Chapter 2: Morning Secret

ARIA

The next morning arrived with a brutal brightness. The Malibu sun streamed through the floor-to-ceiling windows of the beach house, painting streaks of gold across the white linen sheets of the guest bed. I woke up feeling heavy, my muscles aching in a way that reminded me of exactly where I'd been the night before.

I lay there for a moment, staring at the ceiling. The heartbreak wasn't gone. It was still there, a dull ache in the background, but the sharp, suffocating edge of it had blunted. The pact had worked. I had remembered how to feel something other than grief.

I showered slowly, letting the hot water scrub the remnants of the club and the alley from my skin. I dressed in an oversized white t-shirt and a pair of denim shorts, my hair still damp and clinging to my neck.

As I walked down the spiral staircase toward the kitchen, the smell of fresh coffee and sizzling bacon filled the air. I could hear Mika's voice, bright and energetic, echoing through the open floor plan.

"I'm telling you, Dad, she's finally coming around! Last night was a total success."

I stopped on the bottom step, my heart skipping a beat. Dad.

I never met Mika's father. He was a legendary figure in her life, a high-powered billionaire who spent most of his time in New York or London, visiting the Malibu house only occasionally. I remembered him as a stern man in a suit from a photo on her mantelpiece, but the image was fuzzy.

I walked into the kitchen, rubbing sleep from my eyes.

"Morning," I murmured.

Mika turned, a wide grin on her face.

"Look who's alive! Did the 'catalyst' work? Give me the details. Was he hot? Was he a disaster? Please tell me he was a disaster."

I opened my mouth to answer, but my gaze drifted past her to the man standing at the kitchen island.

He was wearing a navy blue polo shirt and khaki trousers, a cup of black coffee in his hand. He was reading something on a tablet, his expression neutral.

Then, he looked up.

The grey eyes hit me like a physical blow. The silver at the temples. The slow, knowing curve of the lips.

The coffee cup in his hand paused mid-air. His gaze swept over me, from my messy hair down to my bare legs, and then back up to my eyes. There was no shock on his face, only a flash of intense, dark recognition and a flicker of something that looked dangerously like amusement.

Mika looked between us, her brow furrowing.

"Wait, why are you guys staring at each other like that? Aria, you okay? You look like you've seen a ghost."

The man set his coffee down on the marble counter with a soft clink. He stepped forward, his voice the same rich, vibrating baritone that had whispered in my ear in a dark alley.

"Julian Vance. It's a pleasure to finally meet you, Aria."

He extended a hand. His grip was firm, his skin warm. As he shook my hand, he leaned in just enough so that only I could hear him, his voice a low, velvet rasp.

“A … Aria Logan.”

Julian smirked. "I believe we left things a bit abruptly last night."

**

The heat from his palm lingered on mine long after he released my hand. I stood frozen, my brain struggling to reconcile the man who had pinned me against a brick wall with the man now standing in a sun-drenched kitchen wearing a polo shirt.

Mika's eyes darted between us, her forehead creasing.

"Why is it so quiet? Aria, you're literally vibrating. Did he say something weird? Did he try to sell you a timeshare?"

Julian stepped back, the velvet rasp of the alley gone. His expression smoothed into a mask of professional indifference, his grey eyes turning to shards of ice. He didn't look at me again.

"I have a conference call in ten minutes," he said, his voice clipped and devoid of the previous warmth. "Mika, please ensure the guest room is stocked with fresh towels. Aria, welcome to the house."

He turned his back to us, returning his attention to the tablet. The dismissal was so abrupt it felt like a physical slap.

"Geez, someone woke up on the wrong side of the Egyptian cotton," Mika muttered, stepping closer to me. She lowered her voice to a conspiratorial whisper. "Ignore him. He's in his business mode. When he's like this, he treats everyone like a poorly designed floor plan. Now, tell me. Everything. Was he a ten? Did he actually do the thing?"

I swallowed hard, my throat feeling like it was lined with sandpaper. I glanced at Julian's broad shoulders. He was listening. I knew he was.

"I... I can't right now," I managed, my voice sounding small. "I need coffee."

Mika followed me to the espresso machine, her energy a stark contrast to the oppressive silence radiating from the island.

"You can't? What do you mean you can't? This is a pact! A blood oath! I want a play-by-play. Was he experienced? Did he make those sounds? Oh my god, was he a total stranger or did you find out he's some secret billionaire?"

"Mika, stop," I whispered, leaning against the counter.

