MasukAria POV
Julian walked out of the bathroom. I quickly turned my head away from his phone. He picked it up and left the bedroom without asking what I had been trying to tell him before he showered.
As the door clicked shut behind him, I pressed my face into the pillow. Even through the closed door, I could hear his voice—soft, gentle, intimate. A tone he had never once used with me.
Four years. I had been trapped in this loveless marriage for four years, waiting for him to see me. To love me back. I had given up so much—my pride, my independence, pieces of myself I’d never get back.
I touched my stomach, my hand trembling slightly. What would happen to this baby if he found out?
He didn’t love me. His heart belonged to someone else—to Selene, my stepsister. And what would she do if she discovered I was pregnant? I knew exactly what she was capable of.
The memory came unbidden.
Barely a month after my mother slipped into a coma, my father brought them home;my stepmother and Selene. I remembered standing at the top of the stairs, watching them walk through the front door like they owned the place. The way Selene’s eyes swept over everything, calculating, claiming.
She took it all. My father’s attention. My inheritance. My sense of home.
And that day with the jewelry—I could still feel the humiliation burning in my chest. Selene had hidden the necklace my father gave her in my room, then screamed that it was missing. She demanded a search, and of course, they found it in my bag.
I tried to explain. Begged my father to listen.
But he didn’t believe me. He called me a thief. Said I was just like my mother,as if that were the worst insult he could think of. They starved me that entire day as punishment.
Now she had Julian too.
I forced myself to the bathroom to wash away my tears. The door opened before I could compose myself.
Julian stood in the doorway, his shirt half-unbuttoned.
“Aria, you look terrible. Your eyes are red,” he said flatly.
Not are you okay? Not what’s wrong? Just an observation, clinical and detached.
“Who were you talking to on the phone?” I asked. Then I scoffed. “Never mind. I know who it was—Selene. You left me here to answer another woman’s call when you’re married to me?”
The words tumbled out before I could stop them. I didn’t know where this sudden courage came from—maybe desperation, maybe exhaustion.
“How dare you mention her name?” His voice dropped to something dangerous. “Listen carefully, Aria. Why are you making this difficult for yourself? You know what we agreed to. You have no right to question what I do.”
“Yes, I get it,” I snapped, my voice rising. “I’m just the stupid girl who desperately signed your contract. But I did it because I love you, Julian.” My throat tightened, but I forced the words out. “I thought… I thought one day you’d see me. That maybe you’d love me back—”
The memory of our wedding day flashed through my mind. Not a real wedding—just a quick courthouse ceremony with two witnesses we didn’t know. I had worn a simple white dress I bought the day before. Julian hadn’t even looked at me during the vows. Afterward, he went straight to his office. I spent our “wedding night” alone, crying into sheets that smelled like laundry detergent instead of us.
Julian’s bitter laugh cut through my thoughts.
“Aria, I didn’t force you to sign anything. You volunteered yourself.” He stepped closer, and I could smell his cologne—expensive, cold. “And I told you from the beginning;no love, no attachment. So why are you making a scene now?”
He said it so easily, like my feelings were an inconvenience. A breach of contract.
I stood there, frozen, as tears streamed down my face. My chest felt hollow, scraped clean. I wanted the floor to open up and swallow me whole.
For a moment just a flicker something shifted in his expression. His jaw tensed. His eyes moved to my tears, then away quickly, like he couldn’t bear to look.
But then it was gone.
He grabbed his clothes from the chair and headed for the door.
“Julian—” I started.
He didn’t turn around. The sound of his footsteps echoed down the hallway, followed by the front door closing. Then his car engine roared to life.
He left. Just like that.
I stood in our empty bedroom, the silence pressing down on me like a physical weight.
How did I end up here? What was I thinking when I signed those papers?
My hand drifted to my stomach again. At least I still had this—this tiny secret. For now, I needed to keep it hidden until I figured out what to do.
I climbed into bed and hugged my pillow tight, pulling the blanket over my head like I could hide from everything. My body was exhausted, but my mind wouldn’t stop racing.
Eventually, the tears dried up. Sleep felt impossible, but I closed my eyes anyway and waited for morning.
