Chapter 7

Ariana's POV

The house was quiet again. Too quiet. Mark and Mom had been gone for three days now, lost somewhere on a sun-soaked island, drinking cocktails and pretending their blended family wasn’t just... weird.

I stared at the bowl of cereal in front of me. The milk had gone warm, and the flakes were soggy and swollen. I hadn’t taken a single bite.

Roman’s voice still echoed in my head. “Stay away from me.”

Not please. Not I’m busy. Not even one of his usual sarcastic shrugs, Just cold, Blun and Final.

I shouldn’t care. God knows he’s been nothing but a storm cloud since the day I moved in towering, unreadable, always watching me like I was some sort of puzzle he didn’t want to solve but couldn’t look away from either.

But I did care. More than I should.

I pushed the bowl away and stood up, my socks barely making a sound against the kitchen tile. The house felt bigger without Mom’s humming or Mark’s awkward dad jokes filling the air. Roman was probably still in his room, pretending I didn’t exist.

Which, honestly, was starting to piss me off.

Because I do exist.

And I did have something to say the other day before he cut me off like I was some annoying mosquito buzzing around his perfect little bubble.

I padded up the stairs, hesitating outside his door like a coward.

I could hear faint music low, gritty, like something you'd play in a dim garage at midnight. I lifted my hand to knock... then dropped it.

Why the hell did I even want to talk to him? He made it very clear I wasn't wanted. That I was just an inconvenience in his carefully closed-off world.

But the thing is, there's something about Roman that pulls at me like a thread I can’t stop tugging. It’s in the way he looks at me when he thinks I’m not paying attention. In the way he says my name, quiet and clenched like it costs him something.

I leaned against the wall and closed my eyes.

When did things get so complicated?

We used to be... something. I don’t remember it clearly. Just flashes scraped knees, summer sun, a boy with messy hair pulling me up by the hand and telling me not to cry. I thought those were just dreams. Childhood fuzz.

But the way Roman looks at me sometimes... It makes me wonder and it makes my skin burn.

Because even if we’re just strangers now, there’s a part of me that doesn’t feel like a stranger when he’s near.

I turned away from his door, heart pounding, and headed back to my room.

I wasn’t going to chase him. Not tonight.

But I could still feel the weight of his gaze behind closed doors and worse.I wanted to feel it again.

Tried to scroll through my phone tried to ignore the fact that Roman’s room was just across the hall.

But the air felt thick. Like the house itself was holding its breath, waiting for something to crack.

I pulled my hair into a messy bun, pacing the length of my bedroom. The clock on my wall ticked louder with each passing second. I couldn’t stop thinking about the way he looked at me earlier. Like I meant something.

No. Like I meant everything and that scared him.

I wasn’t crazy, right? I wasn’t imagining the way his eyes lingered, the way his jaw clenched when I got too close. The way his voice dropped an octave when he told me to stay away—like he didn’t believe it himself.

I was done pretending it didn’t care i crossed the hallway before I could talk myself out of it. This time, I didn’t knock.

I opened his door slowly. The room was dim, lit only by the soft glow of his desk lamp and the wash of moonlight bleeding through the window. Roman was sitting on the edge of his bed, hunched forward, elbows on his knees, head in his hands.

He looked up when I stepped inside.

His eyes locked on mine, and for a moment, neither of us said anything. The silence wasn’t awkward—it was heavy. Charged. Like the air just before lightning splits the sky.

“What do you want, Ariana?” he asked, voice rough.

I swallowed. “To talk.”

He didn’t move. Just stared at me like I was something dangerous. Like I was fire, and he was deciding whether to step into it or walk away.

“You said to stay away,” I added, stepping closer. “But I can’t. Not when I know you’re lying.”

His brow furrowed. “I’m not. . .”

“Yes, you are.” I took another step. “You look at me like you remember something you wish you didn’t. Like I’m a secret you’re trying to bury.”

His breath caught. Just barely. But I heard it.

“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” he muttered.

“Then tell me,” I challenged, heart thudding. “Tell me why it feels like you want me gone... but then stare at me like you want anything but.”

He stood suddenly, and for a second I thought he was going to yell.

But he didn’t.

He just stared down at me, jaw tight, eyes wild. “Because you don’t know what you’re asking for.”

I looked up at him, not backing down. “Then explain it to me. Help me understand.”

Roman stepped closer. Close enough that I could feel the heat radiating off his body. Close enough to smell the faint hint of soap and smoke clinging to his skin.

“You’re not a little girl anymore,” he said softly. “You’re not that kid who used to sneak cookies before dinner or beg me to let her win.”

“I know,” I whispered.

“And I’m not the boy who used to push you on the swings.” His voice was lower now. Rougher. “I’m not innocent. I’m not safe.”

His eyes dropped to my mouth for the briefest second before darting back up.

And in that tiny sliver of time, something passed between us. Something raw. Something real.

“I’m not asking for safe,” I said, voice trembling. “I’m asking for the truth.”

His hand twitched at his side like he wanted to reach for me but didn’t trust himself to.

I stepped even closer. There was barely an inch between us now. I could feel the tension rolling off him like waves—see the way his chest rose and fell, how tightly his fists were clenched.

His voice dropped to a whisper. “You have no idea what you do to me.”

My heart stopped. “Then show me,” I whispered.

For a second, everything stilled and then he turned away. Just like that.

“Go to bed, Ariana.”

I froze.

“Now.”

His voice was hard again. Cold. But I saw the way his hands trembled. Saw the crack in his armor.

I backed up, slowly, heart hammering like a drum in my chest. But as I stepped out of his room, I didn’t feel rejected. I felt wanted.