him out to be tonight. But that didn’t make him a hero either. This contract between us, this performance—there was more at stake than pride. Maybe, just maybe, something could come of it...something more.

But only if I regained control.

And I would, for myself, for the baby I never held, for the woman I used to be and for the one I’m about to become.