"Stop? I'm just getting started! Give me one detail. Just one. Was he hot?"

A clink of porcelain echoed through the room. Julian had set his cup down. He didn't turn around, but his voice sliced through Mika's excitement.

"Mika. Some of us are trying to work."

"I'm just talking to my best friend, Dad! Relax. Aria had a life-changing experience last night and I'm the only one who cares about the logistics." She rolled her eyes while smiling at me conspirationally.

Julian finally turned. His gaze didn't land on Mika; it swept over me, cold and searching. There was no trace of the man from the alley, yet the intensity was still there, buried under layers of distance. He looked at me as if I were a stranger he had no interest in knowing.

"The logistics of a one-night stand are hardly a topic for the breakfast table," he said.

Mika rolled her eyes, sliding into a chair at the marble table.

"You're such a prude. This is why you don't have a social life outside of your company.” Mike dragged me to sit beside her. “Aria, sit. Tell me. Was he older? I bet he was older. I saw a glimpse of him and from what I see he’s a solid ten."

It’s either Mika drank so much or the light at the club didn’t clear enough so she didn't realize that the man who followed me to the alley last night was her father.

I avoided the gaze of the man sitting in front of me. Every time I closed my eyes, I could still feel the rough brick against my back and the way he had gripped my hips. Now, he was the patriarch of the house. The father of my best friend. The secret felt like a lead weight in my stomach, pulling me down into the floor.

"He was... fine," I lied, staring intently at the bubbles in my coffee.

"Fine? Fine is for a haircut, Aria.” Mika said frustratingly. “This was a system reset! Fine doesn't cut it. Did he have a deep voice? Did he look at you like he wanted to eat you alive? Because that's the gold standard."

I felt a flush creep up my neck. Julian's jaw tightened. He moved to the fridge, his movements precise and mechanical. He poured a glass of orange juice, the liquid splashing against the glass in the silence.

"I bet he was a total mystery," Mika continued, leaning in, her eyes gleaming. "Did he give you a name? A number? Or was it one of those cinematic 'we'll never see each other again' moments? I hope it was the latter. Much more romantic."

"Mika," I warned.

"What? I'm just curious! Imagine if he lives in Malibu. Imagine if he's some brooding artist or a lawyer. Aria, describe his eyes. Were they blue? Brown? Please tell me they weren't boring."

Julian slammed the refrigerator door shut. The sound echoed like a gunshot in the open room. He stepped toward the table, his presence suddenly looming, filling the space with a cold, suffocating authority.

"That is enough."

Mika blinked, startled. "What?"

"Enough," Julian repeated, his voice low and dangerous. "Your obsession with Aria's sexual escapades is tedious. This is a home, not a locker room. Drop the subject, or you can find somewhere else to spend your summer."

Mika gasped, her mouth falling open. She looked at me, then back at her father, her expression a mix of shock and indignation.

"You're being totally unfair! I'm just—"

"I'm not interested in your justifications," he interrupted, his grey eyes locking onto hers. "The conversation is over."

He didn't wait for a response. He picked up his tablet and walked out of the room, his footsteps receding down the hallway until a door clicked shut, leaving us in a heavy, vibrating silence.

Mika stared at the empty doorway for a long moment before turning to me, her voice a hushed whisper. "Okay, wow. He is in a mood. I don't know what crawled up his ass this morning, but that was extreme."

I stared at my coffee, the liquid now cold. My heart was still hammering against my ribs. The distance he had put between us was a wall of ice, but the memory of his heat was still burned into my skin. We had a secret now. A dangerous, suffocating secret that lived in the space between us.

"Maybe he's just stressed with work," I said, though the words felt hollow.

"Maybe," Mika sighed, leaning back in her chair. "But seriously, once he's gone for the day, you are telling me everything. I don't care if I have to interrogate you for three hours. I want the full report on Mr. Alley Man."

I forced a smile, though it didn't reach my eyes. I looked toward the hallway where Julian had disappeared, wondering if he was thinking about the alley, or if he had successfully erased me from his mind the moment he stepped into the light of the kitchen.

The breakfast continued in a strained quiet, the sound of Mika's fork scraping against her plate feeling like a scream in the void. I couldn't eat. Every time I shifted in my seat, I felt the phantom sensation of his hands on my thighs, and the realization hit me again, crashing over me like a wave: I had slept with my best friend's father.

And he had looked at me with the eyes of a man who knew exactly how to keep a secret.