Masuk(The Flashback) Aria’s POV The night it happened, the air already smelled like fear. It wasn’t quiet that night. It never was, but that night was different louder, heavier. Shouts echoed down the halls, men barking orders, doors slamming, glass breaking somewhere in the distance. Chaos had a sound. I’d learned that sound by heart. I sat in the corner of the room I shared with two other girls, clutching the hem of my torn dress, every nerve in my body humming with the same question: Is this it? It started with the shouting. Rivera’s men yelling about a missing shipment, about betrayal. Someone had stolen money, or drugs, or maybe just time. Nobody ever survived mistakes like that. But the noise didn’t die down; it spread, grew, until even the guards started moving like they didn’t know who to shoot anymore. That was when I saw it the loop. The small, fragile window of chaos that might never come again. I turned to Mara, my friend, my sister in captivity. Her eyes were w
Aria’s POV For a second after the words left my mouth, nothing moved. The air itself seemed to stop. It was like the world forgot how to breathe with me. Damien didn’t speak. Didn’t blink. He just stood there, rigid, one hand still half-curled at his side, the faint tremor in his knuckles the only proof he was alive. His eyes locked on mine, and for a heartbeat, I wished he would just yell. Yelling, I could survive. This silence? I couldn’t. The air between us was too thin. My chest ached with the weight of it. “I killed someone.” The words echoed again in my head, low and final, like a stone sinking underwater. He exhaled slowly through his nose, jaw tightening as if he was grinding back every word that wanted to come out. “Who?” It wasn’t anger. It wasn’t disbelief. Just a question—quiet, sharp, and heavy enough to hurt. I couldn’t answer. My tongue felt thick, my throat raw. The truth sat there, waiting, poisonous. He took one step closer, slow, careful, like h
Aria’s POV It started quiet. Too quiet, like the world had forgotten how to breathe. He hadn’t spoken to me since that morning And when he did look at me, it wasn’t anger anymore. It was worse. It was distance. Like he was standing on the other side of a wall he’d built himself, watching to see if I’d try to climb over again. I told myself I didn’t care. That I didn’t need him to believe me. But every time the elevator doors opened and his footsteps echoed down the hall, something inside me turned small. Hopeful. Stupid. He’d saved me once, dragged me out of a place I never thought I’d leave alive. And then he’d built another cage. A prettier one. A quieter one. But a cage all the same. That morning, I sat by the window watching the city breathe. People moving. It was almost peaceful. Almost. Then I remembered the look on his face when they found the tracker that flash of disgust and disbelief and my stomach twisted so hard I thought I’d be sick. He didn’t touch
Damien The specialist was already moving around her, his small scanner in hand, tracing the curves of her shoulders, the back of her neck, the lines along her arms. He didn’t look at me once, his attention fixed entirely on her, murmuring short instructions without lifting his gaze. “Hold still… turn slightly… lift your hair a little… good, stay there.” His voice was calm, professional, neutral, and yet every word grated on me like sandpaper. I watched the way she followed each command perfectly, smoothly, without hesitation, without the slightest flicker of panic or irritation in her expression. She didn’t flinch. She didn’t stutter. She didn’t even blink more than usual. She just stood there, letting the scanner glide over her skin, letting him move around her as though she was invisible. Her hair, damp from the shower she’d taken before the specialist arrived, clung to her neck and the edges of her shoulders. The droplets made her skin glisten faintly under the fluorescent ligh
Damien The door slammed behind me, hard enough to shake the walls. Aria spun around from the dresser, half-dressed, towel wrapped around her, her hair still wet from the shower. She froze when she saw my face. I didn’t even try to hide it this time. The anger, the disgust, the confusion twisting through me all night it was right there for her to see. “Tell me the truth now,” I said, stepping closer. My voice came out rough, low. “Tell me the fucking truth.” Her eyes widened. “Damien… what are you talking about?” “Don’t play that game with me.” My hand came up, pointing at her, shaking. “You lying, dirty slut.” Her lips parted, her chest rose quick, but she didn’t say a word. I kept going, words pouring before I could stop them. “Who are you? What the hell are you doing here? I stepped closer, closer than I should, close enough that the heat of me pressed against her space, enough to make her shift slightly back. “Don’t lie to me. Don’t fucking lie to me anymore. Tell me
Damien’s POV There were nights when business was the only thing keeping me from losing my mind. Tonight needed to be one of those nights. I met Marco DeLange at La Portena, a private lounge I hadn’t stepped foot in since before the Rivera war. It used to smell like money and cigars, the perfume of untouchable men. Tonight, it smelled like desperation and cheap whiskey the stench of men trying to claw their way back from hell. He was already waiting when I walked in. Marco. Once my equal, now a ghost wearing a borrowed suit. His cufflinks didn’t match, and his shirt collar had a crease that screamed he’d ironed it himself. His smile was too eager, too stretched across a face that had lost its confidence. He rose when I approached. “Damien Wolfe,” he said, forcing a laugh. “Still punctual as ever.” “Marco.” I sat down across from him. “You look alive. That’s more than most can say.” He chuckled, but there was no joy in it. “Barely. You burned half the coast down, remember?”