Aria POVDr. Daniel walked into the room quietly, the way doctors always did — like they had learned early on how to carry heavy news without letting it show in their footsteps. His expression was composed, professional, giving nothing away before he was ready to give it.“Her surgery is scheduled for eight o’clock tomorrow morning,” he said, his gaze moving to where I sat at my mother’s bedside.“Okay,” I said softly. Just that one word, because it was all I could manage.I was still holding her hand. I hadn’t let go since I arrived. My thumb moved slowly over her knuckles — back and forth, back and forth — the same absent rhythm I had kept for the past hour, as if the motion itself was doing something useful. As if it was keeping us both anchored.Am I happy or terrified? I genuinely couldn’t tell. Both feelings sat inside my chest at the same time, pressed so tightly together they had become indistinguishable from each other. Tomorrow felt enormous. Tomorrow felt like a door I coul
Aria POVThe hospital smelled the way it always did — antiseptic and something faintly floral underneath, like someone had tried to soften the sterile reality of the place with an air freshener and failed. My sneakers squeaked softly against the polished linoleum as I made my way down the corridor toward Dr. Daniel’s office, my fingers wrapped tight around the strap of my bag just to have something to hold onto.I knocked twice before pushing the door open.Daniel was at his desk, pen in hand, a patient file open in front of him. He looked up immediately, set the pen down, and gestured to the chair across from him with a relaxed smile. I sat, straightening my back the way I always did when I was trying to appear calmer than I actually felt.“I had a chance to see some of your paintings,” he said, his tone unhurried, warm. “The ones hanging in the east hallway. I must say — I’m very impressed.” The design I painted to contribute to the hospital since my mom is here.Something small and
Aria POV The coffee shop was the kind of place that made you feel like the rest of the world could wait. Soft acoustic music drifted from somewhere near the ceiling, low enough that you could talk over it without raising your voice. The air smelled of roasted beans and warm vanilla, and every surface — the wooden counter, the small round tables, the mismatched chairs — had that worn, comfortable look of somewhere people came to exhale. I had needed exactly this. Somewhere small and ordinary and safe.I wrapped both hands around my mug and let the warmth seep into my palms.Vanessa sat across from me, her natural hair piled high on her head, her oversized cream sweater making her look effortlessly put-together in the way she always managed without trying. She had been mid-sip when I told her, and now she was staring at me with her cup frozen halfway to the table, her eyes wide.“For real?” she asked, her voice dropping to a sharp whisper of disbelief.I nodded slowly. “I’m telling you
Aria POVThe smell hit me first.Julian’s cologne — cedarwood and something darker underneath, smoky and expensive — had already claimed the air in my room, tangled now with the sharp bite of whiskey. It was a disorienting combination. Too familiar, too much.He was watching me with those green eyes, glassy and slow, fighting to hold focus.“Julian.” I kept my voice even. “I think you should go back to your room.”He blinked. Something in his expression shifted, softened in the way that only happened when his guard had been completely stripped away. “Aria,” he said, his voice rough at the edges, like it had been dragged through gravel. “I like your hair.”Before I could step back, his hand lifted. His fingers were warm as they pushed a loose strand away from my face, tucking it gently behind my ear, his touch so careful it felt almost reverent. My heart stumbled in my chest before I could stop it.I caught his hand and pulled it down. “Just stop. You’re drunk. You don’t mean any of wh
Aria POVThe room was quiet except for the occasional rustle of pages.I was curled up against my headboard, legs tucked beneath me, a half-eaten packet of biscuits on the nightstand beside a cold cup of tea I kept forgetting to drink. The novel in my hands — The Space Between Heartbeats — had swallowed me whole for the better part of the evening. It was one of those stories that hurt in a beautiful way: a woman waiting for a man who didn’t know how to stay, loving him in the cracks of every ordinary moment. The kind of love that left marks. I had dog-eared nearly every other page.I turned to a passage I’d read twice already. She didn’t leave because she stopped loving him. She left because she loved herself just enough to know she deserved more than almost. I stared at the words for a long moment before closing the book and setting it face-down on the sheets.A notification lit up my screen.I swiped down without thinking, expecting something meaningless — a promotional email, a soc
Julian POVThe evening light inside Selene’s apartment was soft and amber — warm in a way that felt rehearsed, like a stage set. Candles on the windowsill. A throw blanket folded perfectly on the armrest. She had called me over, said she needed to tell me something important. So I came.She sat across from me on the couch, her hands folded in her lap, eyes downcast. The room smelled faintly of lavender and something older underneath — stale air that no amount of candles could fix.“I just don’t want to bother you with it,” Selene said softly. Her voice was barely a breath, almost a whisper, like she was testing the weight of each word before releasing it. “I feel like I should carry my burden myself.”I held the medical report in my hands. Three pages. I had read every line twice. Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder, compounded by Chronic Traumatic Encephalopathy — a condition the doctor had labeled Secondary CTE-Adjacent Syndrome, traced back to repeated psychological trauma from a violen







