Reclaiming Aria

The fire cracked like old bones, sparks spiraling into the summer night. Sweat clung to Aria’s temples, curls sticking to her face as she hugged her knees to her chest. Jamison had built the pit with Kade just last week—two hours, six splinters, and a whole lot of yelling. Kade Calloway leaned back on his elbows across from her, shirt rumpled, boots stained with ranch mud, his face lit orange by flame. He was all sharp edges and quiet stares, and Aria hated the way her stomach flipped every time he looked her way—like the boys in her dog-eared paperbacks. The ones with leather jackets and bad grades who kissed girls under bleachers and got suspended for fighting. She’d hidden Bad Boy Breaks the Rules under her pillow three nights ago. “You still reading those cheesy high school love stories?” Kade asked, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “At least mine have a plot,” she snapped, even though her cheeks flushed hot. “Yours just end in broken bones.” She rolled her eyes

The breeze tugged at the hem of Aria’s oversized sweatshirt as she sat curled beneath the old maple behind the school. Red leaves drifted down around her like quiet confessions, catching in her tangled curls and sticking to her damp cheeks. She didn’t want to be seen like this. Red-eyed. Sniffling. Hollowed out. Her mother was gone. Her father was a shell. And Jamison… he was trying. God, he was trying. But it didn’t feel like enough. “You know this spot’s kinda mine,” came a voice she hadn’t expected. Mason Dorsey stood a few feet away, hands in the pockets of his worn jean jacket, head tilted with a cocky little grin that didn’t quite reach his eyes. Not today. Aria blinked up at him, brushing a sleeve across her nose. “I didn’t see your name on it.” His smile tugged higher. “Fair enough.” He stepped closer, crouched a few feet away, and reached into his pocket. “You look like you could use this more than I do.” She looked down. A miniature Snickers bar. “…Seriously?” “

Aria’s POV The midday sun beat down like a goddamn punishment as Aria balanced a flimsy grocery bag on one hip, the other hand fumbling through her list. Mrs. Dorsey—Mason’s sainted fking mother—needed mulch, fertilizer, and a fking miracle for her half-dead rosebushes. Aria hated this part the most. Running errands like a goddamn servant, always with a smile stitched to her face like a fucking doll. She shifted toward the store next door to Mason’s shop, keeping her head down, praying she wouldn’t— “Hey, babe.” Shit Her stomach knotted as she turned slowly. Mason leaned against the doorway, arms crossed, the fake warmth in his smile making her skin crawl. At first, he looked every inch the town’s golden boy—greased hair, clean jeans, easy swagger. But then his gaze dragged down her body—tight shorts, a faded band tee, legs long and tan from working outside. His smile soured. “You really gonna walk around town dressed like that?” he said, voice low, condescen

Masons POV The scent of jasmine perfume clung to his skin, light and teasing—nothing like Aria’s. Mason leaned back in the leather chair of his office, lips parted slightly as Danielle straddled him, pressing kisses down his neck with slow, deliberate intent. His fingers gripped her waist, not too tight. He liked to leave no evidence. Aria would cry if she saw this, he thought with a smirk. And then apologize for making me feel guilty. Danielle giggled against his throat, clueless. Just another pretty thing in a long line of them. But none of them were Aria. No, Aria was different. The town’s perfect little flower. The golden girl who turned heads just by existing. And she belonged to him. Even if she didn’t always remember that. Even if she got mouthy or stubborn or walked around with that little defiant spark in her eye lately—he’d tame it. He always did.

Arias POV “You think I didn’t notice?” Mason’s voice was too smooth, too measured, as he leaned against Aria’s kitchen counter, arms crossed like he owned the place. Like he owned her. “You changed your hours, screened my calls… and now what, you’re playing house with Calloway?” Aria blinked slowly, chest tight but face unreadable. “He helped me put furniture together. That’s it.” He chuckled, that low, smug sound that used to send shivers down her spine but now just made her stomach twist. “That’s how it starts, babe. Little favors. Next thing you know, he’s got you thinking he gives a damn.” He stepped closer, brushed a strand of hair from her cheek. “You know who really has your back.” She didn’t move, but her eyes locked on his, sharp and steady. “Do I?” Her voice was soft, but the bite underneath it could cut glass. “Because the last few months? You’ve been nothing but a fucking ghost, Mason.” His jaw twitched. Aria didn’t stop. “You want me to wait around like some